tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198411602024-03-05T10:54:39.425-08:00ViajeroRandom thoughts while passing through.Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-92033617070568046682009-08-17T05:31:00.000-07:002009-08-17T05:57:09.991-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">El día de Santa Clara</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCD6FnyW9Mm9UXegWLB98e7rkVWLSZx3GwCWB4BxhgQyak7elQoxZmE_uJdrzt4yjvWGdnmiNqaw4OgYXTXUAtzhJkLpwVkdz4QuaFc-ssX5aKa4JoUophY0uBxh5WLoiiYqTy/s1600-h/P1010547.JPG"></a><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgideg-CfEHDdXK40wTtnnhVxJX5KWVG0Y0yHMeFejDQt9hdjLZx_ZacqVwMDBXfu1xmByjX2sj9OV0cEK7BtHs7fg2jUdoRQtkcL1bRmN9_Oq_g8dR4sjBzM6PkaFz-Q9rsJDK/s1600-h/P1010423.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgideg-CfEHDdXK40wTtnnhVxJX5KWVG0Y0yHMeFejDQt9hdjLZx_ZacqVwMDBXfu1xmByjX2sj9OV0cEK7BtHs7fg2jUdoRQtkcL1bRmN9_Oq_g8dR4sjBzM6PkaFz-Q9rsJDK/s320/P1010423.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6IQOFYUy-IVfwvKwiKQY7tfqjouaSIbkKnyvU7IcfTbTnIv_ivTrWJ7a56x2b06Xj2-1mLmC6pthuTeKZSCZpgUsTwVFCG3ZotJSjIZDMjs12I3gw2aeSaoDdC7hYv30QC8GQ/s1600-h/P1010424.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6IQOFYUy-IVfwvKwiKQY7tfqjouaSIbkKnyvU7IcfTbTnIv_ivTrWJ7a56x2b06Xj2-1mLmC6pthuTeKZSCZpgUsTwVFCG3ZotJSjIZDMjs12I3gw2aeSaoDdC7hYv30QC8GQ/s320/P1010424.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2eLiUWlZn7tsDOp7mVJM2RiS7YEMWw36urepefwn9_-UNBc56r-ykeaY2OWD9GoeUaRovRv3UPfJe6b_i-u-Xtp3ExslnPvnti_jofO2f-79sVRow1iL4BshSwFY0FhxHAtz/s1600-h/P1010430.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2eLiUWlZn7tsDOp7mVJM2RiS7YEMWw36urepefwn9_-UNBc56r-ykeaY2OWD9GoeUaRovRv3UPfJe6b_i-u-Xtp3ExslnPvnti_jofO2f-79sVRow1iL4BshSwFY0FhxHAtz/s320/P1010430.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32rU3iyyGHd_4qojWjzVEgtNZP_DOi9voznYgbiPZ106astdgS6kf_VTDeADHcRwlZU_yiENtRFvomW1SsYSrZNr2C8hyphenhypheneZOr8zkhQeZcpkQci1EC8ZaH4YGW14N0dxGONiEJ/s1600-h/P1010448.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32rU3iyyGHd_4qojWjzVEgtNZP_DOi9voznYgbiPZ106astdgS6kf_VTDeADHcRwlZU_yiENtRFvomW1SsYSrZNr2C8hyphenhypheneZOr8zkhQeZcpkQci1EC8ZaH4YGW14N0dxGONiEJ/s320/P1010448.JPG" /></a> </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCD6FnyW9Mm9UXegWLB98e7rkVWLSZx3GwCWB4BxhgQyak7elQoxZmE_uJdrzt4yjvWGdnmiNqaw4OgYXTXUAtzhJkLpwVkdz4QuaFc-ssX5aKa4JoUophY0uBxh5WLoiiYqTy/s320/P1010547.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370912320093135394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Last Wednesday, as a break from the Archives, I decided to visit the Museo del Convento de Santa Clara. Much smaller than the Museo de Santa Teresa in Potosí, the local museum has a small but excellent collection of 18th century paintings, sculpture and silverwork. On my way out of my B&B, I mentioned Santa Clara to my landlord, Osvaldo, and he asked me if I was going to pick up some of their famous empanandas (filled meat or cheese pies) which hadn't occurred to me, but...</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">When I entered, I realized that I would not be allowed to take photographs. The ticket seller/guide (I was the only visitor) indicated I needed to go around the corner to request permission. I expected I would find something like an office where I could plead my case. Instead, off to the side of a small courtyard was a staircase, a large landing and a number of people standing in line to buy empanadas. Not seeing any other possibility, I joined the line. When the nun, behind a small green wooden revolving door asked me how many I wanted. I said none, thank you, but I would like permission to take photographs in the museum. She said a nun would meet me in the museum. I returned to the museum, presented my card and explained why I needed the pictures and that I would not use flash. She agreed but suggested I make a contribution to the museum which I did. At that point, the once officious guide became my gracious assistant.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">This morning, I was invited to my friend Darío's Mother's house for the Canseco annual participatory Empanadas de Santa Clara bake. We all helped roll the dough, stuff, finish the edges and bake. When they were fresh from the oven, there were more than 25 of us feasting. The filling consisted of sautéed green onions, hardboiled eggs and olives cured in red wine. Of course they were delicious. I hadn’t realized that Wednesday was Santa Clara's saint’s day and the one day in the year that the Santa Clara nuns offer their famous empanadas to the public.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">By the way, as I left the museum, I asked the guide if the nuns ever offered him an empanada. He said no, so I went back to the green rotating door and bought two for each of us. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-23347649579771132312009-07-25T20:02:00.000-07:002009-07-25T20:10:28.685-07:00<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_16zp_zHLsgktBqBCfLB7uJfG1liJJZsrvrdm5FDNWXVC_vJCPww_dm4wHvqPwltDcGT2Hhs0d_oqensuQ0T7iJqHg44WMDznHd3lV6VHCuJDNYH_tNslHdWxOwCEOwb-HGr4/s1600-h/P1010114.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_16zp_zHLsgktBqBCfLB7uJfG1liJJZsrvrdm5FDNWXVC_vJCPww_dm4wHvqPwltDcGT2Hhs0d_oqensuQ0T7iJqHg44WMDznHd3lV6VHCuJDNYH_tNslHdWxOwCEOwb-HGr4/s320/P1010114.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OQngzOH6EQ4e1wI59OT7G8XWV2WaRpmFQIdy8eOPtGECBrO4-RQyZP3WpGddAgGPJPBo3pcfUyW2yaLNpwtpJxiN-bhMq5D4tk3vHAKyeFU_RIsQo6JR4iZ1lo6xg89aw8lb/s1600-h/P1010116.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OQngzOH6EQ4e1wI59OT7G8XWV2WaRpmFQIdy8eOPtGECBrO4-RQyZP3WpGddAgGPJPBo3pcfUyW2yaLNpwtpJxiN-bhMq5D4tk3vHAKyeFU_RIsQo6JR4iZ1lo6xg89aw8lb/s320/P1010116.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJyAwJEoMA8740pO7cBrNqDbyVmlwPr768iqQoquIwoJ_XKsm9tgC2KQh5rGlof5EyyJMw_QVF18lzPSoU-g7K-JrLd4R2pRmS9hGY9byzICn4ikh7Pqyyfv6u6EYMDQKPRsS0/s1600-h/P1010117.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJyAwJEoMA8740pO7cBrNqDbyVmlwPr768iqQoquIwoJ_XKsm9tgC2KQh5rGlof5EyyJMw_QVF18lzPSoU-g7K-JrLd4R2pRmS9hGY9byzICn4ikh7Pqyyfv6u6EYMDQKPRsS0/s320/P1010117.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimB5NWVg22B3crA6jUx-JqMXanzpUfmwH84m1yDKifzvA_pyoAJyn28wsgOC2J5AfxyQ0G99Ttun3oLByqqO9R516KW60uLjRwDmmGdJWoZmpK6aIgecFVvA79vlyYEMVKYqzz/s1600-h/P1010118.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimB5NWVg22B3crA6jUx-JqMXanzpUfmwH84m1yDKifzvA_pyoAJyn28wsgOC2J5AfxyQ0G99Ttun3oLByqqO9R516KW60uLjRwDmmGdJWoZmpK6aIgecFVvA79vlyYEMVKYqzz/s320/P1010118.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Silver, Sucre and <i>La Virgen de Guadalupe</i></span></b></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">One of the advantages of wearing a coat outdoors is that it permits me to carry my digital camera with me at all times. This morning, I was able to get into the Chapel of the <i>Virgin de Guadelupe</i>. The Chapel, adjoining the Cathedral, contains a miraculous image of the Patroness of La Plata (Sucre.) The image itself, Mary and baby Jesus have painted faces which were placed on a gold-plated silver triangle, is encrusted with jewels (pearls, diamonds, emeralds, etc.) and is rumored to be so valuable that, if cashed in could pay off Bolivia's national debt.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In the Plaza, along the side elevation of the Cathedral, a line of cars were being readied for a procession and eventual Mass in the Guadelupe Chapel. The cars were covered with family treasures (weavings, silver bowls and plates, and stuffed animals and dolls.) I missed the procession itself, but I spoke with one of the women sewing silver objects to the weavings. She told me that it was a family celebration. Years ago, in Cochabamba, I saw a similar ceremony. Then, I learned that each year, a family becomes the protector of a religious image for a year. The procession and fiesta occured when the next branch of the family takes guardianship. Perhaps, this was a similar occassion.</span></div></div></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-61619341556700988122009-07-25T19:43:00.000-07:002009-07-25T20:00:37.403-07:00<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuSUNayYwcjSBnUzyH7dqA3VB57k3bSTMmxaOeBAmPqh2HdinySHSccWKm-3MNkAx5cYqrtTwsxViLYxnRWegNFq48tuw9ZVqtju4x-5BQ0llgXaT40SvXPkORKVOqg4K_qqp/s1600-h/P1010081.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuSUNayYwcjSBnUzyH7dqA3VB57k3bSTMmxaOeBAmPqh2HdinySHSccWKm-3MNkAx5cYqrtTwsxViLYxnRWegNFq48tuw9ZVqtju4x-5BQ0llgXaT40SvXPkORKVOqg4K_qqp/s320/P1010081.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8KVHJORpEntKAS5Eu7VAsV3VDjl6Y2wgjY9nuxxAPSbxpWIzaFcSxUWAiWsnXUti9VrJoyy-CDS5piIEU_WnPgogIHCgPj08J6qyIO0PBFox71yW9ed4A7Xp7qJZTMpWpSvD1/s1600-h/P1010082.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8KVHJORpEntKAS5Eu7VAsV3VDjl6Y2wgjY9nuxxAPSbxpWIzaFcSxUWAiWsnXUti9VrJoyy-CDS5piIEU_WnPgogIHCgPj08J6qyIO0PBFox71yW9ed4A7Xp7qJZTMpWpSvD1/s320/P1010082.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>My Piece of Bolivia's History</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I first came to Bolivia in 1964, when I was 22. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I taught at the state university in Cochabamba (La Universidad Mayor de San Simón.) Twelve years before, Bolivia experienced the first major social and economic revolution after that of Mexico in 1910. The MNR (National Revolutionary Movement) initiated land reform, the nationalization of the mines, health reform, public education and unversal suffrage. Bolivia's revolution was supported by Washington. It preceded Cuba's revolution by seven years, a revolution definitely not supported by Washington.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">This comes to mind after a conversation, last week, with a recent graduate of the local School of Architecture. He is working, part-time, for my best friend here, Arq. Darío Canseco. Mario (his name) is from a village near Zudañez, a small city about 50 miles from Sucre. His father works the land and plants potatoes, wheat and corn. I can't vouch for this, but it very likely the land was once part of a hacienda and was distributed to the peones who worked for the hacendado five days a week to be able to work a small plot of the master's land the other days. Clearly, Marios' family made major sacrifices to enable him to receive a university education. While in architecture school, he worked as a waiter in one of Sucre's tourist restaurants.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">What I am trying to say is that the education and land reform MNR revolution has had a major impact on the lives of Bolivians. Evo Morales' presidency is a direct result of the 1952 revolution and the increasing participation of indigenous groups in national politics. On my way back from the Archives, I passed through a group of "<i>originarios</i>" (the latest term for indigenous peoples) from the community of Qhara Qhara. For the past two weeks, the members of the local <i>allyu</i> (traditional tribal group) have been protesting over their political leadership. At present, they are represented by a "<i>sindicato de campesinos</i>" (peasant union.) I haven't figured out whether this has to do with the strength or values of individual leaders or the authenticity of the governing structure. What I do know is that the "<i>sindicatos de campesinos</i>" was the mechanism used by the MNR in the 1950s to organize the new land-holding ex-hacienda peones. The syndicatos were used by the government to channel campesino votes in their favor. Evo Morales is similarly marshalling "originario" votes emphasizing traditional political organizations with the same objective - maintaining political power. In a complex society with conflicting interests and needs, in the end, is the concentration of power productive?</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;clear: both; "><br /></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-24906751150055538602009-07-07T07:22:00.000-07:002009-07-07T11:45:37.805-07:00<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >The Other Sucre</span><br /></div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DEClTeuFVm5SgOTcpv8IJFpuRwekvmUcXXynWz6sCLPt6Suvs6zNQA4uVoel7Xhec89zPhKS-opmSfYfX_jemhlHuBt6UYEFz3ieovzjv2Krr0hZoLMW0WbsODzMJhklTkpS/s1600-h/P1000837.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DEClTeuFVm5SgOTcpv8IJFpuRwekvmUcXXynWz6sCLPt6Suvs6zNQA4uVoel7Xhec89zPhKS-opmSfYfX_jemhlHuBt6UYEFz3ieovzjv2Krr0hZoLMW0WbsODzMJhklTkpS/s320/P1000837.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikeZQYj0WqmUtX4vGai_aifrsVf39SsaglDxyOD26x_kpE0Tma51uQyvsCfx8pzwJvtsqqGqvMj4WM96m1Et8kIqDsXwdCeNDXet9ah9JIoI7O3n0e12WbeLGgVEQDe6Exk46-/s1600-h/P1000841.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikeZQYj0WqmUtX4vGai_aifrsVf39SsaglDxyOD26x_kpE0Tma51uQyvsCfx8pzwJvtsqqGqvMj4WM96m1Et8kIqDsXwdCeNDXet9ah9JIoI7O3n0e12WbeLGgVEQDe6Exk46-/s320/P1000841.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lK_MDkwlpHrBwZ38p8l5Fh8fOAjbcZgex-oYD8gf4G1-TQNq8UDNq5TOQh5HDM8IyWmIHAIXd1kRQOdBwhME17fRaJw6mdIzRThSTpfJGqbEwXhhPsTEaTUFB9LT0vYn_GMb/s1600-h/P1000842.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lK_MDkwlpHrBwZ38p8l5Fh8fOAjbcZgex-oYD8gf4G1-TQNq8UDNq5TOQh5HDM8IyWmIHAIXd1kRQOdBwhME17fRaJw6mdIzRThSTpfJGqbEwXhhPsTEaTUFB9LT0vYn_GMb/s320/P1000842.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZRoWnru6MYGSz4_Km3xs1K3vHVcpS5cKGVn3yN9iTSCdFVSYWsehhonypGYA1LQpt5DPHQ5ERpiqn_Py7CIr3X-B1gGpvVktIgX0pnqDMDuVn7p4kBv1QIf6T6vzY4r7SiVYW/s1600-h/P1000844.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZRoWnru6MYGSz4_Km3xs1K3vHVcpS5cKGVn3yN9iTSCdFVSYWsehhonypGYA1LQpt5DPHQ5ERpiqn_Py7CIr3X-B1gGpvVktIgX0pnqDMDuVn7p4kBv1QIf6T6vzY4r7SiVYW/s320/P1000844.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" >I realize that almost all of my photographs show Sucre at its most picturesque. This has alot to do with my fascination with the Colonial Period, with my stay in the historic core and the chaos of unplanned rapid development which surrounds the center. When I first came here, in 1965, Sucre had about 60,000. One hundred years earlier, the population was 18,000. Now, forty plus years after my first visit, Sucre has the current population of New Orleans, 350,000. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" >When I lived in Cochabamba in the mid-sixties, Bolivia had not experienced the rapid urban migrations that had such an impact in other Latin American countries. Subsequently, the effects of the land reform initiated by the 1952 MNR Revolution and the closing of the tin mines in 1982, enabled by neo-liberalism policies of privatization, brought about this uncoordinated urban growth. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" >I took these pictures last Friday. My friend, the architect Dar ío Canseco, took me along on a site visit with his clients, a lawyer and pharmacist. They had purchased a property in one of the more stabilized areas around Sucre and had built a protective wall and two temporary buildings which they currently occupy. The site presents some extraordinary design challenges and I wish Darío great good luck in their resolution.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" >The last two photographs were taken from the property. The second to last shows an automobile dealership in its context. The last, I hope you can discover it, is a house Darío designed for his uncle. They both represent distinct approaches to dealing with the problems of finding an architecture in contemporary Sucre. I’m happy to apply my own creativity to reconstruct the texture of the social and professional relationships which formed the basis for contemporary society. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:11;" ><br /></span></div><div menubottom="0" menuright="0" menutop="0" menuleft="0" activeid="-1" expanded="0" style="display: none;" id="divCleekiAttrib"></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-14872509575964725842009-07-03T05:58:00.000-07:002009-07-03T06:04:06.421-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UoItM4TX_fk9eevm60BRDJtLEtm_TRu8rcxA6edoBZhVgXdV-yYsjKWqlGHCjl2J2U-pAXsFuqnP9_t_BxPWMfzuxiTrOfmlBCeXL1m3gWWBXxFsMl_u0XgRhyphenhyphenNErpt4YW58/s1600-h/Santo+Domingo.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UoItM4TX_fk9eevm60BRDJtLEtm_TRu8rcxA6edoBZhVgXdV-yYsjKWqlGHCjl2J2U-pAXsFuqnP9_t_BxPWMfzuxiTrOfmlBCeXL1m3gWWBXxFsMl_u0XgRhyphenhyphenNErpt4YW58/s320/Santo+Domingo.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354217715062493938" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>In the </b><i><b>Sala de Investigadores</b></i><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't know what community he came from.(*) I will have to ask today, when I return to the National Archive. I didn't want to stare but he was fairly young, pouring over a document in his traditional clothing, which was immaculate. His was showing the utmost respect to the Archive and to his people's past. He wore sandals, cotton pants which reached his calves, an embroidered shirt and a magnificent poncho - stripes of red, yellow and blue in varying widths and quite asymmetrical - unlike those I had previously seen. He wore a <i>chulo</i> - a knitted cap with ear flaps common in Bolivia and on the heads of hip college students in the States - of cream and dark brown wool. Over the <i>chulo</i> he wore a high crowned natural felt hat - quite common among the indigenous people of this region - but his was brand new. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My photograph of the indigenous scholar in the <i>Sala de Investigadores</i>, sitting at a Danish Modern desk, surrounded by bookshelves and other researchers would have been a prizewinner. Unfortunately, cameras are prohibited in the Archive. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">(*) I subsequently learned from a librarian that he was from Tapacarí, in the Cochabamba Province and he was carrying bolas (a weapon made famous by the gauchos in Argentina), indicating that he was a chief. Tapacarí is the mountainous area between the Cochabamba valley and the Altiplano to the West. It is sparsely populated and consists of small interconnected mountain valleys. The main route from Cochabamba to Oruro and La Paz passes through this </span>region.</span></div></span>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-67328627006301040942009-06-30T12:48:00.000-07:002009-06-30T13:25:04.269-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDuzPvqZgUOuJjUd0vsUtk_tZWvmYlbPaAVkxOcsdkdYJX5s7cf0gD1ERT_ysuZvReXnhrQWChh2cpXzXukITgkAs4CiKf4EQb79uKp9cB4Peg3Q74ZxYPZlI4NQMAQnx2bYI/s1600-h/P1000811.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDuzPvqZgUOuJjUd0vsUtk_tZWvmYlbPaAVkxOcsdkdYJX5s7cf0gD1ERT_ysuZvReXnhrQWChh2cpXzXukITgkAs4CiKf4EQb79uKp9cB4Peg3Q74ZxYPZlI4NQMAQnx2bYI/s320/P1000811.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353211029938757682" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Returning to Sucre</span></span><br /><br /> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sunday, June 28</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I arrived in Sucre eleven days ago after an absence of six months. Initially, I reconnected with my closest friends - a very enjoyable process - and returned to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Archivo Nacional</span> and resumed my research – also reconnecting with the frustrating life of a scholar (dead ends and and rare and occasional and a restored optimism.)<br /><br />Last Wednesday, I attended the inauguration of the 5th Annual Conference of the Bolivian Studies Association . (Some 10 years ago, I helped organize the first conference which took place at Loyola and Tulane.)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The conference was held primarily in the Archives. I was very conscientious the first day and selected talks related to my dissertation. The Bolivian and Latin American scholars had a knowledge so extensive and deep that I walked away feeling quite intimidated but also stimulated. My interests were only indirectly addressed. I still believe that my focus on the artisans of La Plata (colonial Sucre) and the way the urban fabric accommodated distinct social groups has largely been overlooked. So, I hope I will be able to make a valuable contribution.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">My attendance diminished as the days went by and even though a star in the Bolivian Studies firmament - Tristan Pratt from St. Edwards University in Scotland - presented Saturday morning, I was pretty much used up. I was particularly impressed by several young Bolivian scholars. One, a psychologist and historian, did a brilliant job. I spoke to him after his talk and learned he had studied architecture for 3 years before switching to psychology. I will certainly keep in touch with him. Unfortunately, he lives in La Paz. A young woman presented a talk on pre-independence <span style="font-style: italic;">pasquines</span> (wall newspapers.) She teaches here in Sucre and when she heard my name she asked me if I would meet with a group of her students who are also working on La Plata's <span style="font-style: italic;">artisanos</span>.<br /><br />Maybe I can work out a collaborative agreement to share sources.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">My Internet situation is pretty erratic. My landlord, a university professor, seems to be using a university service which allows me access early in the morning (when students are not monopolizing the net.) His children and I are working together to persuade him to switch providers. I'm writing this blog off-line. It will be posted the next time I have access. Meanwhile, I have been popping into Internet cafe's to catch up on email. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I went to a party for the recent graduates of the architecture school. They named my best friend and two of his colleagues as <span style="font-style: italic;">padrinos</span> of their graduation fiesta and expected them to pay for it. That seemed a very bizarre custom to this gringo. I was invited and beer, dinner, beer beer beer and more beer was the evening's program. When five of us were left (mainly the profs.) and the manager of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Collegio de Arquitectos</span> - the professional organization headquarters where the party was held - insisted that we leave, we headed to a great crowded bar, where the students who had left the earlier party had reassembled. All this drinking was too much for me, I left early and got home at 2am after partying from 5-30 in the afternoon.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Monday, June 29</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I returned to the Archives this morning with renewed patience and resolve. Today, I reviewed the annotated index of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Correspondencia de la Audiencia de Charcas</span>. Subordinate only to the Viceroy in Lima and later Buenos Aires, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Audiencia</span> governed an enormous region from Lake Titicaca to the North through much of Argentina, all of Paraguay and to the Pacific coast north of present-day Santiago, Chile. Given the distance from either viceregal center, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Audiencia</span> acted with autonomy unless specifically directed. Even then, the principle "<span style="font-style: italic;">yo obedezco pero no cumplo</span>" (I obey but do not comply) was operative. I was looking, unsuccessfully, for any indication of a request for a census. It would be very helpful if I could find out more about the population of La Plata during the 18th century. I would jump out of my skin if I could get a sense of how many artisans there were relative to other occupations. Relative statistics on race and class would be helpful, as well. No such luck. However, I did discover letters written by Alonso Carrío de la Vandera. He was the Viceroy's postal inspector in the late 18th century author of one of the few descriptions of La Plata in this period. That was encouraging.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In the afternoon, I started reviewing another set of documents I had not looked at previously. And, although I still haven't found any reference to a census, I did come across some artisans I had not yet noted: a master watchmaker and a silversmith. The silversmith was requesting that the <span style="font-style: italic;">Cabildo </span>(the city government) name him a master silversmith in recognition of 20 years of activity. I had understood that this was the province of the guild of silversmiths, not the civil authorities. This seems intriguing and, once I go through the entire index, I will examine the original document very carefully. This was even more encouraging.<br /><br />Some recent photos of Sucre can be found at <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/spjacobs/SucreSWinterLight?feat=email#">http://picasaweb.google.com/spjacobs/SucreSWinterLight?feat=email#</a><br /></span></div><div menubottom="0" menuright="0" menutop="0" menuleft="0" activeid="-1" expanded="0" style="display: none;" id="divCleekiAttrib"></div><div menubottom="0" menuright="0" menutop="0" menuleft="0" activeid="-1" expanded="0" style="display: none;" id="divCleekiAttrib"></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-56275372282184900602009-06-09T17:48:00.000-07:002009-06-09T17:50:05.963-07:00<span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">Tulane, Taihuichi and T-Shirts</span><br /><br /><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This afternoon, I biked over to the Tulane Library to empty out the carrel I have been using all semester. After getting off the elevator, I noticed a young fellow in the upstairs lobby. He was wearing a yellow Taihuichi t-shirt. I couldn't resist mentioning that I would be in Santa Cruz a week from tomorrow. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Taihuichi is a world famous soccer academy. Many of Bolivia's most famous players (Marco "El Diablo" Etcheverry and Jaime Moreno - both stars on the Bolivian national team and DC United) trained there. It was formed in 1978 to involve youth from impoverished areas of Santa Cruz productively in sport and, through the talent of its staff and head coach Rolando Aguilera Pareja, it formed a team which was extraordinarily successful in Latin American youth competitions. Taihuichi invites young soccer players from abroad to participate in their training program and help support the non-profit academy. http://www.tahuichi.com.bo/</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Hal, the Tulane student, spent 6 weeks at Taihuichi two years ago. He said it was the most difficult thing he had ever done in his life. The training was so arduous that he was tempted to fake an injury. When he returned to high school in the states, he was offered a number of athletic scholarships. He eventually transferred to Tulane which doesn't field an inter-collegiate soccer team. However, Hal plays in a Latin-American league in New Orleans. At the moment, he was finishing a semester paper for Prof. Martin Mendoza (a visiting professor of political science from La Paz.) </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So, clearly, the real function of a t-shirt is as a conversation starter. </span>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-34326213309595904132008-10-29T06:43:00.000-07:002008-10-29T06:45:30.148-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Paleography</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Even though my skills at interpreting the handwriting of 18th century scribes is improving, this morning I met my match in one critical document. It was written in 1700 and defines the financial and labor obligations of young Cristobál Dávalos. He was apprenticed, at 13 years of age, to Tomás de Torres, a locksmith and blacksmith. It would seem like a promising career opportunity. I have yet to find another 18th century locksmith and very few ironsmiths. Of course, I am working with legal documents and it is very possible that the others had no occasion to visit an official scribe or their documents have been lost.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I am reading apprenticeship contracts and they seem to vary little over the 18th century. Guardians are sometimes responsible for clothing but virtually all expenses from room and board to healthcare and even burial expenses are incurred by the master craftsmen. In one instance, in case the master watchmaker should die before the completion of the contract, the apprentice was to inherit the master´s tools. None of the documents mention anything related to the eventual acceptance of the apprentice into the respective guilds (gremios) but in one instance, the master guarantees the "graduate" apprentice´s work for five years.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Back to paleography. I'm hoping that a haircut and lunch will give me the patience, concentration and imagination to tackle the rest of the document. Paleography reminds me of the Sunday Times double crostic. Fragments of words, marks on paper which could go one way or another are juxtaposed against my Spanish vocabulary (which, I am happy to report, is pretty good) trying to build the most plausible narrative. It is slow going but reveals so much detail. My initial database, developed from the index summaries of the collection of 18th Century Escrituras Publicas enabled me to identify the documents that called for closer inspection. And that will be my work for the next month.</span></div><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#000000; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-54986606781332602192008-10-26T10:02:00.000-07:002008-10-27T09:45:19.544-07:00<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >An Outing with Architecture Students</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8tqKRy8lWMYoRAeelNXVQlWnCVZAYU7Tbm3WCy9S86Bmy521ltw9GomemBsFCW-WNbIeRzD2y231zDvj4YD3OnHt10J2-oJ9Id3bNfq9KOhyCSXESYaMZvtE00qoR_8ZBJJI/s1600-h/panorama2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 403px; height: 115px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8tqKRy8lWMYoRAeelNXVQlWnCVZAYU7Tbm3WCy9S86Bmy521ltw9GomemBsFCW-WNbIeRzD2y231zDvj4YD3OnHt10J2-oJ9Id3bNfq9KOhyCSXESYaMZvtE00qoR_8ZBJJI/s400/panorama2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Five years ago, during my last Tulane sabbatical, I taught in the Architecture School at the Universidad Mayor, Real y Pontificia de San Francisco Xavier de Churquisaca (South America´s second oldest university founded in 1624.) My friendships with both facuty and students have made this time in Sucre most enjoyable. This year, I was named Docente Honorario (Honorary Professor) and, on occassion I have been invited to participate in design reviews and other classes. The school is planning a new building and on Tuesday afternoon, I will join in on discussions of proposed alternatives. </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >The following photographs were taken during a field trip with Arq. Guillermo Layme and his students to a site for a class project, one of the few times I have been able to enjoy the countryside.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNXn1Rpc9PNbP_htX2JdDSuaMzKhyu5GcirVrScz0ha8rQVXxLpN_yqZHYVACnHI8tbI17PIFFe608RwBoYxs4rdQi464cqWDAuO1wm_nFS4Du7fKwokBzQGumVC-duVvqAnh/s1600-h/DSCN0245.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNXn1Rpc9PNbP_htX2JdDSuaMzKhyu5GcirVrScz0ha8rQVXxLpN_yqZHYVACnHI8tbI17PIFFe608RwBoYxs4rdQi464cqWDAuO1wm_nFS4Du7fKwokBzQGumVC-duVvqAnh/s320/DSCN0245.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSp52zdKEy9g5ByigYBcskQqDyRrO-iuelh2govNocgG-w4qTWAiKmE_HGccBbDVutJPaOthtDBoYWFaSy1KgYt6mQ5_3XXMnjr5Sz9hu9wArbt5cbmxySc7fSvTcQXLQS4VF/s1600-h/DSCN0234.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSp52zdKEy9g5ByigYBcskQqDyRrO-iuelh2govNocgG-w4qTWAiKmE_HGccBbDVutJPaOthtDBoYWFaSy1KgYt6mQ5_3XXMnjr5Sz9hu9wArbt5cbmxySc7fSvTcQXLQS4VF/s320/DSCN0234.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeMK6mhjtoitTQoHFBMQNbvegWXdtnbXJfQtrCm2LkyeWOl_64nKK1x9MZlA4o4P6Zn5uZGQVXks8gZwVQTAHB8Je26adafamBtIwY6-30_XSrmz6bFpYGo1cf_itRqpN3u4u/s1600-h/DSCN0237.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeMK6mhjtoitTQoHFBMQNbvegWXdtnbXJfQtrCm2LkyeWOl_64nKK1x9MZlA4o4P6Zn5uZGQVXks8gZwVQTAHB8Je26adafamBtIwY6-30_XSrmz6bFpYGo1cf_itRqpN3u4u/s320/DSCN0237.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaT4V7dKrFDXFBYwD7k00STJrrim2eZtAHxclejUF40LCqLocruwnclmpx6Evg0yf2GrXNqmHZk-pUxdkUpxIiny_sS53uev-1UbtJ77uHgwut-ZAAC6K5P-uei_JoALd3Kb4/s1600-h/DSCN0241.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaT4V7dKrFDXFBYwD7k00STJrrim2eZtAHxclejUF40LCqLocruwnclmpx6Evg0yf2GrXNqmHZk-pUxdkUpxIiny_sS53uev-1UbtJ77uHgwut-ZAAC6K5P-uei_JoALd3Kb4/s320/DSCN0241.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >It seems that all of the photos in this blog from Sucre seem to be taken on sunny, cloudless days. Indeed, cloudy days are rare. So, here are a group of photos taken in softer light conditions. San Lázaro was Sucre´s first cathedral. It was built on a terrace which served as an outdoor atrium, a space for the conversion of the indigenous population. Santo Domingo was the center of the Dominican Order and the Inquisition.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tM8GQ6GOuwDDeiJE6pvQm9RT6IktQiTAXodZuK0iUW8khTeVB9Pyc6BFJe_eiCatLgaIEHQJBal9kir8J2u-9cRoa-yUlacEO7u1Ks7qaXfMbVR9UK51ctfdBcddy9Lwue7G/s1600-h/DSCN0264.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tM8GQ6GOuwDDeiJE6pvQm9RT6IktQiTAXodZuK0iUW8khTeVB9Pyc6BFJe_eiCatLgaIEHQJBal9kir8J2u-9cRoa-yUlacEO7u1Ks7qaXfMbVR9UK51ctfdBcddy9Lwue7G/s320/DSCN0264.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwfg4mTYDCEv2-qABPqQPYfbWsbjPmCHet9OTVhGr2HoANcstJ4Pe9g_qE3N3ifAh7RqUr8QE3_n21aIZup56CuoPGzgR0paHmuVSadq7bmgh0b8qBV32amzOdK6GqXW6Pwyc/s1600-h/DSCN0263.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwfg4mTYDCEv2-qABPqQPYfbWsbjPmCHet9OTVhGr2HoANcstJ4Pe9g_qE3N3ifAh7RqUr8QE3_n21aIZup56CuoPGzgR0paHmuVSadq7bmgh0b8qBV32amzOdK6GqXW6Pwyc/s320/DSCN0263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Santo Domingo<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz1BBNENiuNodtrPdBISYmpWk8HBV8y7QtwDQOaAoLOoeUbvMU1c72NSPDqj-ymad78t8Xnv8aSakrK6g4fXxxSZ64HtVfcDBJYaAsg0ctqeEyAexMDg0qU-UQKflpsQIXaIe/s1600-h/DSCN0253.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz1BBNENiuNodtrPdBISYmpWk8HBV8y7QtwDQOaAoLOoeUbvMU1c72NSPDqj-ymad78t8Xnv8aSakrK6g4fXxxSZ64HtVfcDBJYaAsg0ctqeEyAexMDg0qU-UQKflpsQIXaIe/s320/DSCN0253.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW19V6kGSSFDgM_sm4b1s_uZrnJsvwf1SdlsW4ekhxQVeEzNYs8wOB_NW5IOyvPEeCYrgzAd0yIfQInPXyiRr9lB5I0tBuGNftBW_bqOFbph49ftv1LhStqVXF9Q425VfQTUIM/s1600-h/DSCN0256.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW19V6kGSSFDgM_sm4b1s_uZrnJsvwf1SdlsW4ekhxQVeEzNYs8wOB_NW5IOyvPEeCYrgzAd0yIfQInPXyiRr9lB5I0tBuGNftBW_bqOFbph49ftv1LhStqVXF9Q425VfQTUIM/s320/DSCN0256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh753fWA6kKW5UHbrpf0z70HhkIoC96nTBzcqdn7z-W7wHy1xDtO17ZiZgLNlPbYkPf6zqAN5wjS3H5AINM0uvKH6xbcjbPz1pLDHVfCiQoBLJ9GR0BdAPVrZe6LAVCeAompBTJ/s1600-h/DSCN0258.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh753fWA6kKW5UHbrpf0z70HhkIoC96nTBzcqdn7z-W7wHy1xDtO17ZiZgLNlPbYkPf6zqAN5wjS3H5AINM0uvKH6xbcjbPz1pLDHVfCiQoBLJ9GR0BdAPVrZe6LAVCeAompBTJ/s320/DSCN0258.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEm4XCv1QiIQKkVtnolGLLco1a6Ps271m1LFficfoOQeMsrhVwMkNr4braXONLArsXNGW1l3utCf9Af-tB8Msl8hRYMXPDwhPYVZ9AaRg_M7Yt_8WJMKL5HhTn3v-OAUUYRLTP/s1600-h/DSCN0257.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEm4XCv1QiIQKkVtnolGLLco1a6Ps271m1LFficfoOQeMsrhVwMkNr4braXONLArsXNGW1l3utCf9Af-tB8Msl8hRYMXPDwhPYVZ9AaRg_M7Yt_8WJMKL5HhTn3v-OAUUYRLTP/s320/DSCN0257.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">San Lázaro<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibYC_hX_t5iIDAdLoSGODkdafDzAFT3aEAT7xeh8uciZAqr_JKIK-Rt7q5x6UCHIoQ9xCfyW9OYRzWwVm1Y3CaI-oytk-YpWOg-fCIJasJWu2sa5Nam_O4euBGnHY1vvVsuoD/s1600-h/DSCN0252.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibYC_hX_t5iIDAdLoSGODkdafDzAFT3aEAT7xeh8uciZAqr_JKIK-Rt7q5x6UCHIoQ9xCfyW9OYRzWwVm1Y3CaI-oytk-YpWOg-fCIJasJWu2sa5Nam_O4euBGnHY1vvVsuoD/s320/DSCN0252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Calle Oruro - once a street of craftsmen.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIylHP2DWLDYsXsgSZo8QQcP8z7NQ0SxKNgoeNLVBR090Y_Y0dM3hmQEITx5sh_ucTILKx-V7zuoL1AO-bzGomK_oijA_C21DwAygw0xEbJO0p11snxPl7qGz9uPgFIVzcl_J/s1600-h/DSCN0248.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIylHP2DWLDYsXsgSZo8QQcP8z7NQ0SxKNgoeNLVBR090Y_Y0dM3hmQEITx5sh_ucTILKx-V7zuoL1AO-bzGomK_oijA_C21DwAygw0xEbJO0p11snxPl7qGz9uPgFIVzcl_J/s320/DSCN0248.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLARM5T_fDYTGEOHl5CAPLHWqGmS8nMTspp23vBXoh42DM3j8jfZot5RwQPjo9Lx1JhEtbXS6gZ2mqrZImkvgcn9YIDaq1B_UrdhmqBt9-_dfP-WS2C1t0zFRH0MzfvZaZulG/s1600-h/DSCN0268.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLARM5T_fDYTGEOHl5CAPLHWqGmS8nMTspp23vBXoh42DM3j8jfZot5RwQPjo9Lx1JhEtbXS6gZ2mqrZImkvgcn9YIDaq1B_UrdhmqBt9-_dfP-WS2C1t0zFRH0MzfvZaZulG/s320/DSCN0268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:arial;" >Gran Fiesta presented by the School of Finance and Business Administration of the UFXC. Note the menu - stuffed potatoes, piquante noodles, basically spicy meat sauce, and (mmmmmmmm) spicy tiny flavorful potatoes (papa lisa.) All of this plus music and dance for 5bs or 75 cents.</span></div></div><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#000000; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-62462671506837031582008-10-15T17:11:00.000-07:002008-10-16T10:52:05.509-07:00<div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">A day in the Life</span><br /></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYFzdgx5rj0aJpFNdiFWmDq5-vnQ6luwbAYefCxYFJ3egx47tW01biCvV7NA8RfhjYLRnQvXdDAOVG7_oVdDt9Z7OiIHyVm4elEbl-AOtE-IjNm8WNsUhD7EAeRdlO3WPyVTG/s1600-h/DSCN0160.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYFzdgx5rj0aJpFNdiFWmDq5-vnQ6luwbAYefCxYFJ3egx47tW01biCvV7NA8RfhjYLRnQvXdDAOVG7_oVdDt9Z7OiIHyVm4elEbl-AOtE-IjNm8WNsUhD7EAeRdlO3WPyVTG/s320/DSCN0160.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjASJvO8yEt4Op35QdnLNUBuIEPiAFTWWjcgt0DxHucie00fSllFhk2q6ShJMNVaR12Say7mr9P852eQOGEyiVZpasQ0AvDvAK8ai8fdNbY6C4gPxse_6LebVSvhUQMvApRZw/s1600-h/DSCN0161.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjASJvO8yEt4Op35QdnLNUBuIEPiAFTWWjcgt0DxHucie00fSllFhk2q6ShJMNVaR12Say7mr9P852eQOGEyiVZpasQ0AvDvAK8ai8fdNbY6C4gPxse_6LebVSvhUQMvApRZw/s320/DSCN0161.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfMzogIk_t8eYjwe4kadZRiRYBV-IEOShrnG2-00lQHAqVympFEPPvNoLbb1ToUistZn1AlOoElBMUR_1ALNhPomplxJcyhwQLHDTX4YX282iSGfCTp9q4ESji_2FnJqT7Aot/s1600-h/DSCN0162.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfMzogIk_t8eYjwe4kadZRiRYBV-IEOShrnG2-00lQHAqVympFEPPvNoLbb1ToUistZn1AlOoElBMUR_1ALNhPomplxJcyhwQLHDTX4YX282iSGfCTp9q4ESji_2FnJqT7Aot/s320/DSCN0162.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndJLmejhj2kDOGwxQMXlytXkWrr9BjQDOiO6TWp_un27C6T8OLkEPXthzTUP8DOg-6ua_P2v0u4qhTpB5Dyh4frDAYcqrXkcj3tHhycUTwCCrV0FWk1kpXDXYzpNjJZJpYACN/s1600-h/DSCN0164.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndJLmejhj2kDOGwxQMXlytXkWrr9BjQDOiO6TWp_un27C6T8OLkEPXthzTUP8DOg-6ua_P2v0u4qhTpB5Dyh4frDAYcqrXkcj3tHhycUTwCCrV0FWk1kpXDXYzpNjJZJpYACN/s320/DSCN0164.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"> </div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"> </div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BZFRUg5xgfMwC4PcN22dRwDOH6HD7EvYr7UGMjjbyikIZB1BV0k8CHX_A_wHYI6JlxxC2tidBpx1-4YdhEzMIlA_nXW5o6-eEzr-P6Taz2JEL1ofSNjDcPyNdjVCEMHIGsH1/s320/DSCN0172.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">The House on Abaroa Street</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" ><br /></span><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqzYHJVWMRCHfm4gJ8g8sHLegW87kKGJduiVEekvUNikz43FsqqlbjurNhphcM6Hfa-ZeJy2bvSRgcTI_D3OAR-QLSRPPqlmEPrhVaWsJz7kN9hhwyvcPo8DTJsPy73MCP-pD/s320/DSCN0196.JPG" border="0" />Santa Mónica<br /></span></p><br /><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" >Spring, in all its glory, has arrived in Sucre.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This morning, rather than going directly to the Archivo</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" lang="ES-AR"> Nacion</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" lang="ES">ál, I</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" lang="EN-AU"> decided</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" lang="EN-CA"> to</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" > take care of a few errands.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>But first, I wanted to take advantage of the early sun angle to photograph the facade of a colonial courtyard house on Calle Abaroa that I have been looking at for years.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The elaborate portal was decorated in a style which relates to the clearly mestizo facade of Santa Mónica.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Half of the palacio has been demolished allowing a revealing sectional view of the typical adobe construction.<br /></span><br /><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;">While I was clicking away, a charming young woman approached and as she unlocked the carved wooden door, she asked me where I was from.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I was able to get myself invited into the remarkable patio and took the photos included in this post.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>As you can see, it contains a truly remarkable and completely unexpected staircase.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The austerity of the patio itself and the baroque exuberance of the stairs suggest that they were a later addition.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>But they also point out the love of contrast found in most colonial buildings here – direct basic bearing wall construction largely of unadorned walls with a few simple openings combined with rare but with richly sculpted entrance portals.</span></div><br /><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" >On my way to the Brazilian Consulate (to enquire about visa requirements – I will be returning via Rio), I joined the Dino gym (Sucre is noted for its dinosaur tracks recently discovered at the outskirts of the city.)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It is on the top floor of the MultiCentro Céspedes on the Plaza.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The penthouse gym has a terrace with a panoramic view.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Unfortunately, their aerobic equipment is meager and in bad repair but it appears to be the best-equipped gym in the city.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I should have joined a month ago but, now that my research path is clear and I have completed a body of work, its time to work on my own body.</span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Fortunately, he Brazilian consul was not in.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I will have to return this afternoon.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>There I was, only a few blocks from the Colonial neighborhood, Los Tres Molles.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>(A molle is a native tree with clusters of small red berries.)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It occurred to me to photograph the remaining examples of colonial architecture in the area.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I had just read a document from 1740 certifying the purchase of a lot and house by Nicolás de Herrera, a silversmith (platero) I have been studying.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It occurred to me to see if the name “Tres Molles” meant anything to current inhabitants.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>A shoemaker directed me to a corner store and its elderly (can I use this term) owner.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>He was quite familiar with the term and described the neighborhoods boundaries.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>When I told him about Nicolás de Herrera, he said that Calle Destacamento 111 was once known as Calle Herrera.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Also, a Doctor Herrera had offices near the corner on property possibly part of the original purchase.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I will be speaking with him this afternoon.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Aha!!!<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I now have a whole new avenue of historic research and a brilliant excuse to change focus and escape from the Library from time to time.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span><br /></p><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQA6s-zg2lDPxLySUXnEJeb6A5kFcH-MQ47lY7whstQXQxtT-R760TRjhcbXuw1mi7_QYier8nILm1jcdekrFIi7G1nryeBH4lzDYjlv-xov7TYCVwm1jNEgUw5fUn4a9Boeu/s320/DSCN0216.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRYtzxpsyWOB_Fv_nQEGaEAc0Th2AAzEAKT0aiF6Srtj9jWcKHczFsw1FURxrepILuGr4Ykp-9hNgjoMN2ySj7cyZfepLVRWFB9EghK9XIv9tTsqfi7Z3Oq_qZ07ruL2XvNyW/s320/DSCN0218.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">Barrio de los Tres Molles</span><br /></div><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><br /><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#000000; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-12294195045908618822008-10-08T15:15:00.000-07:002008-10-08T15:19:50.617-07:00<span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">The Prado Today</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It´s an unexpectedly chilly morning in Cochabamba. I´m sitting in Dumbo´s, a clean and pleasant gringofied restaurant on the Prado, not far from the spot, now long gone, where David Erbe and I took pension in the ´60s as Peace Corps volunteers. </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />In those days, the Prado and Sundays were synonymous. Bolivians would sit at tables along the sidewalk eating salteñas (spicy meat pies), drinking the local beer (Taquiña) from liter bottles and playing “Generala” (poker dice) for beers. All this, while admiring Cochabamba´s golden youth as they promenaded (chaperoned by their parents) up and down the park-like neutral ground (New Orleans for median strip.) <br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">The promenaders would disappear into the church in the Plaza Colón for Mass before repeating the ritual afterward. Meanwhile, the observers made plans for afternoon excursions – bike rides into the countryside or poolside relaxation at the Cortijo, a country-club like spa, now a luxurious private residence.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />It could be the weather, more likely cultural changes, but the Sunday morning promenade is a thing of the past. Many of the Prado´s small apartment buildings and fancy houses have been replaced by high-rise hotels and office towers. Ground level restaurants have moved indoors and the Prado has become something else entirely.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />In the ‘60’s, Cochabamba was a rather slow-moving city of 100,000 with very few private automobiles. We, along with our students and many Cochabambinos, traveled by bicycle. Today, the same streets are choked with traffic and the metropolitan area has upwards of 800,000. Sucre has its own problems of rapid urbanization but its scale and temperament remind me more of my Cochabamba.</span><br /><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#000000; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-58079529900254049852008-09-21T18:28:00.000-07:002008-10-16T11:29:17.360-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0yu97S1bvnjMSbRaHvSsbTBozuhvpgzHFRNsrBdSV_kLUIxnsxVSYOShwcSscNlnGjkNvGuOd3kINZLr6-cD-YnVYlokqbvoYhj1OFTyKIsOBHZ0GdXtajESuLEwJEZV9aT_/s1600-h/DSCN0001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0yu97S1bvnjMSbRaHvSsbTBozuhvpgzHFRNsrBdSV_kLUIxnsxVSYOShwcSscNlnGjkNvGuOd3kINZLr6-cD-YnVYlokqbvoYhj1OFTyKIsOBHZ0GdXtajESuLEwJEZV9aT_/s320/DSCN0001.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_hn1p64roYG6Fmxf6ENxXtflMtCpKAi8iu3g1G8yoj5RWMO4EL-tY93ap5g6PfCRB2DBabYwujP8MbMjZY_dgEzea81d4470CILEbWNC0Cvgmqlo_NVEkKkwuKzuQzcdvvt9/s1600-h/DSCN0041.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_hn1p64roYG6Fmxf6ENxXtflMtCpKAi8iu3g1G8yoj5RWMO4EL-tY93ap5g6PfCRB2DBabYwujP8MbMjZY_dgEzea81d4470CILEbWNC0Cvgmqlo_NVEkKkwuKzuQzcdvvt9/s320/DSCN0041.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkAtM9vlFuLFBT4pZ9PYx0midwybphN8yBYLBd7D56Ed3d82f0Fvrz-FhcD5WuP3pR5fNLsdxPVBMrFztg06B_PfjkYsqVTC3gT0GBqAOUbql0kXY1uJpaCzlCveeOWhDBLBE/s1600-h/DSCN9947.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkAtM9vlFuLFBT4pZ9PYx0midwybphN8yBYLBd7D56Ed3d82f0Fvrz-FhcD5WuP3pR5fNLsdxPVBMrFztg06B_PfjkYsqVTC3gT0GBqAOUbql0kXY1uJpaCzlCveeOWhDBLBE/s320/DSCN9947.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFGldwJl6hv0MTfEp93EsDsaC8Ka-qaW4OZ2D4Q_aXvVPNJQfi39bfuudMzp5BcxjA4nFI2IvnCgaDvji_EOO77eqVr6__hGEjJ3X7czCy7Q9cjDCHEhbEcUmhFJMg5_XeAx5b/s1600-h/DSCN9921.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFGldwJl6hv0MTfEp93EsDsaC8Ka-qaW4OZ2D4Q_aXvVPNJQfi39bfuudMzp5BcxjA4nFI2IvnCgaDvji_EOO77eqVr6__hGEjJ3X7czCy7Q9cjDCHEhbEcUmhFJMg5_XeAx5b/s320/DSCN9921.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:60%;" >La Ciudad Blanca</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I first came to Sucre in 1965, when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer. The city had a population of some 40,000 and barely extended beyond its colonial core. The perspectives framed by one and two story colonial and republican buildings terminated with green hills planted with corn and other crops with blue mountains beyond. Today, the hills closest to Sucre are covered with red brick houses waiting to be stuccoed when more prosperous times arrive.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Five years ago, when I was teaching at the university, I lived near the architecture school, in the first ring of expansion. My private Quechua lessons were on the other side of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Mercado Campesino</span>, part of the next ring of growth toward the north. Sucre expanded in all directions, accommodating both rural-urban migration and the shift in population since the closing of the tin mines, in the 1980s. Streets no longer follow the original grid of the colonial settlement. Houses no longer provide a continuous wall defining the public space of the street from the private domain yet the tendency to assert ownership and control is expressed by high gated walls. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Despite the expansion of urban terrain and population, Sucre remains tightly organized around the same plaza that was laid out during the ceremonial foundation of the city in 1538. Politicians and petitioners congregate in front of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Alcaldia</span> (City Hall) and <span style="font-style: italic;">Prefectura</span> (Departmental Government.) In the mornings, senior citizens - perhaps former government officials sit on sunny benches reading the daily papers. Meanwhile, small armies of school children in uniform troop across the square on their way to <span style="font-style: italic;">colegios</span>. Most of the private and religious schools are scattered around the Plaza in buildings that were once monasteries and convents or large private homes. Their large central patios work well for their new activities. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">After school, teenagers congregate on one side of the Plaza flirting just like they did when I was growing up in Forest Hills and the way suburban kids do in malls all across the States. I was talking to the parents of a friend of mine from Sucre, now living in California. In their day, they were only allowed to meet for an hour on Wednesday evenings and again on Sunday. When I visited Sucre in the mid-sixties, colonial courtship traditions were still operative. From the more liberal perspective of Cochabamba's youth, the Sucre's Sunday promenade (young women strolling around the Plaza in a clockwise direction - or was it counterclockwise - and young men in the opposite direction, gradually pairing up under protective and watchful parental gaze in the same kind of flirtatious behavior) seemed ridiculously out-moded. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">During the noon-hour, the Plaza often provides the setting for blood drives and public heath exhibits, national unity pagents, and mobile phone promotions. It is the terminus of protest marches, accompained by firecrackers, with dramatic public oratory (further fireworks) directed from the bandstand. Religious processions like last week´s <span style="font-style: italic;">Entrada de la Virgen de Guadalupe</span> also enter and circle the Plaza ending with prayer at the Cathedral's entrance. In the evening, clowns and magicians, along with salesmen of miracle cures, take over, using the monument to Mariscal Sucre as a backdrop. I haven´t been in the Plaza late in the evening but I am told that university students, as they did in Cochabamba so many years ago, pace back and forth under the lamp-posts studying for exams. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In addition to being the first day of spring, the 21st of September is also <span style="font-style: italic;">El Dia del Estudiante</span>. Since Friday, there have been parties in the various <span style="font-style: italic;">Facultades</span> of the University. On Friday, I spent some time in the <span style="font-style: italic;">Museo Colonial</span> and the excited shouts of elementary school children from the adjoining <span style="font-style: italic;">escuela primaria</span> and the decorated hats of schoolchildren crossing the Plaza at lunch were indications of the extent of these celebrations. Sucre is enlivened, as it has been since colonial times, by its role as an educational center. The University, the second oldest in South America, brought together students from beyond the <span style="font-style: italic;">Audiencia de Charcas</span> (Sucre was the major political and religious center in the Southern Andes.) It is still a major center of higher education and students come from all over Bolivia to study at the <span style="font-style: italic;">Universidad Mayor y Pontificia de San Francisco Xavier de Chuquisaca</span> and several private universities. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I am interested in the schematic nature of the colonial city, the way a conceptual framework gets populated by particular human beings and evolves through time. In Sucre, the urban plan called for by the <span style="font-style: italic;">Consejo de Indias</span>, the branch of the Spanish Government that administered the colonies, was laid out on gently undulating topography suggesting, as you move away from the Plaza (which itself slopes), patterns of drainage and possible neighborhood divisions. Sucre, like Rome is surrounded by seven hills, several of these were associated with neighborhoods during the colonial period and may have accommodated different social groups, including artists and artisans. One of my research interests is the geographical distribution of classes and disciplines. My examination of the notarial archives has given me some very preliminary suggestions of this neighborhood structure.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Today, most of the buildings in the colonial core have been rebuilt or substantially renovated. Perhaps some of the original adobe walls are still present under subsequent decorative applications. The original settlers were given large lots, sometimes an entire block, and over many generations, large houses were divided among multiple heirs and had portions sold off during times of economic hardship. It is difficult to reconstruct these larger properties today. My friend Bill Loftstrom and a Bolivian architect are trying to locate and mentally reconstruct the <span style="font-style: italic;">Palacio de la Audiencia</span> from the remaining fragments. At the fringes of the colonial core, a number of one and two story houses, built of adobe, with infrequent and unadorned openings and tiled roofs, strongly suggest the character of early colonial construction. These undecorated adobe bearing walls, wooden lintels and sloping tile roofs, are common throughout Bolivia and much of Latin America. These simple constructions were in their own way, just as abstract and schematic as the gridded colonial city. In Sucre´s colonial core, with very few exceptions, buildings are regularly whitewashed, enhancing this abstract, almost dream-like quality, especially when seen against an intensely blue cloudless sky.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style><br /><br /><br /><br /><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style></div></div><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style><style id="jajah">span.jajahWrapper { font-size:1em; color:#B11196; text-decoration:underline; } a.jajahLink { color:#000000; text-decoration:none; } span.jajahInLink:hover { background-color:#B11196; }</style>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-40096891996587988812008-09-09T16:43:00.000-07:002008-09-10T17:56:14.630-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkV2Ntf8fhQGP_7IqIIvbUoNDiUS2mWUsCRj_d5Eu1110RppPn0C4vczpLYlxlhFyEE0rLbMZBctWQi_4rqdq8Dtc03laVpnHR30BYRAv4k8Qg2AauKKujf07AS4ZtTaAigGG2/s1600-h/DSCN9945.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkV2Ntf8fhQGP_7IqIIvbUoNDiUS2mWUsCRj_d5Eu1110RppPn0C4vczpLYlxlhFyEE0rLbMZBctWQi_4rqdq8Dtc03laVpnHR30BYRAv4k8Qg2AauKKujf07AS4ZtTaAigGG2/s320/DSCN9945.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244262658654000210" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-VbmTKwofjzjon06jYbG3fNvdSOzHyTw9j4VOioX9vZ5P8i5qsyfpApR7804wevAMuR05k9rGsnJf3nrEnYQq_jZHoq1qkRbcAgUaXaCLFkTj-1_EqnjNXQ_n3vTl7taZCT_/s1600-h/DSCN9960.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-VbmTKwofjzjon06jYbG3fNvdSOzHyTw9j4VOioX9vZ5P8i5qsyfpApR7804wevAMuR05k9rGsnJf3nrEnYQq_jZHoq1qkRbcAgUaXaCLFkTj-1_EqnjNXQ_n3vTl7taZCT_/s320/DSCN9960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244262665139582178" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga17XI_rE-SLKT6cr5QUQYH1g6IfQcVtXQGJhuGRFrqJs7I8AW5xc1ZtPotve1ffJ3y2sr3CX3lBLKysUxj3PW-zYAihJmlf-24VFWEOghqBaIve8PxpaQexuz9s6TL07QifBW/s1600-h/DSCN9942.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga17XI_rE-SLKT6cr5QUQYH1g6IfQcVtXQGJhuGRFrqJs7I8AW5xc1ZtPotve1ffJ3y2sr3CX3lBLKysUxj3PW-zYAihJmlf-24VFWEOghqBaIve8PxpaQexuz9s6TL07QifBW/s320/DSCN9942.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244262661464637362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwaDaEnDILZijh_DI5igqaxGjW6xBCHuJ9eCVEFfpHPr94QWV1w73mJnsXV5XdjkT_757lAnj5VNPqvqt4oLLq_dha1cr-g-8-jXQ17586OqanTQzA_03onk0mYy1LSPljD3Oy/s1600-h/DSCN9983.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwaDaEnDILZijh_DI5igqaxGjW6xBCHuJ9eCVEFfpHPr94QWV1w73mJnsXV5XdjkT_757lAnj5VNPqvqt4oLLq_dha1cr-g-8-jXQ17586OqanTQzA_03onk0mYy1LSPljD3Oy/s320/DSCN9983.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244262664121233122" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdptYXGalyCJXUFOl90rjcvGbeeMkXOhQZaZmuHfEbSCoKdS5JNNchB-tXpD17YGsn-KrqUKkaYl24PRDWUO9rDgNTvj_VRFKxKexr8hasVONGjyTkfvctS_Bp8_Oh-ErPhb_1/s1600-h/DSCN9989.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdptYXGalyCJXUFOl90rjcvGbeeMkXOhQZaZmuHfEbSCoKdS5JNNchB-tXpD17YGsn-KrqUKkaYl24PRDWUO9rDgNTvj_VRFKxKexr8hasVONGjyTkfvctS_Bp8_Oh-ErPhb_1/s320/DSCN9989.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244262667389918386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYatsjqNBhHTF1dUmtYXoSBPlyUUs3Xo2Agbs1cS-oPHdOEg5WV8FK7BwrdzHttafi1-Jcc___AfQh_p29Bn7y8N3c0OofSsNlzKeeWlMf-yrC2pi_t1GXpCOAH6v8iEJnturz/s1600-h/DSCN0002-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYatsjqNBhHTF1dUmtYXoSBPlyUUs3Xo2Agbs1cS-oPHdOEg5WV8FK7BwrdzHttafi1-Jcc___AfQh_p29Bn7y8N3c0OofSsNlzKeeWlMf-yrC2pi_t1GXpCOAH6v8iEJnturz/s320/DSCN0002-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244172257519961234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />Sucre Beginnings</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My first 10 days in Sucre have been very productive on a number of fronts. After a week in the lively Hostal </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Cruz de Popayán, with its world travelers living out of impressive backpacks, I moved into an upscale version – </span><span style="font-family:arial;">small, with few guests and no backpackers. My companions, so far, consist of three French-Canadian volunteers </span><span style="font-family:arial;">(causing me complicated linguistic problems) and a Taiwanese acupuncturist (we had our first conversation this </span><span style="font-family:arial;">morning and he doesn’t necessarily use needles – more on this theme later.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My Bolivian friends have been most attentive. I’ve been to a birthday party, had family lunches and have gone </span><span style="font-family:arial;">out in the evenings with former students. One of my friends from Peace Corps days, Bill Loftstrom, is a noted </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Latin American historian and has retired to Sucre with his Bolivian wife. Last Friday, he presented a paper </span><span style="font-family:arial;">before the local historical and geographical society on a group of paintings popular in the 19th century that </span><span style="font-family:arial;">abound here. I paid a visit to the Architecture School, where I taught 5 years ago and where I have many </span><span style="font-family:arial;">friends – outings to the Uyuni salt flats and to the tropical reserve at Torotoro are in the works.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Meanwhile, this is the week building up to Sucre’s most important annual festival, La Fiesta de la Virgen de </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Guadelupe. In recent years, indeed since my Peace Corps days over 40 years ago, these festivals had been </span><span style="font-family:arial;">considerably scaled down since the colonial period. Indeed, the Carnaval de Oruru was just about it, insofar as </span><span style="font-family:arial;">spectacular costumes seen by troups of regional dancers was concerned. In the intervening years, every major </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Bolivian city has revived these elaborate celebrations and Sucre is no exception. So, Sunday evening there was </span><span style="font-family:arial;">a relatively small <span style="font-style: italic;">entrada</span> (the term for these processions of dancing troops.) My friend Darío dances with a </span><span style="font-family:arial;">group of Morenadas and was part of the program. Next weekend, the groups will where there most elaborate </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">outfits. For Sunday, however, costumes were vastly symplefied. Indeed, the male Morenos (ranging in age from 5 </span><span style="font-family:arial;">years old and up) wore some combination of business suits with ponchos or scarves. Different components of the </span><span style="font-family:arial;">larger group dressed identically – even the marching band. Surprisingly, my digital camera was able to capture </span><span style="font-family:arial;">some of the spirit in stills and video clips.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have begun my works in the Archivo Nacionál de Bolivia. It’s only 3 downhill blocks from my digs. I have </span><span style="font-family:arial;">started reviewing a detailed index of every notarial document in the collection from the 18th Century, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">identifying every artist and artisan who was involved in any legal procedure. I have been developing a </span><span style="font-family:arial;">database of these individuals and their associates. I will identify the most interesting of these documents and </span><span style="font-family:arial;">the most cited individuals and look at the documents themselves. I have my reservations of this approach and, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">while I am moving forward, I am looking into complementary investigations. Sitting at a desk in the archives, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">for hours at a time, is really tough on my back and my eyes. Today, I went to a physical therapist, recommended </span><span style="font-family:arial;">by Bill, and was manipulated – giving me some relief. He checked my blood pressure and took the ph-factor of my </span><span style="font-family:arial;">saliva. Apparently, my diet is way off. He recommended the Green Tea from the Chapare region (where the coca </span><span style="font-family:arial;">comes from) and wants me to drink it several times a day to reduce oxidants and help purge me. OK. I’ll give it </span><span style="font-family:arial;">a try. I have another session early Monday morning. So, bottoms up!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Considering that the kind of historic research I am doing requires a long stretch of time sitting and reading, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">I am really fortunate to have such a well organized archive with very supportive personnel. Furthermore, that I </span><span style="font-family:arial;">arrived in Sucre with an already established and quite varied network of friends makes an extended stay here </span><span style="font-family:arial;">really quite comfortable. (Indeed, I sort of worked backwards and developed my dissertation topic to enable me </span><span style="font-family:arial;">to work here.) And then there’s Skype and the Internet - I am hardly disconnected from my base of operations in </span><span style="font-family:arial;">New Orleans and at Tulane. So, please let this be the end of the hurricane season – too much anxiety. We all </span><span style="font-family:arial;">have better things to be concerned about.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Desde Sucre, La Capital Constitucionál de Bolivia.<br /><br /><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-047746670333802155 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/31JB067Sm5c"></a><object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/31JB067Sm5c"> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/31JB067Sm5c" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"></embed> </object><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qu_yhyCxX0E&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qu_yhyCxX0E&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></span>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-37493785549119517812008-03-08T19:59:00.001-08:002008-12-10T03:17:51.669-08:00<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br />Black Arts Festival - 2008<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I live directly across the street from the Saint Joan of Arc School. Every spring they stage the Black Arts Festival as a fund-raiser. There are always great musical acts and plenty of delicious New Orleans treats. This year, two Mardi Gras Indians paid a visit and I couldn't resist hauling out my fancy digital camera and snapping away.<br /><br />Of course there was much else going on at the fair: gospel, blues and rock & roll. Nevertheless, an Indian siting is a rare and special thing, especially on my block so, I'm afraid, I had eyes for little else.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZziBOcdNaDyVswzBI-7L0UN0zg7rdR6JO00ZPbJNTSrBWQlAkku-V3ZHacSMH17Qk3wM0VjHOU7Yx5nEvaf0Lj4bh1pYOWoH6_YL-icHKZdowdWZj8a4-_4jpIf2dKnPf7otv/s1600-h/P.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZziBOcdNaDyVswzBI-7L0UN0zg7rdR6JO00ZPbJNTSrBWQlAkku-V3ZHacSMH17Qk3wM0VjHOU7Yx5nEvaf0Lj4bh1pYOWoH6_YL-icHKZdowdWZj8a4-_4jpIf2dKnPf7otv/s320/P.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLX-9E_A7d6TfrK31Fy5og9Hirmw4Bf528rH9DBH9eTLmp4G4uo9tPNywSJydVj19-RjWqFziuMwiVk0dlRdZnXnuMAKsFbDZo8NnT_oLGfhJMafKZ5WsX0Bk48s-KijD9d0PV/s1600-h/P.JPG"></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br />There were only two Indians in the pack, this time. However, they were accompanied by a retinue of rhythm-makers and second-liners.<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLX-9E_A7d6TfrK31Fy5og9Hirmw4Bf528rH9DBH9eTLmp4G4uo9tPNywSJydVj19-RjWqFziuMwiVk0dlRdZnXnuMAKsFbDZo8NnT_oLGfhJMafKZ5WsX0Bk48s-KijD9d0PV/s1600-h/P.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLX-9E_A7d6TfrK31Fy5og9Hirmw4Bf528rH9DBH9eTLmp4G4uo9tPNywSJydVj19-RjWqFziuMwiVk0dlRdZnXnuMAKsFbDZo8NnT_oLGfhJMafKZ5WsX0Bk48s-KijD9d0PV/s320/P.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNRI513HwX_sip0EIMUfYZt2GuTeUWQ2-1xWqXvyiDkkTABMOmmoC-0iVLn4nR14ZQ9k8kx8fuXGDOm71s2DL-74uq6JjLWe0LlM9Xa2pTo2l9fCT10kXQssXs3ypTt44oB6A/s1600-h/P.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNRI513HwX_sip0EIMUfYZt2GuTeUWQ2-1xWqXvyiDkkTABMOmmoC-0iVLn4nR14ZQ9k8kx8fuXGDOm71s2DL-74uq6JjLWe0LlM9Xa2pTo2l9fCT10kXQssXs3ypTt44oB6A/s320/P.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The bead-work is exquisite. It is said that costumes are worn for only one year. The dancers construct their own. I'll have to find out if the feathers and beads are recycled from one year to the next.</span> <a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNRI513HwX_sip0EIMUfYZt2GuTeUWQ2-1xWqXvyiDkkTABMOmmoC-0iVLn4nR14ZQ9k8kx8fuXGDOm71s2DL-74uq6JjLWe0LlM9Xa2pTo2l9fCT10kXQssXs3ypTt44oB6A/s1600-h/P.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwYzB3v1bryySBy3d1Z1RyvMk2hWf8h02N6ivGisd6sWWxV6LABuVaMlOZ2pD9XNsUbz6NnQsBV3lI' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxYIDAzqOwMLQQQ1qGsd6opaEV67lrx2rNdabWfCzuYgQT_XdFbrY54OKtWp3bWUN-uzJV-hKFhA74' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-74937152271964250762008-02-10T10:02:00.000-08:002008-02-10T10:04:55.430-08:00<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Return of the Mourning Doves</span><br /><br />The Mourning Doves have returned to Freret Street. Rocco growls when he sees them in the rafters of my porch. Gris-Gris has learned to growl from his maestro but has a much smaller voice - disproportionately small.<br /><br />At this point the doves are deciding if they want to nest here again this year. I hope they do. There is the pleasure of renewal in watching their industry and the emergence of the next generation. I will have to investigate but I do think these are the same parents who have come back year after year. I hope their kids have fond memories, as well, of the protective eaves of my roof.<br /><br />Spring is returning to New Orleans. The leaves are beginning to emerge on my big American Elm. It seems that they fell only a few weeks ago and, indeed, this particular winter hardly seemed to get its feet on the ground. I was planning to visit a yarn store and get wool and a crochet needle to repair several of my old Bolivian alpaca sweaters’ unraveled bits but it may almost be time to roll them up in the mothballs for yet another season.<br /><br />This afternoon, I will take a bike ride to Audubon Park. There is a small island in the lagoon where migrating birds nest on their way north. It may be early, but the activity of the mob of white herons and their friends is our own version of those National Geographic Channel documentaries. Meanwhile, I will get myself ready for early morning mournful (I couldn’t resist) coos from my straw-gathering friends.<br /><br /></span>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-11359809904537481662007-12-11T12:42:00.001-08:002008-12-10T03:17:53.759-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiiPMGpAyVTG6B-7zopbr2OiQtpfFMKsUDdr_RSS6yqXforQkf_cwVN4qlJniJDCNbx3jirNWlkJTX5Ng_C3cFG-kGXPvbXFNkzTv25EuRHmaiITysrOhPs7i53y-G4DMMF5t/s1600-h/P1000392.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiiPMGpAyVTG6B-7zopbr2OiQtpfFMKsUDdr_RSS6yqXforQkf_cwVN4qlJniJDCNbx3jirNWlkJTX5Ng_C3cFG-kGXPvbXFNkzTv25EuRHmaiITysrOhPs7i53y-G4DMMF5t/s320/P1000392.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142821368170805106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1PlonCszHZrgY8N5v-ihpwaWH7WbAGcbVpXErr-zzzaOT-ybBVnnIMvHlwKE8hfkxI486yNaAP9wUcQq6DxTv6cW3-dIBnz07-5HMYNQ7AneoFKk-DxX02GnMLKplSFdB5hZ/s1600-h/P1000394.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1PlonCszHZrgY8N5v-ihpwaWH7WbAGcbVpXErr-zzzaOT-ybBVnnIMvHlwKE8hfkxI486yNaAP9wUcQq6DxTv6cW3-dIBnz07-5HMYNQ7AneoFKk-DxX02GnMLKplSFdB5hZ/s320/P1000394.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142821183487211362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBARFg1vAiX_-WxHYNwW0dTT1fMD10YHOew7qHb2yPkR2WtCyKMlCoFc1LywB01wWAzSx7Q_nVLU1Wu5L5n1_7zT30cc3rJ5PT24V3n2e0K4G__XQIc5Ti6z4QGipPl7bxNe6y/s1600-h/P1000396.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBARFg1vAiX_-WxHYNwW0dTT1fMD10YHOew7qHb2yPkR2WtCyKMlCoFc1LywB01wWAzSx7Q_nVLU1Wu5L5n1_7zT30cc3rJ5PT24V3n2e0K4G__XQIc5Ti6z4QGipPl7bxNe6y/s320/P1000396.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142821011688519506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqeJjOpXCQc_PoeHX8McjulndTH6cBjXkcoHHRxJATrJZiemoyoqg-RW4SsJxzG-qe1DKt3Ls2IjUM3u3QBoIlbvRYKmdCHCjP54WRcMXaTiKlVY8Yj1lb_GfPB1jxfrUge92/s1600-h/P1000397.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4eCJFLrCLrrA_9QEwpFbMy-PAJRYpGn2REVbVBFZ6r_JZr4p5gKipkj5bwh80W42Eumm9No3lAiRoWR-DUV9UwCqptFhKNxY7rQoeh_pL8RzehUaouZPH5Dk5RoqRocMT08G/s320/P1000420.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142820414688065314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZIISaclKgFDWAlqr3YwqoWb6Qm2LRms2jPrbncM3xGdL1-bQyL-ngKJpZgaN7RK_SIQs-u0UZazz5WQhCQ-hR2VyFLm5PLGZ81qCg4PB8Pzq7rC_x5h3oO-6Zy8-ag5yZtHC/s1600-h/P1000464.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZIISaclKgFDWAlqr3YwqoWb6Qm2LRms2jPrbncM3xGdL1-bQyL-ngKJpZgaN7RK_SIQs-u0UZazz5WQhCQ-hR2VyFLm5PLGZ81qCg4PB8Pzq7rC_x5h3oO-6Zy8-ag5yZtHC/s320/P1000464.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142820161284994834" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7GOzInqnFXUCFg7jZA5sQgOZEluFGSjuK3mQHVtGTH3l5EhqLCuGgu8ZtRQ7bL6x-mLi3tWgEHSKwg6beU6dU2L0H0PUnRC3nWiwm_knSJpwqW9bpGEvtzXcssPeMpsNE-qO/s1600-h/P1000478.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCwof6T42dZLuTQbxkIkrL_mksLBeJvKo4_MeBBVTWCdhULYptxjupP1PR6qCLQf0fAyWaxsLmfD7IHhcZ0rypGYXN_whttxaurxBJz2uRdvUieHQK0bC2PUoLleo1cUCX-4u/s320/P1000526.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142819572874475234" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Cktjjj6zUdxYIhFk3W7bq9m8mUtN8ZqYpN1F2PJNNItkUh-mtu4hs3ZEPQsgRNq4WEbOqgpClJgPNaJ4LWAewOI1AsLhxNh9YIQCsKRkq0BHshFFlNciyuHXuA5zROBnQXoZ/s1600-h/P1000542.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Cktjjj6zUdxYIhFk3W7bq9m8mUtN8ZqYpN1F2PJNNItkUh-mtu4hs3ZEPQsgRNq4WEbOqgpClJgPNaJ4LWAewOI1AsLhxNh9YIQCsKRkq0BHshFFlNciyuHXuA5zROBnQXoZ/s320/P1000542.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142819413960685266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FmtNNmwOSgFSHT_bHkelUF6orhDCZg6PpDAyStY-SBq8hWO82L8qcv6hNaLktlmgfqJUhFocDV94quxALqp0_j_Kq18LZwF4YHljDWIYB1JNphYjPIffT_yMAo4wt064wWEM/s1600-h/P1000549.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FmtNNmwOSgFSHT_bHkelUF6orhDCZg6PpDAyStY-SBq8hWO82L8qcv6hNaLktlmgfqJUhFocDV94quxALqp0_j_Kq18LZwF4YHljDWIYB1JNphYjPIffT_yMAo4wt064wWEM/s320/P1000549.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142819203507287746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thanksgiving photosEstebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-58075054665725029212007-12-08T11:50:00.000-08:002007-12-08T12:35:43.965-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">Thanksgiving Video</span><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='397' height='330' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwwQlh2VsPFvZnUrm7gfnKSRaURWKYpqnPZlWVPKjyEFrTE6pMjds86zt7Q2BQv3nJSHMelJv020ok' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It's actually pretty dramatic. Will Zach remove letters faster than they're put up? Will the notice board spell anything intelligible? Will Melissa and Robin give up? <br /><br />Tune in and find out.</span>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-27564169034053288822007-08-29T12:30:00.000-07:002008-12-10T03:17:54.041-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtAGu6ZJwIhncyVV5jzTTVSjgF48Ykjc8jBA018Oxz1PSQ7b9x6ox6ffN-5rT6LbxycMuG2D0vMOYrdIGU9iUfxqnApgahAxcJFInJnK3hDLOgmWIZI78UnmDnJW0N3tn1iyK/s1600-h/P.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtAGu6ZJwIhncyVV5jzTTVSjgF48Ykjc8jBA018Oxz1PSQ7b9x6ox6ffN-5rT6LbxycMuG2D0vMOYrdIGU9iUfxqnApgahAxcJFInJnK3hDLOgmWIZI78UnmDnJW0N3tn1iyK/s320/P.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family:Arial;">In praise of Gris-Gris<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">While we might have observed Gris-Gris’ birthday a month ago with all appropriate fanfare and enthusiasm, the second anniversary of Katrina is also the second anniversary of Gris-Gris’ membership in our family and is cause for celebration and reflection.<span style=""> </span>These have been two years of change and adventure and the youngster has participated as a trouper through displacement and recovery.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Gris-Gris’ first days with us were spent in a cat-carrier.<span style=""> </span>Originally, when I brought him back from the LA/SPCA Shelter, I wanted to introduce him into our household slowly.<span style=""> </span>Since my house is one continuous space, there wasn’t a separate room I could keep him in and, anyhow, I wanted the older boys, Felix and Rocco, to become familiar with his sweet scent.<span style=""> </span>And then Gris-Gris and I evacuated leaving his newly adopted brothers to manage for what we thought would be three days.<span style=""> </span>It was only after our three months exile in Austin (reunited with the older cats) that the youngster had the run of my house in New Orleans.<span style=""> </span>Did I say run?<span style=""> </span>Well, Gris-Gris, at 4-months was an agile leaper and discovered nooks, perches and crannies that larger and less agile Rocco and Felix could never consider.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Fully grown Gris-Gris is considerably smaller than his brothers.<span style=""> </span>They weigh approximately 17 pounds whereas Gris-Gris seems relatively small at only 12 pounds.<span style=""> </span>My house is on three levels and there are many parapets (best translated as “for pets”) throughout.<span style=""> </span>As I move through the house, Gris-Gris hops onto these low walls and meets me at the head of stairs poised for a petting.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Apparently, all of my cats are quite unusual in that they love to meet and greet any visitor.<span style=""> </span>Growing up in our Forest Hills apartment, we never had any pets other than Gary’s tropical fish.<span style=""> </span>My first cat, Black Tom, came about as a consequence of discovering a mouse in my apartment </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">when I first came to New Orleans</span><span style="font-family:Arial;"> leading to a bad experience with a successful mouse-trap</span><span style="font-family:Arial;">.<span style=""> </span>I have had cats now for some 36 years.<span style=""> </span>I have become more and more appreciative of each cat's unique personality.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">Rocco lavishes affection and demands the same.<span style=""> </span>Felix loves the attention of being fed by hand, comes when he’s called and loves an occasional snuggle.<span style=""> </span>Gris-Gris is a gentleman, very courtly and with dignified.<span style=""> </span>His solid warm-grey coat makes him virtually invisible at night but, in the day, emphasizes his sculptural form – very much the Egyptian. His long ears, pointed chin and luminous light brown eyes suggest that he is from another branch of the cat family than the chunkier two-toned Felix and Rocco.<span style=""> </span>When you pass your hand in the vicinity of his head, he stretches up to be petted.<span style=""> </span>Gris-Gris, you are an essential part of this family and we, the older members, hold you in highest esteem.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8w0iLUP-xBmLeBlSvivxvHnJWseyOLkYxG3mmiICKiErgx2lFMo42EsxsqV-jzBiiqxGspuVYarY_ZdQvJSyhlZajlso7Va0u6RpQtUHwdgdF3d81ljZwSLoFLpCGE1Neqjbj/s1600-h/DSCN1237.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8w0iLUP-xBmLeBlSvivxvHnJWseyOLkYxG3mmiICKiErgx2lFMo42EsxsqV-jzBiiqxGspuVYarY_ZdQvJSyhlZajlso7Va0u6RpQtUHwdgdF3d81ljZwSLoFLpCGE1Neqjbj/s320/DSCN1237.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-49736077485138701552007-08-28T12:38:00.000-07:002007-08-29T07:18:05.352-07:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Katrina – Two years later</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p>This morning, I went down to the Orleans Parrish Criminal District Court to see one of my friends, a law school student, perform as an assistant DA.<span style=""> </span>On the way down, I drove under the magnificent live oaks of Carrollton Avenue, at my end an area unaffected by post-Katrina floods.<span style=""> </span>I turned onto Fontainebleau Drive, the first 10 blocks or so fully recovered from serious flood damage.<span style=""> </span>Healthy trees, mown lawns and summer flowers suggested that the struggle to recover was, at least physically, over.<span style=""> </span>Further down Fontainebleau, closer to where I used to live, restoration projects were still underway and Katrina’s damage had not yet been erased.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;">The trial I was hoping to attend was postponed.<span style=""> </span>One of the police officers was engaged to escort President and Mrs. Bush as they toured New Orleans, two years after.<span style=""> </span>I returned to my cozy house in my cozy neighborhood and prepared to begin the new semester at Tulane.<span style=""> </span>While the University’s recovery was costly in faculty departures and building repairs, a casual tour of the campus suggests that Katrina’s floods had never occurred.<span style=""> </span>(Please notice my emphasis on the flooding which was the principle cause of damage to New Orleans.)<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> On Sunday, I had dinner with my friend Janie.<span style=""> </span>We reminisced about our experience as Katrina evacuees.<span style=""> </span>We left New Orleans early Sunday morning, a day ahead of Katrina’s landfall.<span style=""> </span>We drove west on the I-10, taking the usual outbound lanes.<span style=""> </span>The inbound lanes were directed toward Baton Rouge whereas we headed north on I-50 intending to eventually head west ourselves but further from the coast.<span style=""> </span>Happily, there was not too much traffic and as we approached the Mississippi border we were able to move at a fast clip (this seemed very important at the time.)<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Just outside of Vicksburg, I got a call from my dear brother Gary and a half-hour later, he had made arrangements for us to stay at the Gold Strike Hotel in Tunica, Mississippi.<span style=""> </span>(Did I mention that we were traveling in Janie’s Mazda with her dog Dolomite and cats Ishi and Muffaleta?<span style=""> </span>I had left behind my big cats Felix and Rocco and was traveling with 4-week-old Gris-Gris who I had adopted the Friday before our evacuation.)<span style=""> </span>All of us, and I mean every evacuee, was only expecting to be away from home for a few days and I felt confident that my big boys could take care of themselves.<span style=""> </span>It’s interesting that those hours and days are so vividly engraved in our minds.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> On Monday morning, images on the two large-screen hotel televisions showed the immediate damage to New Orleans caused by rain and wind – nothing that the city had not experienced many times before and not particularly serious.<span style=""> </span>There were images of thousands of New Orleanians who had not been able to evacuate huddled in a<span style=""> </span>Superdome who’s roof had two major holes.<span style=""> </span>And then we learned that levees had been and breached and that water from Lake Ponchartrain was filling low-lying areas – indeed, most of the city.<span style=""> </span>We stayed at the Casino for almost a week (along with many other evacuees.)<span style=""> </span>We then moved to a motel in a nearby town.<span style=""> </span>Janie and I were talking about how kind people were – organizations offering meals, Internet access, etc.<span style=""> </span>We were able to see aerial images of the city and check the extent of the flooding.<span style=""> </span>We ourselves were reassured but many of our fellow hotel guests were not at all so fortunate.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Gradually, we started to think of what we would do next.<span style=""> </span>How could we get back to New Orleans, rescue our cats (poor Janie had been cat-sitting for friends prior to Katrina) and see to our properties.<span style=""> </span>We contacted pet rescue services.<span style=""> </span>I don’t know how I heard, but I received a message from Eliot Barron, the son of a Tulane colleague and my house sitter from earlier that summer.<span style=""> </span>My cats were fine but the back door lock had been bashed open.<span style=""> </span>He left the cats ample food and water and they greeted me when I got back into the city a week later.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Meanwhile, we were attempting to get closer to home – there were no vacancies at closer motels (we were 200 miles away.)<span style=""> </span>We were attempting to rent an apartment or house in Baton Rouge.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, Janie’s friends, Jerrye and Tommy Martin </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">invited us to stay in their home in </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">La Place – just 26 miles from home, .<span style=""> </span>They had not lost power or sanitary services.<span style=""> </span>We were able to sneak into New Orleans, retrieve animals (oh what joy!!!), scrub down our refrigerators and freezers (what a mess!!!) and remove clothes, papers and other essentials.<span style=""> </span>By then, it was apparent that we would be gone for some time.<span style=""> </span>I recovered my car and Janie and I went our separate ways:<span style=""> </span>Janie to Albuquerque and me to Austin where I was able to take classes at the UT.<span style=""> </span>(There were many other gracious invitations.)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Unlike so very many others, our properties and live were more or less unaffected by the storm.<span style=""> </span>Without family or employment, my situation was so much simpler.<span style=""> </span>Indeed, my time in Austin was filled with intellectual and physical challenges (the consequence of a ruptured Achilles Tendon and surgery.)<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> But more than anything, the pleasure of new friendships (especialmente Pepe Pierce – a kind and brilliant fellow grad student) and the renewal of others (the extraordinarily generous Clint Bledsoe and his charming family) and my gracious former student Gary Greenblum made my time in Austin so enjoyable, almost obscuring an uncertain future in New Orleans.<span style=""> </span>So, this time around, the world of Stephen Paul Jacobs avoided a major setback while others continue to struggle and suffer.<span style=""> </span>But the melodrama is not over.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-18892617070179165722007-08-15T11:25:00.000-07:002007-08-15T11:28:07.726-07:00<div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Rocco's Refined Tastes</span><br /><br />As I rounded the corner from the kitchen bringing my salad, I was astonished to spot Rocco on the dining table tasting my gazpacho. Rocco has never been know as a gastronome. Indeed, he always seemed to prefer quantity to quality. Felix, on the other hand, has a distinct preference for smoked meat and is very fussy about the cat treats I proffer.<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007"></span></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007">By the way, the Guadalajara Gazpacho from the uptown Whole Foods is really wonderful with its floating bits of avocado and corn niblets - perfectly spiced. This summer, I have become devoted to Whole Foods soups - the tomato basil bisque especially. Maybe it comes from my 7 weeks in Bolivia where wonderful soups are so much a part of every main meal.<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007"></span></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007">These last weeks in New Orleans have been particularly hot. Until the end of July it would rain every afternoon, lowering the temperature and encouraging the lushness of our tropical vegetation. Lately, the sky's a pale blue and the sun is unrelenting. Walking out of the house even after dark is entering a continuous steam bath. I try to run my errands in the morning and even then the heat is oppressive. When I used to do darkroom work, it was necessary to correct for water temperature, so I know that cold tap water, this time of year, is in the 80s.</span></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007"></span></span> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="503560618-15082007">I had a long chat with my neighbor Donald, who was walking his poodle Tiger. He was concerned about the storms in the Gulf and the Atlantic. We agreed that if another hurricane comes this way, its all over for the city. That's an exaggeration but after all the effort that has gone into the recovery, and great progress is being made, a major storm would be devastating. The levee system has not been fully reinforced and any breach would be a repetition of the Katrina flood.</span></span></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-46809681829457732532007-07-28T13:19:00.000-07:002007-07-28T13:20:13.890-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;">Steve visits the Simpsons</span><br /><br /><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,29,0" width="470" height="491"><param name="movie" value="http://www.simpsonsmovie.com/content/walkcycle/town.swf?aid=2582877"><param name="quality" value="high"><embed src="http://www.simpsonsmovie.com/content/walkcycle/town.swf?aid=2582877" quality="high" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="470" height="491"></embed></object><a href="http://www.simpsonsmovie.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.simpsonsmovie.com/content/walkcycle/footer_us.jpg" border="0" /></a>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-79489756365418655992007-07-25T09:12:00.000-07:002008-12-10T03:17:56.191-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1NTzz_DvWm183wVDMCGcf-x0ClCB2A8zZSc01kY2L-n9cjeaphbeGgZmEFHevoFwUxoWqbo0jHumEQPWNWKZbzpUsYZ0_MOXgtHvtnXJXbV6ucjlIzrftDdCo0m6_i-zTnmj/s1600-h/DSCN1734.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1NTzz_DvWm183wVDMCGcf-x0ClCB2A8zZSc01kY2L-n9cjeaphbeGgZmEFHevoFwUxoWqbo0jHumEQPWNWKZbzpUsYZ0_MOXgtHvtnXJXbV6ucjlIzrftDdCo0m6_i-zTnmj/s320/DSCN1734.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">La Despedida at Roberto's house</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7mDqhDBXwzMJSLUTEJ0GdY63Oo082kb-zIqIrexshFiMc5DGVuc2yLkF6IA1PU_xhbcna8SPENfA5ccok3d3tbvf-tnOPoTheyhOPSIvDttQVlpQ8AkRQAH6hNoNX7UGdQIq/s1600-h/DSCN1735.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7mDqhDBXwzMJSLUTEJ0GdY63Oo082kb-zIqIrexshFiMc5DGVuc2yLkF6IA1PU_xhbcna8SPENfA5ccok3d3tbvf-tnOPoTheyhOPSIvDttQVlpQ8AkRQAH6hNoNX7UGdQIq/s320/DSCN1735.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The Strait of Tiquiña - crossing to Copacabana. Note our bus on barge.</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPhN76d3m15BVJ2LJhfJ6RcAZ3xDHLUdQObCIyqsDt4CZgEEifbaej9hAbHnXuoYDn2smNkUXzyZKg6sK4jESEdokg37i2_YbkmXiQ7mHrTEUZo9L9kS5HQlhkxEmFyX42pCa/s1600-h/03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPhN76d3m15BVJ2LJhfJ6RcAZ3xDHLUdQObCIyqsDt4CZgEEifbaej9hAbHnXuoYDn2smNkUXzyZKg6sK4jESEdokg37i2_YbkmXiQ7mHrTEUZo9L9kS5HQlhkxEmFyX42pCa/s320/03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Copacabana Basilica</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-jEMEMC178VnXVU9rPNS3EK3628x0DUbG0teb_mm7nHP2tVbrMTSvOEFcYa333DSS6d2PZ1cRi_hHLfpXoTB7Y656lyNL8Vd95gxRbBTZeqyDxQmoofwvAHw1et6oyOIS8-c/s1600-h/08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-jEMEMC178VnXVU9rPNS3EK3628x0DUbG0teb_mm7nHP2tVbrMTSvOEFcYa333DSS6d2PZ1cRi_hHLfpXoTB7Y656lyNL8Vd95gxRbBTZeqyDxQmoofwvAHw1et6oyOIS8-c/s320/08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Copacabana - Capilla de la Vela</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlhSau1hN87mUeXHQtnxwVD9zL0vyg0FGTiYIIktvfVvUmH3O3nPOSs-_bi_uW9DXt6aej5jd2N-plZFCX7pC9yBCGRp4TQjmMdFY4bVwhbF3xzvkQAtAyx2Kjz3iLnBreVLc/s1600-h/09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlhSau1hN87mUeXHQtnxwVD9zL0vyg0FGTiYIIktvfVvUmH3O3nPOSs-_bi_uW9DXt6aej5jd2N-plZFCX7pC9yBCGRp4TQjmMdFY4bVwhbF3xzvkQAtAyx2Kjz3iLnBreVLc/s320/09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Linda and Kelly with Juan (our guide) on the Isla del Sol</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinY7P9YFIR4qiV4kTKww9eIwCtsTx_2l8nS3EeGP0SvKB_v60WiPY-FIUMkDOooGiNgo2dqKwRpye9FYDwjC1cSKnIjIheDuvfDYhogGIDqZqE4pjtF-otEcC-46SJ6Kg5K0QA/s1600-h/11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinY7P9YFIR4qiV4kTKww9eIwCtsTx_2l8nS3EeGP0SvKB_v60WiPY-FIUMkDOooGiNgo2dqKwRpye9FYDwjC1cSKnIjIheDuvfDYhogGIDqZqE4pjtF-otEcC-46SJ6Kg5K0QA/s320/11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Linda and Steve on Isla del Sol</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMb3_D6Ibk2BktMvJZKz-VBY6Ob8qyetYn66xrq0ZoK2dFiPubZuP8cZm21FowhcQc7E2cXm02v3Bom4dEhdF-chv1KBUmEtaM1YVkkl7BaFn4QqiCE-jt9dLGjMLqNQwoFRg/s1600-h/13.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMb3_D6Ibk2BktMvJZKz-VBY6Ob8qyetYn66xrq0ZoK2dFiPubZuP8cZm21FowhcQc7E2cXm02v3Bom4dEhdF-chv1KBUmEtaM1YVkkl7BaFn4QqiCE-jt9dLGjMLqNQwoFRg/s320/13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Morning on the Isla del Sol</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzkAc3_VxYXV89bjwY9rfVLbAeq0qNwyB5IXv8i-lwT-sEYnjxb1HKTegUpee8XkfTAidU43IpxBic2UoCFeNZLJm0Ng_NBUr6LieW1NG8EYQ2Rg-SB3liZY6A_25QKYS7tigv/s1600-h/16.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzkAc3_VxYXV89bjwY9rfVLbAeq0qNwyB5IXv8i-lwT-sEYnjxb1HKTegUpee8XkfTAidU43IpxBic2UoCFeNZLJm0Ng_NBUr6LieW1NG8EYQ2Rg-SB3liZY6A_25QKYS7tigv/s320/16.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Modern day escribanos in La Paz</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5Qqt6HZjEWA9fWUgaauqOILgoT6Y_I72nctNxWEy7v7l9N0E1QC9e20ocyEdrQegGEgVa4dxE9s6FLXZjrBKSccxfRWIxZc3eWNHLfSa8xuXyN6VsMDHsJXag_zlgNsuYU_5/s1600-h/17.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5Qqt6HZjEWA9fWUgaauqOILgoT6Y_I72nctNxWEy7v7l9N0E1QC9e20ocyEdrQegGEgVa4dxE9s6FLXZjrBKSccxfRWIxZc3eWNHLfSa8xuXyN6VsMDHsJXag_zlgNsuYU_5/s320/17.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">La Paz: San Francisco façade</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHLvBXjAvAP7NOh2CpYalk6JJ76eCY5oo6rVOy17OmnIXIR5ugxf8GxHD7Lm-od7-9FO_FMcDrH9ykgno8gtiKZWIn57IdBa-_bzjGdVnBdeCFIagnb6JcorZtB6CZae5o4HM/s1600-h/18.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHLvBXjAvAP7NOh2CpYalk6JJ76eCY5oo6rVOy17OmnIXIR5ugxf8GxHD7Lm-od7-9FO_FMcDrH9ykgno8gtiKZWIn57IdBa-_bzjGdVnBdeCFIagnb6JcorZtB6CZae5o4HM/s320/18.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">San Francisco interior</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0CBIC8xZv9Okn4qdWqDL3xFkYz-_pziVvMp_OC5x1xqjN8PpOEaydUvDnfCMDRTU6F1QPU5nxRI5_N1moU2Xzy4QyC_5Xy5IKpkIzgMYsRGUz_gWZNbU_kA1x5RATXrDaVdM/s1600-h/20.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0CBIC8xZv9Okn4qdWqDL3xFkYz-_pziVvMp_OC5x1xqjN8PpOEaydUvDnfCMDRTU6F1QPU5nxRI5_N1moU2Xzy4QyC_5Xy5IKpkIzgMYsRGUz_gWZNbU_kA1x5RATXrDaVdM/s320/20.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Patriotic cake</span><br /></div><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=";font-family:Arial;" >Back ho</span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=";font-family:Arial;" >me again</span></b></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />After a cancelled flight, and two nights in American Airlines vouchered hotels, I got back to New Orleans. Will Buckingham was waiting for me at the Louis Armstrong airport and I opened my front door to be greeted by Felix, Rocco and Gris-Gris. In the seven weeks I was gone, with daily tropical rains, vines and trees had grown remarkably. After a dry Bolivian winter, everything here seemed so lush and green.<br /><br />I had interrupted submitting blog entries when Linda and Kelly Wagner arrived. Our two weeks together was so eventful and enjoyable. I will only be able to touch on a few highlights.<br /><br />On Thursday, June 28, I waited for a glimpse of Linda and Kelly passing through customs at the Viru Viru airport in Santa Cruz. They, like I, a month before, had spent the night on the flight from Miami. We stayed at an elegant hotel (the Conciller) only two blocks from the Plaza. Arq. Carlos Barrero, a student from my Peace Corps days, arranged an architecture tour with Lucho Fernandez, one of Bolivia's best architects. His own house, built under the protective umbrella of a roof recovered from a demolished factory, incorporated his wife's studio.<br /><br />We arrived in Sucre the next day and I had the pleasure of introducing Linda and Kelly to my favorite Bolivian city and my friends. For the most part, Sucre is quite compact and most of the museums, churches and other points of interest and within walking distance of the Plaza. We stayed at the Hostal de Su Merced. When took my last sabbatical in Sucre, four years ago, I stayed there for the first month. We immediately headed up to the roof terrace for a panoramic view of the city and its surroundings.<br /><br />On Sunday, Dario and Carmen Julia (and Valeria) took us to Yotala, a small neighboring town and we had a wonderful lunch at La Campana. After a <i style="">sopa de man</i>í - peanut soup - we enjoyed the buffet of grilled meats and vegetables in the setting of a country house. My Peace Corps friend, Bill Lofstrom, had recommended the restaurant and, sure enough, he was there with his daughter and her family visiting from the States.<br /><br />On Monday, we took a taxi to Potosí, two hours away. Sucre is at 9,000 ft. altitude. Potosí, the colonial mining center, is the highest city in the world at 14,000 ft. We retraced the entry route of Viceroy Morcillo, the setting for my art history paper which I was to deliver at the <i style="">Archivo Nacion</i>á<i style="">l</i> the following Friday. We climbed to the top of the roof of the church of San Francisco - which might have been far too much exercise at that altitude. Linda and Kelly had a very bad night and in the morning we decided to cut our Potosí trip short and return directly to Sucre. However, that Tuesday, there was a blockade. For the past few weeks, students and faculty, all over the country, were protesting anticipated moves by the government to expand their control of university government. In Sucre, a major university town, there had been demonstrations almost every day, often met by tear gas. Protests had now escalated to the next step. For considerably more money, we were able to find a driver who was willing to take us on a detour around the blockade - using picturesque (and very rough) back country roads - providing a much more intimate connection to the landscape than we could have anticipated.<br /><br />Back in Sucre, Linda gave her talk to the <i style="">Colegio de Arquitectos</i> (similar to the AIA) on Thursday night (July 5) and I spoke at the <i style="">Archivo Nacion</i>á<i style="">l</i><br /><br />After my lecture, there was a despedida at the house of Arq. Roberto Castellón, the director of the architecture program at the university. I had spent a memorable 6 weeks in Sucre surrounded by so many good friends. I hadn't realized how much my own life was compartmentalized into so many separate places and experiences. This was the first time I had ever brought together dear friends from different times and places. Surprisingly, it really worked and was so affirmative. In so doing, my own life takes on a greater sense of objective reality.<br /><br />And then we went to La Paz. Dario drove us to the airport and our flight was delayed. Indeed, once we left Sucre, none of our other flights, buses or boats left on time (and in one instance, even on its proposed day.) Our hotel, the Naira, was comfortable, inexpensive and handy. We wandered down the Prado and got a good feeling for the intense La Paz's intense activity which really made Sucre seem like a sleepy town. Sidewalks are jammed with crowds moving with purpose and concentration.<br /><br />Early Sunday morning our bus to Copacabana picked us up at the hotel. The three-hour trip was broken up by our arrival at Tiquiňa. In order to get to cross the Strait of Tiquiňa we had to get on a small boat while our bus crossed on a raft. We found our hotel in Copacabana and, after a stroll along the shore of Lake Titicaca, we visited the Basilica. There were many stands in front of the atrium selling decorations for the cars which were being blessed by a priest. The <i style="">ch'alla</i><br /><br />The following morning, the lake was very rough and we didn't depart for the Isla del Sol until mid afternoon. It was a difficult crossing and the waves seemed as large as our little boat. Our guide Juan took us to Pilco Kayma, an Inca site on at the Eastern edge of the island. From there a guide from our hotel led us on a gradual (but, at 13,500 ft., challenging) climb to our hotel, La Estancia, about 4 km. distance. The hotel, a series of thatch-roofed adobe cabins, and a main lodge with dining facilities, was high up on a ridge overlooking the lake. Each room had solar-heated hot water and a trombe wall for heating - a small sky-lit chamber with an operable door to control the heat. Unfortunately, our day was overcast and there was much less heat than one might have wished. (Again, thick blankets were sufficient.) Dinner was excellent - Lake Titicaca trout. We ate at a long table with the only other guests, a family from Prague. After breakfast the next day, we had the much easier down-hill walk to the port of Yumani. We were concerned about making an early bus to La Paz and finally took off for Copacabana, were the bus was delayed anyhow.<br /><br />The highlight of our last day in La Paz was, without question, the National Art Museum. It is located in a wonderful colonial mansion at the corner of the Plaza Murillo. A selection of some of the most beautiful colonial and more recent paintings and sculpture are exhibited in comfortable and well lit spaces. We spent the rest of the day shopping. I bought a number of books at <i style="">Los Amigos de los Libros</i>, Bolivia's best bookstore. I remember its Cochabamba branch from my Peace Corps days as the place that I bought the first two volumes of Le Corbusier's <i style="">Oeuvre Complete</i><br /><br />In the late afternoon, we headed up to the airport at El Alto. After many check-ins and immigration stamps, we were moved into successively deeper lounges where we waited for our departure. At 10:30 pm, it was announced that our flight was canceled and that we would be spending another night in La Paz. We finally flew to Santa Cruz at about 3pm and, after delays there, arrived in Miami at almost 11 that night. I said farewell to Linda and Kelly. We stayed at different hotels and what began as a delightful adventure ended up unceremoniously as we got on separate buses in the Miami airport. A little over a week later, I find the memories are fading faster than I would have expected. Writing this blog is an act of reconstruction whereas just a few days ago my trip was such a vivid and unquestioned reality.<br /><br />the next night. Actually, I was gradually recovering from laryngitis which I contracted in Santa Cruz and croaked my way through my own lecture. Luis Pozo, a student from my sabbatical semester has spent a high school year in Connecticut and was able to translate Linda's lecture. Luis was one of our wonderful hosts in Sucre. He happily escorted Kelly's exploration of Sucre night life. On Thursday, Kelly went on one of the Joyride Café's bike tours. (Luis is one of the guides.) ceremony, which I had seen in Sucre, is probably the most common example of syncretism - combining Catholic rites with elements of Inca religion (the spilling of alcohol as an offering to the Pachamama - Earth Goddess.) That night, there was a tremendous hailstorm followed by an electrical outage. All of the guests in the hotel huddled in the restaurant where we were served by candlelight. There was no electric heat that night and, happily, our thick woolen blankets were more than sufficient. and the place where we would by US magazines. </span><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-85956279361266298802007-07-17T18:54:00.000-07:002007-07-17T19:03:05.855-07:00<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Valeria goes for a lay-up.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_C7ttNFq01A"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_C7ttNFq01A" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"></embed> </object><br /><br /></span>My first weekend in Bolivia coincided with Valeria's second birthday. Two years ago, she was a toasty </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">little </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">loaf of bread in the arms of Dad Dario and Mom Carmen Julia. Two years later, she is a powerful being with her own definite ideas of what should and should not be and how she should comport herself. She is courageous and runs in the direction of action and excitement. It's not at all surprising that she insists on playing basketball, just like her older cousins who train with their grandfather every afternoon.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-19609425660013714692007-06-14T13:34:00.001-07:002008-12-10T03:17:57.434-08:00<strong><span style="font-family:arial;">Primeros Pasos</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></strong><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076021452017740098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNsjV22eJG4JUTDyzlfeDfe6pO7eSotQOcwIz36shSt6ZKYDylsA4zsOWP9rpq-9nyYdlG8MZQMtuUJ3AIYx6Cc-8PY5noOJKcGUO7TwVrB8gpNVclzoPskrf7clwjmRxmZe4/s320/DSCN1394.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"> The "Torre Eiffel" in Sucre's Parque Bolivar </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(a reminder of last summer's activities)</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div></span><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"> </div></span><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3fy1_fhZRr84sP97G0inq3baUQz3aGmkvSkSDvszE5f0gxA2b348vxn-jBJK-wWH8DQeefLTorTrVoA9oPp0LH1X64lLrzr6JBEWgihVIOSNTDIV47Megvdm8CSJl6IuzRVQ/s1600-h/DSCN1521.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076022001773554002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3fy1_fhZRr84sP97G0inq3baUQz3aGmkvSkSDvszE5f0gxA2b348vxn-jBJK-wWH8DQeefLTorTrVoA9oPp0LH1X64lLrzr6JBEWgihVIOSNTDIV47Megvdm8CSJl6IuzRVQ/s320/DSCN1521.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">The facade of the Chapel of the Virgin de Guadeloupe </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">and the Cathedral Tower</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;">.</span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"> </span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076022323896101218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdxLtGIQIxqF-Di_MOQazoqtpUcj1ikpmtF1tzFrcf7SAtIJDO9UoGcXF0me8QhJRZzlKQOXUU_l9nBZZDPTCO58dlOglicjiRmm9xf-2K7Z2s3OOvKFYl3AokC1Y2n31JleC/s320/DSCN1522.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center">. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> C<span style="font-family:arial;">athedral Nave</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;">.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;">.</span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076022740507928946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAolmaERm0HBvlbLGbgxeNcW5HZwKUsio-KpbUO8d77V3IyUUZ-WhYwS4rLfxDhwmnF4qzmCaNtJdlZnyCc4Oyt78OI9vHHS4rgJpmKa_Q2TR_Z0JN_rFySApde_E8Uumamhb/s320/DSCN1536.JPG" border="0" /> </div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">San Felipe Neri - former entrance to Monastery and towers</span><br /></div><div align="center"><br /><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Wednesday, June 13<br /></strong><br />A productive but confusing day. After breakfast at what may be the only wireless equipped café-bar in Bolivia, I entered the Archivo Nacional. Not surprisingly, my registration from 2 years ago could not be found. I had a meeting with the Director, Doctora Marcela Inche, the President of the Associacion de Estudios Bolivianos – I helped organize their first international conference in New Orleans. With the friendly help of a librarian in the reading room, I finally completed my registration, was photographed and became scholar #824. During the days prior to the arrival of Linda and Kelly, I will use the comfortable facilities of the Archivo to prepare for my lecture there on July 5 (translating my Art History Paper on Arzáns and Holguín into Spanish) and an article for Yachaspa, the newsletter of the Bolivia and Peru Peace Corps alumni group. In this case, I am translating a paper I wrote for the Andean Literature course into English.<br /><br />Dtra. Inche showed me a group of painted texts from the 18th century, which she referred to as “pasquines.” These were broadsheets created during much of the colonial period complaining of the actions of the Spanish government. This pasquine was written and painted by an itinerant Argentine shoemaker, barber, blood-letter who had traveled and worked in Córdoba to Potosí and Lima. Apparently, there are other pasquines in the collection, many of them in verse. I was thinking more in terms of earlier chronacles of discovery and settlement, but this is certainly a potentidsally interesting way of understanding the colonial period. <br /><br />The documents in Bolivia’s archive are arranged according to size to use the limited climatically controlled storage space as efficiently as possible. Like other archives, you need to request a document using card-catalogues that are hardly descriptive of a document’s content. Consequently, browsing is impossible. There is a cronological listing and I may find myself requesting every plausible manuscript until I find something that is suggestive. Where are the original Arzáns sheets (over a thousand)? Is there a facsimile edition – the 3-volume set prepared by Hanke and Mendoza presents the text and only a few illustrations. <br /><br />Tuesday night, I returned to the Hostal unusually late. I had taken Darío and Camen Julia out for dinner on my birthday. I entered the dark courtyard and looked up at the stars. At 11 o’clock, Sucre becomes quiet and, with few streetlights and very thin air, the stars and planets glow with an intense light – an extreme contrast from New Orleans’ moisture laden air and general urban glow. The courtyard of this one-story hotel, originally a house built in the 17th century, the patio is filled with direct sunlight during the day and is sufficiently protected from the street to feel like an urban oasis. The residents sun themselves during the day while they write postcards home. The Quebecquois left a few days ago to be replaced by a group from Israel. Otherwise, we are from Australia, Germany and Brazil, but that changes daily.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div><br /></div>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19841160.post-83190936986038233352007-06-12T14:55:00.000-07:002008-12-10T03:17:58.345-08:00<div align="center"></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><strong>Sucre Days (Daze)</strong></span></div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075300722145732850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWvMYniprO9_8m6QQjdRWfVZW4SDy2OB9cieCqKu8Rl_PUQwCmuz0AHMcCuP-MzWk-KKN91KaQNtuMqF4zllwcjCwWfIld4KN2hWTDlMMrk5r92HZ3epcdln_DMMDP8-GmPft/s320/DSCN1505.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Sunday</span> at the Cemetery</span><br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075301624088865026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5gNm42PXneoN3LDjKtHtpdnRuG7duLyjhduhaDNz-sFNat0ubpintQENyOiYOHuYVWawtPz6hjtCvPKWvpkoSEhF6DlRpfJayXXdLYWE37cK98Ty6JN85EfBCg_WZJr9W4hDY/s320/DSCN1514.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Angelito</span> </p><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075302388593043730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="274" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWvwzpt3RVlOBLFWctQdKZQY_kVOgqp4Qv9dTEaXYmff6gvPeZnY2gD5hCqjIyU6xqXpnQTRrE2or5Ro-DObJ2j3XUblk_LMVjD-23H4g6HdDTQekG-fZh6p3F3_3C8TmCMAf/s320/DSCN1516.JPG" width="340" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">La Vendadora de Flores</span><br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075305025702963506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="249" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfk0ItDcZHmq2WO7Ipeod1Qu7DeEJlj-GzrI0uuTfogaXpg1zkLxQg9rXmzboO-EctN2BA5YjovDO_VFbyoF_Wa3TchNOkuB8DmDM5hqliDOMxAV5TsBbg5gtwwq1u_xXWd6t/s320/DSCN1518.JPG" width="335" border="0" /> <div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Annual Car Race viewed (or not viewed) from the Plaza</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Sunday, June 10<br /><br /></strong>Roberto Castellón, the Director of the Carrera de Arquitectura, invited me to lunch. On the way, Roberto wanted to visit his father’s grave. The cemetery is very reminiscent of the one in Montparnaisse, but so much smaller. Like New Orleans cemeteries, walls of tombs form spaces, here containing cypress trees and benches. Rather than faced with marble slabs, in Sucre there’s a narrow shelf for flowers and other mementos and a glass door surrounded by a brass frame. <br /><br />Roberto unlocked the door and his sons helped him wash two small vases and arrange the fresh flowers. Roberto’s father was a veterin of the Guerra del Chaco and was burried close to many of his friends. Nearby, there was a group of childrens’ tombs. Instead of flowers, their shelves contained their toys and, in one instance, a small bottle of Coca Cola. I was reminded of Inca funerary bundle – in particular, the toys accompanying mummified children. Could this be another example of...</span></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong>Monday, June 11</strong><br /><br />I’m sitting in the lobby of the Facultad de Tecnología. I’ve been invited to lunch at the home of my friends Darío and Carmen Júlia and they are at a meeting and I can’t figure out where.<br /><br />Four years ago, during my last sabbatical from Tulane, I volunteered my services to the Carrera de Arquitectura and taught here. My students were in their first and third semesters. The older ones are beginning to graduate. While waiting, I’ve chanced upon several of my former students. We make plans for coffee over the weekend. This is exam period and final project reviews begin next week. I’ve already been invited to participate.<br /></div></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><p align="left"><br /><strong>Tuesday, June 12<br /></strong><br />This morning, I was invited to a meeting at the Carrera de Arquitectura. They are about to break away from Tecnología and form an independent Facultad. The meeting set forth the process through which they will generate a new curriculum. One of my former students is now the Architecture representative to the university student assembly. He spoke so eloquently, politely and assertively making excellent points in defence of the students needs for participation and their own time limitations. Very well done.<br /><br />I was told that I would be interviewed on videotape for a later session. I’m to explain the US “system” of architectural education – a talk I forgettably gave 4 years ago. I feel so removed from the theme. Three years of involving courses in Latin American literature, history and anthropology have redirected my concerns. Yet, architecture was the dream of my childhood and the framework of my work for most of my adult life.<br /><br /><strong>A House for Sucre</strong><br />Uses the sun to generate it’s own<br />Electricity<br />Hot water<br />Warm winter air</p><p align="left">(It´s amazing how little work is done on the use of solar energy </p><p align="left">here - amazing.)</p><p align="left">A study of light and the gradations in the transition from indoors to the </p><p align="left">brilliant outdoor light.</p><p align="left">Snug in winter and permeable in summer<br />Maximize outdoor living<br /></span></p>Estebandidohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13976856155915538301noreply@blogger.com0