Bofedales in Bolivia

After weeks of waiting and uncertainty, we set out on a trip with a group from the University in La Paz to collect data in the bofadeles (peat bogs) of the sierras, north of the city, in the Cordilleria Real. The glacier on Tuni Condoriri is retreating, which is of great concern, particularly as it provides much of the water to the capitol city. The University is conducting several studies on it, and this one is examining the unique bofedal ecosystems. We accompanied 6 students and the project lead, Teresa, as they took measurements of vegetation, tested water pH and chemistry in the pozas (ponds, which they also called 'ojas de agua': eyes of water), collected macroinvertebrates and soil samples, and recorded the influence of the stream on the surrounding landscape.

We arose before 6 am, and climbed into a jeep: 10 of us in total, with all of our bags, food, and science equipment piled up on top. The jeep snaked through the streets of La Paz, and then El Alto, until we were on the carretera (highway), surrounded by altiplano. The mountaints in the distance grew closer, and Heber (one of the students) started pointing them out: Huayna Potosi, Tuni Condoriri, Illampu. Eventually the jeep turned off onto a small dirt road, and we passed by small adobe brick huts, punctuating the open grasses of the vast landscape; we saw occassional campesinos in traditional dress: women with a baby on their backs wrapped in colorful blankets, men on bicycles traversing the long stretch of road.

Eventually we arrived at a building which would be our shelter for the duration of the stay. We were thankful as the weather was colder than we were prepared for, and the clouds were ominous. Before this, we'd been told we would be camping, and we don't have the right equipment or clothing to brave the weather at 4300 meters. The accomodations were basic: two small rooms, no heat, no water, no electricity; simple shelter.

After unloading and organizing, we headed out for the first site. It was not far, but as we approached, it began to snow. In true scientific passion, this did not stop anyone from heading out and collecting data. Patricia lent me some mittens, thankfully, and I protected Monika's camera from the precipitation as best I could. Jameson set up a seco/humedo thermometer reading, and we braved the weather as best we could. When it finally cleared up, we walked up the side of the mountain a ways, searching for plants, finding interesting species in rocks, and came to a beautiful lake. It was magnificent, and the climb got our heart rates up a bit.

Still, we never got warm, and returning to the cabaña, even with all of our clothing on, we were huddled, first in one room all together as we cooked on the portable gas stove. Then, the seven girls retreated to one room, arranging ourselves to take advantage of our collective body heat. The three guys remained in the kitchen, sleeping in three separate corners. Pobrecita Jameson didn't even have a sleeping pad the first night. It was wicked cold and the wind blew outside.

The next day was a relative heaven: the sun was out, the landscape as beautiful as any I knew, and after walking for about 15 minutes Teresa pointed out a few plants and let me loose to collect and photograph. She is working on a field guide and said that many of the plants included they do not have pictures of. It was lovely work, just me and the rocky alpine plants, miniature, but quite diverse, varied, hiding. Jameson found me for lunch, having helped the girls with miscellaneous things throughout the morning.

Throughout the entire time, very little English was spoken, and we communicated in Spanish. It was a rewarding, though at times difficult, experience. It was comfortable to be with a group of students who share our same interests but hail from a completely different culture. When they spoke with each other, we listened and tried to understand as much as possible; this differed depending on context and complication. The Spanish immersion in this manner helps us to improve by leaps and bounds, as the 'travel Spanish' that we do otherwise has actually become relatively simple, and we use too much English when it is only us together. In any case, the group was very accepting and welcoming, and we had a lot of laughs as we braved the sun and the snow and collected data. In many ways it was similar to our field experiences in classes and seasonal jobs in Oly.

The next day Jameson was sick... a very unpleasant experience. He did his best to do his work in the field but we ended up retreating early. A couple of girls did reiki for him back at the cabaña, and they allowed him to sleep next to me, huddled in our room, warmer due to the body heat. Despite this, I found myself with bone-chilling shudders waking me throughout the night, and odd recurring dreams.

On el dia final, we hiked further to an absolutely gorgeous mountain lake, situated at the base of the Condoriri glaciar formation. We were told how the glaciers at one time reached much further down towards the lake. It was warm and everyone soaked in the sun, and they invited us to a dinner back in La Paz. Field work commenced late, and our 2 p.m. arrival time back in the city was pushed back to about 7. Ahh, Bolivian time. I continued with the photography and plant collection, Jameson recorded temperature and took it easy in the sun. We enjoyed our last moments in this fragile, phenomenal, difficult-to-access ecosystem.

In our departure of the desert town of Arica, CH, we set out on an old beat up bus that would take us on a 12hr ride through the high, dry Andes into the verid hills of Bolivia. At first the landscape was desolate with hardly a hint of life in the vast, clear desert terrian. As the old bus creeped up the mountains, you began to see an occasional cactus the resembled a tree with an umbrella like top. Once nearing the top of the mountain, small streems began to flow and soft open beds of meadow opened up with llamas and alpacas feasting. When passing the isolated ponds, one could get a brief glimpse of flamingos in the distance. We soon reached the Bolivian border and antcipated a bit of struggle considering the copious amounts of preparation we had geting all of our documents in line. To our surprise it was a breeze, and within a few short moments we were in and on our way. The countryside turned into rolling hills with the occasional thatched-roof dwelling and fields of potatos and grains. The clouds were piling up and growing darker, letting us know that the rainy season had not fully passed.

We dozed off for a few only to awake to piling congestion of cars and people. We had reached El Alto, the neighboring city of La Paz just to the east. Traffic was at a stand-still, and it seemed to take ages just to go a few meters. Finally we began to move on and almost instantlly, the magnificent city of La Paz opened up beath us. Never have I witnessed such a city with so many contrasts resting within such a dramatic landscape. The city itself resembeles a shattered terracota pot against sharp, jagged Andean hills. When reaching the center, the air was thick with exhaust and people flooded the streets, selling whatever handful of random goods that made up their livlihood. Most of the center is essentailly one big open steeet market, with each block concentrated with like items ( Calle de Cocinar, Camino de Comer, and other randoms like light-bulbs or shoes). All the women dress in a very traditional manner with big, round skirts on the lower, and layered blouses and shaws above. Each wears a small, round top hat that never seems to fall. On their backs, they all carry whaterver precious goods they might have in a colorful cloth resembling a large blanket that is wrapped and tied around their shoulders and back.

The city itself does not offer alot as far as tourist attractions, but is perpetually entertaining with its street vendors. On the second day, all the bus drivers had gone on a two-day strike because they were upset over a new law prohibiting drinking and driving. Este es Bolivia. By the end of the week the buses were running again, and we were able to get to one of our main destinations, the UMSA Herbario and the Jardin Botanico. We talked to the director of the herbario and were able set up future dates for vegetation sampling using a novel method (GLORIA) that asses the impacts of climate change on alpine peaks. Delighted with the prospect, we wrapped up our time in La Paz and headed for the deep tropical jungle.

Un Gran Terremoto!

After a few days of kicking back and partying Chilean-style with a group from Santiago, we prepared to leave Viña del Mar/Valparaiso on Friday, February 26. Unfortunately, all tickets to the north were completely booked up until the next day at 2:30 pm. Until this point, we had been able to pretty much get tickets same day, but this time, we were stuck.

Sebastian made a quick phone call and arranged a place to stay for us in Viña del Mar with his friend Ricardo, who we had met a couple of nights before that. We were thankful to not have to pay another night in a hostel, as things in Chile have been seeming increasingly expensive to our modest budget. We took our things up to the apartment (on the 17th floor), and then went out to explore the town of Valparaiso a bit more, finding some good music, a tasty pisco sour, and returning to the place around 2:30.

We were alone, as Ricardo was working the night shift, and sleeping lightly, to await his knock on the door when he was to arrive home. Instead of a knock, we were woken with the shaking of the tiny twin bed we were sharing. It was so intense that we were afraid we were going to fall off. Out of a dream world, it took a few moments to realize why the bed was shaking (terremoto), and then remember that we were on the 17th floor of a building whose infrastracture I didn´t know whether I could trust or not. It seemed to go on forever and I just wanted the swaying and shaking to stop. We began to hear crashing and shattering of who knows what, both inside the apartment and elsewhere.

When it finally ceased, car alarms, emergency vehicle alarms, and ruidos of all sorts began. I've never heard as many sirens at one time as I did in the succeeding hours of the early morning. In the dark of the night (it was about 3:30) the haunting glimmers of flashlights and the red lights of police and fire tricks flitted through the windows, and we confirmed the power was out. What to do? There we were, stranded, alone, in the apartment, not knowing if it would be better to stay or to go. Jameson assessed the damage with a headlamp: the computer desk had fallen over, toppling over the computer and everything associated with it, a few empty bottles had fallen in the kitchen, but other than that, everything seemed intact.

Then the aftershocks began. This is the third large earthquake I have experienced in my life (also San Francisco 1989 and Seattle 2001), but I have never been so close to the epicenter, nor have I known so many replicas (aftershocks). They shook right up all twenty-something stories of that building and right through my bones. At some points they were almost constant tremors, low and rumbling, and occassionally, sharp and threatening to turn into a large quake again.

About an hour later, the phone began to ring. It was loud and jarring. Ricardo still was not home. At first we ignored it, but then we thought it might be him and answered it. A series of close friends and family members were calling to see if he was okay. In Spanish, we explained that he was not home and we were amigos de un amigo sleeping at his house for a night. Makes for a great story, on both our parts. Unfortunately I could not give them any good news about his safety, only that the building was intact and that a few things had fallen.

We tried again to get some rest, through the replicas, the alarms, the eerie flashlights, and knotted feelings in our stomachs. I was most worried that a strong aftershock might damage the already potentially compromised building, and it was hard to sleep. Ricardo came home; he had to climb 17 flights of stairs in the dark, as the emergency lights in the stairwell had expired, and of course the elevators didn't work. He gave us his account of working in his restaurant, with broken plates and glasses and beer bottles, and chaos in the streets. After sharing stories for a while, we slept a few hours.

Upon arising the next morning, we didn't even know if our bus would go out. The power was still out, and now the water, too. We still heard the sounds of sirens in the background. Anyways, we packed up our bags and walked downtown, seeing the evidence of destruction along the ways. In the stairwell, tiles and small pieces of wall littered the floor. There were cracks in some of the walls. We were glad to leave. In other buildings, windows were blown out, pieces of wall were collapsed, roofs and ceilings had fallen in.

Good news: our bus would still leave today. It would likely have been a different story heading south, but since we were heading away from the destruction, we were in luck. We had no food for our 20 hour bus journey. Upon searching for some, we found that all supermarkets and almost all other little markets were closed. The only things that were open were a couple of fruit and vegetable markets, carnicerias (meat vendors), and a pet food store (strange - there was even a line out of this). There were long lines everywhere. Unfortunately meat would do us no good so we filled up on fruit and veggies. There was only one place we found where we could buy water for the trip. Some of the small market stores had their doors open but with a cardboard sign saying Cerrado (closed), and you could see the entire place littered with the contents which once adorned the shelves.

Apon arriving in Antofagasta, we tried as quickly as possible to find a ticket out of here. The first place we checked had not availability until tomorrow, and the second, with a good price, didn't accept credit cards. Here we found out that the Bank of Chile, based in Santiago, was down, and all ATMs no funciona. With sad faces and bad Spanish begging, we convinced the ticket vendor to accept American dollars (we tried Argentine pesos, too, but he wasn't into that) for one of our tickets. And then we sat in the bus terminal for 4 hours, without even enough cash to go to the bathroom, until we convinced a Chilean/Australian couple sitting next to us to change 10 bucks for some Chilean pesos, to get us through the day.

Probably the strangest thing of all is being right in the center of chaos but not really knowing anything about what was happening. It is not until we reached Antofagasta that we were able to see a TV and internet, and learn about where the quake was centered, and that it was of such a strong magnitude. We didn´t see the damage and destruction except for the blown up windows and falling facades in Viña del Mar. It was evident that this was a huge event, but in the center of it we were surrounded with such immediate chaos and curiosity and uncertainty, and with communications cut off there was no way to find out what was really going on. Upon watching a TV in the bus station here, my heart really goes out to the families who are in some of the other coastal towns that are truly devastated. While we are thankful to make it out of here, and thankful for our health and safety, many of these places are going to require months and years to heal the wounds that were inflicted over the past couple of days. Currently in Concepcion and other towns there is looting caused by hunger and lack of access to water and electricity. Just like with Haiti and in New Orleans, the true devastation and lasting impacts are not necessarily what happen in the moment of the catastrophe, but what happens in the days and months ahead, while people work to solve their lasting problems and rebuild their cities and their lives.

Terremotos and Completos

The last few weeks have made us a bit road weary, every night or two we've been in different places, every day experiencing new things. While the excitement has been fairly unsurpassed, we've become a bit tired. We headed to Santiago, to meet up with Sebastian, who we met along with his friends in the backwoods near Segundo Corral when we were drenched and crossing the border from Argentina.



It was a welcome relief to be picked up from the bus station after a cramped 10 hour ride. We got a last minute discount when we purchased the tickets but forgot to ask if they were cama, and our legs were hurting a great deal from the lack of movement. At his home they welcomed us with breakfast, and just a couple hours later, a huge and delicious Sunday lunch. We talked for a while with his parents (most youth live with their padres until they are either married or finished with college), and got an interesting insight into Chilean culture and their views on the change in the country under various administrations. There seems to be quite the controversy in views on the Pinochet administration: evidently he advanced the country to be the first which is pretty much considered 'First World' in Latin America, in many ways by mimicking the United States, but this came at the expense of the disappearances of approximately 20,000 people. It is interesting because many people don't seem to talk about things as openly or overtly, whereas in Argentina everyone had a strong opinion about their tumultous history. It seems as though people want to forget about the disappearances in order to maintain their path towards abundance, but there are still the families of those that disappeared, maintaining reminders of how the Pinochet administration achieved its goals. People from the administration are still under trial for their actions during that time. Indeed, in Santiago, it feels quite a bit like being in the US as far as the luxuries that are abundantly available and flaunted. Whereas I felt like we could begin to grasp the complexities of the influences of Argentina's recent history, Chile's still seems masked and difficult to understand.



Santiago is not the huge crazy conglomeration of busyness and thrill that Buenos Aires presents; instead, it is clean and relatively mellow, considering its 5 million inhabitants. Here, you are not constantly bumping up against someone else, and fighting for space on the sidewalk, and can breathe the air with a bit more ease (though the water is terrible after leaving the glacial melt of patagonia that we have been spoiled with for the past two months).



Its been so nice to just relax and be shown around, and take care of homework (like getting our Bolivian visas, which we accomplished today). We drank terremotos (a drink consisting of cheap white wine, ice cream, and a splash of Fernet, translating to earthquakes, because 'it makes you feel like the ground is shaking when you get finished'), ate sushi, and ate Italiano completos (a hot dog smothered with tomatoes, avocado, and mayo). We visited the General Cemetery, remniscent of Recoleta in Buenos Aires with its mansionesque mausoleums, though this included contrasting apartment-style high rises of slots containing people and families and histories of Santiago.

Adventura Araucaria

La adventura in Chile continues...

Upon recommendations from some Chilenos we met camping, and my utmost desire to see a forest of wild Araucaria trees (monkey puzzle), we ventured to the Parque Nacional Conguillio, east of the city of Temuco. Pulling into Temuco, we were not greeted with the sweet hospedaje ladies who populated the smaller bus terminals of the Lakes District, and in this larger city, were somewhat unsure of what to do-where to go-etc. We ended up getting ripped off by a cabbie (spending the equivalent of almost $14 on what should have been a $4 trip) to be dropped off in front of the address listed in our guidebook where there should have been a nice little hostel, which didn't exist. Tired, we checked into a dumpy place across the street.

The next morning we took a bus to Curcautín, where the guidebook said there would be a shuttle to the park. It didn't exist. Not this year. At la officina tourisma, she informed us that tourism was low and that they were not running the shuttle this year. How do we get to the park, 42 km south of the city? ¨Taxi, or al dedo.¨ Al dedo, literally, 'the finger', means to hitchhike. The lady at the tourism office, straight faced, was telling us we'd have to hitchhike to our destination.

We walked out of town... getting discouraged after 45 minutes of waiting. Finally, a man in a truck picked us up, and then proceeded to pick up a half dozen other hitchhikers in the back. He pointed to a hillside and said, 'This is my work, silvicultura (forestry)'. I told him we were students in botany and ecology, and he began to tell us of different medicinal plants, and about the recent eruption by Volcan Llaima (the centerpiece of the park), and how it had affected the plant communities around. Evidently an eruption in January 2008 had caused the river to jump course, and had laid black fields of sediment clearing entire swaths of landscapes. He showed us how you can differentiate between the different eruptions in the types of rock, and about how the different heats and cooling times, as well as the chemical composition of the lava, affected the outomes of the resulting rock formations.

Us with Madre Araucaria, reputedly 1800 years old.

As we approached the parque, we began to see the Araucaria-Nothofagus forests. Though we got another ride all the way in, we still arrived much later than anticipated, and at first had difficulty finding a campsite. We wandered around Laguna Captren, taking in the sights, and the sounds of a half dozen species of ducks. Later in the evening, the clouds cleared, and for the first time we got a glimpse of the impressive and looming, very active, volcano, at which we were camped at the base of.

Old growth monkey puzzle trees rising above the coigue.

In the cool of the next morning, we packed up and wandered through the old growth. The trees here are so huge and majestic. To see the Araucarias in their natural habitat was stunning and so rewarding and hard to describe. They are the most important species to the Mapuche Indians of this area, particularly for their pine nuts, and I think are regarded with as much care and sacredness as the Western Red Cedar of the Pacific Northwest to the native tribes of that area. I'd like to put some into the forest garden I worked on at Evergreen, as I saw a bunch of sweet little cute ones growing in full shade cover.

To leave the park ended up being a bit more of a challenge than arriving. We watched car after car pass us by, and we were concerned about catching the bus back to Temuco so we could catch a night bus to Santiago, as we had planned. Such a long and desolate 42 km, in the midst of open sky and lava fields... it took us three rides to go that short distance, the last in a small car already full with three kids, their parents, and a dog. As soon as we pulled up to the bus station we saw an express bus back to Temuco, which paused for us, and we relaxed, amazed at what the last 36 hours had brought.

Al dedo, with Volcon Llaima in the background.

Chiloe

Chiloe is an island, and because of that, is has preserved culture and tradition unlike in other places in Chile. The natives kept out colonialism fairly effectively and continued to live fairly traditionally, and even after the permanent arrival of Europeans, have retained a unique traditionalism that includes wooden churches (some with corrugated tin roofs, collectively a UNESCO world heritage site) and other strange devices used to squeeze water from potatoes to make glutenly delicious milcau, and apple cider.

We arrived in Ancud, and were a bit put off by the over the top tourism. It was so thick that I couldn't see this unique culture I'd been reading about between the lines. Also, Jameson and I were plagued with illness, presumably, from consuming raw seafood in Puerto Montt. Won't do that again - still experiencing stomach cramps a week later. We tried to go see the Humboldt penguinos, which are one of the main attractions, but the boat rides were sold out and we didn't have a reservation. It was an exploitation of nature, anyways, we told ourselves, as we saw hordes of rental cars drive right up the road we'd walked on for an hour after a long, bumpy bus ride... ahh, the reflections of being a poor traveler. 

Castro had a bit of a more down to earth feel. Both towns were saturated with the most beautiful woolen goods in every form and fashion. Never more did I wish I could carry more with me (though after learning what it is to carry in our walk from Argentina, I knew I didn't want more) or that I had a greater capability to send things back home. The sweaters and ponchos were in gorgeous colors with unique and creative patterns, the women were busily knitting as we strolled through market after market. I could not help myself and bought several small bundles of yarn, many dyed with natural materials. I would return to Chiloe just for the wool.

The architecture in Chiloe is of wood and corrugated sheet metal, and the wooden shingles are of every pattern imaginable. They don't seem to believe in fresh coats of paint, for the most part, and the fading colors reveal past incarnations of the houses. The insides of the homes and businesses, though, appear kept up quite well. There is a wood stove inside each kitchen, complete with oven and water tank, warming the belly as well as the body. Castro boasted numerous palofitos, which are old wooden houses on stilts.

We attended a Festival Acosumbrado in Chonchi, and got to see these crazy wooden contraptions actually put to work: the pressing of potatoes, making of apple cider, shearing of sheep, preparation of grain, all with these machines attached to a belt and motor. It was insightful, as I'd read so much about the innovativeness of the native people of Chiloe but it was difficult to see how this was evident otherwise. 

Yesterday, we made the long journey to Valdivia, en route to eventually reach Santiago, deepening our ties with true 'civilization' after so long in such rural and traditional areas. Ciao, por ahora.

A brief note on the climate

I am quite sure all of you believe that we are basking in the sun of the southern temperate summer.

That is what we escaped the PNW winter for, no? Well, unfortunately, El Niño has not only brought devastating storms to the northern hemisphere winter, (and too much rain for the Olympic games in Vancouver?) but has dramatically affected el verano here in Argentina and Chile, tambien. It has rained much, and there really hasn't been much of a true summer, particularly in terms of heat. 

Devastating for us, tourists, Norte Americanos? A bit of a bother, yes, but we can deal with some cold nights camping and cloudy, moody days as we view new places. Of course, we wish it was like the summer last year, hot, dry...

The problem is what it is doing to the country people, and also, the price of food. At the farm where we worked, typically they have a dozen types of fruits to harvest in the summer. This year, it was only the raspberries. When we were out in Segundo Corral, passing the rainy day, we heard the same, only in voices expressing more concern: this year, there are very few apples, no cherries, no quince, peach, apricot, plums. There was a late freeze after an early spring, which included extreme winds, which eliminated the majority of pollinated flowers. Fruit trees which bore heavily last year are extremely sparse right now. In a place populated solely by people living off the land, there is great worry for the long term.

As a consequence, the city people have commented that fruit is very expensive this year. 

Along with the devastating floods in Cuzco, floods in the Mendoza region, and droughts plaguing other regions, the compounded affect of changes in climate globally is something that we will be continually encountering with greater frequency, and greater urgency. I'm not sure that I have a conclusive point or thesis right now, just that as you experience your winter climate extremes right now, be aware that the rest of the world is being equally affected.