Brightly Bolivia and the Quaker Link

The brightly coloured "wiphala" flag of indigenous unity flutters high over the crowds of protesters as they march down the El Alto street, chanting slogans supporting Evo Morales: "Yes! The revolution continues!!"... my bus inches its way down the twisting roads towards La Paz, a city nestled in a canyon, surrounded by snow-capped mountains and the barren wind-swept altiplano.

Bolivia, Bolivia, brimming with political passions as the country gears up toward the presidential recall referendum due to be held in early August - every day I have seen protest marches, street blockages and the most creative political graffiti marks every wall - for me, it's wonderful to see a country so actively involved in their political system, so interested in their governance and their future. If only the public of New Zealand shared some of the same political interest... (perhaps we need decades of exclusion and oppression to realise how lucky we are to have such a democratic system?) The protesters are largely the indigenous impoverished majority, the women dressed in huge hoop skirts and ponchos, their children tied onto their backs with brightly coloured cloth, the trademark bowler hat perched on top of their heads, their hair tied in two long dark plaits down their back, evoking a strange combination of "sweet girl" and "resilient woman". The poverty in Bolivia is immediately apparent, and much starker than in neighbouring countries - the climate here is harsh, a mountainous country with a dry season of nearly eight months, decades of cruel neoliberal rule leaving the country drained of resources and impoverished; there are many beggars, wild street children with bottles of glue, many young children's teeth have brown stains of rot. But, at the same time, there is a huge sense of positivity here - perhaps a result of the 2005 "revolution", completely led by grass roots peasant organisations, who now realise their unified power, and their rights.

With its hardships and poverty Bolivia is ripe ground for "development" and, reminiscent of Africa, there are plenty of well meaning big name western NGOs here, their logos branding many water tanks, schools and health clinics as you drive the rugged dusty roads around the altiplano, their big white SUVs sit proudly in the cities, "we're here saving you!"... the same mistakes being made the world over. Travelling these same broken roads in a local transport van, crammed in between two elderly Bolivian women and an agricultural engineer working for QBL, I felt that there was really something different about the way that Quaker Bolivia Link operates here. QBL was set up by a group of Quakers who visited Bolivia on a study tour, as a response to the abject poverty that they witnessed in Bolivia's rural areas. The organisation employs mainly local Bolivian technicians to work with rural community groups for solutions to the root causes of their poverty - lack of accessible clean water, lack of fertile land for growing nutritious food, lack of education, lack of inclusion. The technicians visit the completed projects every few months to ensure their efficiency and I accompanied three technicians over an exhausting three days to visit some of the projects and to experience the reality of Bolivian life.

What struck me immediately while waiting for the local bus to leave for the remote altiplano community of Iruma Pomani was the beautiful positive energy of the local people - I was embraced repeatedly by community members, their rough frost burnt hands holding mine so tenderly, arms around me in a loose hug, "Buen Dia Senorita Ingeniera!" - the welcome was warm and genuine and beautiful - squashed in the bus like sardines we bounced over dirt roads to their community, centered in the middle of a wind-swept, barren, dry, yellow landscape that stretches as far as the eye can see - gusts of wind rousing up dust storms that burn the eyes, little houses made from mud brick with straw roofs dotting the earth about 500 metres apart. This land is scorched with freezing temperatures every night and the heat of the sun every day - the people's cheeks are red and cracked from the climate, giving everyone a rosy appearance, but masking a life that is harsh and unforgiving.

Historically, this community of 72 families had accessed its fresh water from small dirty rivers, giving rise to disease and dehydration (the rivers are dry for a large part of each year) and, of course, lack of nutritious food as the barren, dry land struggles to produce only a meagre crop of potatoes and quinoa. QBL technicians worked with the community to develop a water system which accesses fresh water from ground water sources in the hills and using a system of underground pipelines based on gravity to direct the water current, pipes the water to a tap situated outside each families house. The beautiful part of the project is that it is based on community involvement - the community supplied all the manual labour for the installation of the pipes and QBL provided the technicians and the financing. A community committee is also created, changing on a monthly rotational basis, to administer the project and ensure its effective running, and the current president of the committee showed me around the houses, eagerly turning on every family's tap to show the beautiful stream of clear, clean water. He busily explained to me the system of pipelines under the ground, his pride in being involved in the construction evidently apparent on his kind, weathered face - "I worked with these hands!" he exclaimed, explaining to me that as the system uses gravity for propulsion, there is no running cost for the system, and therefore no cost to the community for their daily water. We walked the dusty ground between each house, each family rushing out to greet us "Gracias, gracias Senorita Ingeniera!" (no matter how many times I explained that I was not an engineer!).

What really impressed me about the project was the lack of its obviousness - the taps beared no logos, no branding, there was no sense of dependency from the community members, only a huge sense of pride and local ownership of the project. When we arrived at the last home in the community, exhausted from the whipping winds and hot sun, an elderly man rushed out "Bienvenido Senorita Ingeniera!", his lined face was so bright, his eyes sparkled, and a huge (toothless) smile erupted as he ushered me to a chair in his one room adobe hut, explaining how grateful the community was for the water supply, and quickly brought out a meal of hot red potatoes and fresh salty cheese for us - it was the most touching example of generosity I have ever experienced. Here, in the harshest of landscapes, these people, who have nothing, will give so unhesitatingly, so warmly. He brought us bottles of local coca cola (quina cola) to drink and was so pleased to watch us enjoy this humble, delicious meal. I was truly touched by this gesture of such genuine kindness.

In addition to the water systems, QBL has helped communities construct greenhouses (carpas solares) to allow them to grow nutritious vegetables during the long dry months when food production is so hard. The hot midday sun is perfect for the greenhouses, which then retain their heat and humidity, allowing for the growth of many species of vegetables all year round. The greenhouses (constructed from adobe) have adjoining chicken and guinea pig huts with a vent to allow the warmth to heat the enclosure - most chickens and guinea pigs (the main source of protein) die during the freezing winter nights at this altitude. The greenhouse projects are mainly administered by the women of the community, who are generally in charge of the nutrition of the children, and stepping inside these small rooms was like stepping into another world - the heat and humidity hit you in the face like warm soup in contrast to the climate outside, and the greenhouses were a riot of colour as lettuces, cauliflowers, broccoli, spinach, celery and radishes bloomed on the fertile soil floor and magnificent tomato plants stretched high to the roof, their fruit heavy and round on their branches, in some of the greenhouses the women had planted flowers - such a beautiful salve to the vision when outside the land is colourless and devoid of obvious beauty.

Visiting these communities with the QBL technicians was a hugely empowering and positive experience for me; finally, development without dependency, assistance without ideology, finance without strings, without branding, without publicity. The projects were humble, were community driven, were "owned" by the families involved, and were needed. To think that a small sum of money, like $500, can install a greenhouse to provide an entire family of eight or nine nutritious food, and a small surplus that can be sold or traded at the local market. Simple solutions that really make a difference to the lives of these warm and gracious people.

Political Peru & the Incan Journey...

So here I am in the Highlands of Peru, in Cusco, a world away from the experiences of Ecuador! I took the bus from Loja to Piura on the 02nd of July and as the bus wound its way through the southern mountains of Ecuador to reach Peru my world began to change dramatically. The landscape became increasingly drier, hotter, as it turned into the deserts of Northern Peru and with the change of geography also came a change of economy - the poverty of Peruvians became increasingly apparent as I watched slum towns of makeshift housing appear dotted through the desert, mounds of plastic rubbish littering the sands, and the apathetic faces of tired peasants as they sat in any shade available and watched the buses of the comparatively wealthy speed past their worlds of struggle. It was a strange journey, and a discomforting one for me.

The north of Peru has been described as the Egypt of South America, and that is certainly what it felt like. Huge pyramids and ancient cities of mud and sand hidden in the desert - most of the discoveries have been made around the area of Trujillo; the largest mud citadel in the world, Chan Chan, built by the Chimu people around the year 850, before they were colonised by the Incan Empire. The entire area is full of archaeological ruins and slowly discoveries are being made as pyramids are uncovered in the deserts and these ancient civilisations are studied. It was strangely disjointing to visit these ruins though, driving past communities of impoverished mestizos, the literacy rate in these areas a mere 13%. The cities felt somehow strained - and everywhere is political graffiti supporting the current president, saying "Thank you for our town". With the feelings of disjointedness in the North of Peru, I left quickly for the Incan Heartland, Cusco, an epic 30 hour bus journey into the mountains, from sea level to 3,300 metres.

Cusco has the same dry feeling as the rest of Peru - the surrounding hills are bare and browned from the days of hot sunshine and the freezing nights. Ancient Incan stones are visible in every street, giving hints of the amazing structures that lie beneath the Spanish built city that is now Cusco, with many huge cathedrals and churches built in European style over top of the Incan temples (typical "conquistador" style and ironically the same technique that the Incas used when colonising other tribes in their Empire). The city attracts tourists like a magnet, the centre is filled with people from all over the world, Internet cafes, restaurants, hotels, gift shops... it feels about as far from authentic Peruvian culture as one can get. At times a glimpse of the real Peru is seen, with the indigenous peasants from the surrounding rural communities coming into the city for trading - giving at least a slight salve to the jadedness that could be felt here!

I came here for the famous Inca Trail, the 48 kilometre trek to Machu Picchu, the Incan city undiscovered by the Spanish conquerors, and what an incredible experience it turned out to be. During my compulsory 48 hour acclimatization in Cusco a huge protest of farmers was held in the city - threatening to strike with the government employees unless more attention was paid to their hardships - what a beautiful and colourful protest, flags and cheering, music, and the beautiful bright clothing of the indigenous and mestizo farmers. As the protest march passed through Cusco's main square lines of police in combat uniforms with batons, guns and shields marched in, blocking all the main churches and buildings. What a contrast to see - the dark, hardened look of the police against the colour and life of the protesters. The trekking company decided we should leave for the trek a day early, to avoid the road blocks being set up for the national strike, so after grouping at the office and meeting the fellow trekkers we set off in a van towards the Sacred Valley and the town of Ollyantaytambo where we would camp for the night at the base of the trek. As the van wound its way down the mountains and through various rural communities we began to encounter the first of the road blocks - big rocks dragged across the road blocking traffic, guarded by peasants and children. The porters for our trek, 18 wonderful indigenous Peruvian men from the surrounding mountain communities, rushed off the bus to clear the roads letting our van pass. The journey was slow with this process, and the local campesinos watched us in interest as we slowly made our way through. With high spirits and much laughter we entered the town of Urubamba, the last large town before Ollyantaytambo, which suddenly dissipated as we met with a huge road block, guarded by hundreds of farmers, who were by now drunk and aggressive, and refused to allow the van to pass. The hours ticked by as we "stood off" with these protesters, the porters and guides negotiating for our pass, to no avail. Darkness set in and the aggression of the protesters increased - rocks were thrown at our van and a boulder pushed from a high mountain which landed a metre in front of the windscreen. The driver, fearing for his van, insisted on returning to Cusco, meaning we would miss our trek - the Inca Trail has been heavily regulated to 400 people per day (including all support staff) and unless the trek is began on the day it has been booked for, it cannot be made. We began to try alternative, more remote, roads to make it past the blocks but by now the night was well upon us and every road had been blocked, with many strikers guarding their constructions, and much alcohol fuelling the sentiments. Our group of 14 in the van became increasingly quiet and dispirited - we would have to return to Cusco. The van turned around and drove back out of the Urubamba Valley, meeting another road block constructed during our wait, the porters rushed to clear the path and a very angry indigenous woman screamed at them, threatening to throw a rock through our windscreen - as soon as we had passed this block, we saw hundreds of people running down the road toward the van, we immediately thought it was a huge group of drunken strikers, coming to enforce the block, and a surge of fear swept through the van. After a few seconds we could see that it was not strikers at all, it was the police and the army, in combat uniforms marching down the valley busting the road blocks and allowing the traffic to pass. Hundreds of these men swarmed past the van as they surged down the road - we turned around and followed them down as they broke each road block until the large fortified construction in Urubamba. We waited at the front of the queue as the police rushed into the area, we sat pensive listening for the confrontation, terrified that it would be violent, and afraid for the protesters, who we felt in solidarity with, even with our desperation to get to the start of the trek. After about five minutes gun shots sounded and tear gas canisters were let off, "quick, shut the windows!" our guide shouted as soldiers in military uniform rushed past our van toward the strikers. We sat in silence for awhile, with the sick feeling that comes with the witness of violence, and hoped that nobody would be killed in the confrontation. Thankfully, nobody was, and after some hours the van could pass through - slowly we approached Ollyantaytambo, arriving in the town at nearly 1am, again on our own, with the police having returned after breaking the Urubamba block. As we arrived at the final road toward the campsite we found another block - this time a fire block - with some local farmers who refused to let us pass. Having come so far, we were now desperate, and picked up our backpacks, holding our torches and walked the rest of the way to the campsite, the night dark and spooky, but feeling very much a team after the events of the night. We finally arrived at our campsite at 3am and fell to a restless few hours sleep before waking early the next morning to begin the trek!

Many groups of trekkers who had booked for the trail never made it, the next day the official strike was held and not even a taxi could be taken. We felt privileged to have made it and began the walk in high spirits, the sun shining down strongly on us, and our walking sticks in a meditative rhythm as we marched the first six hours past the beautiful Urubamba river, glaciers in the mountains behind us, and beautiful green mountains in front. Our group was 14, many Canadians and English, and a Dutch couple, together with 18 porters to carry the camping equipment, a cook, and our two encouraging guides - walking was wonderful for me, a meditation in movement, and our main guide, Freddy, explained to us the ancient religion of the worship of Pachamama (Mother Earth), and how this pilgrimage to the holy city of Machu Picchu was necessary for the mental cleansing of the pilgrims - to have open chakras and clean minds - which made it even more special, and empowering. We reached the first camp around 4pm and all fell asleep early, exhausted from the previous night, rising the next morning at 6am to continue the trek - the hardest day - climbing the Dead Woman's Pass to 4,200 metres - I had feared this for many months, thinking that the challenge was too great for me, physically, and I set out slowly, keeping my steps small and slow, conserving energy for the 1,200 climb. The vegetation on the way was beautiful, akin to the native bush of New Zealand, dense and damp and green, with the beautiful rich earthen smell of soil and gushing white rivers over rocks next to the path. With the increasing altitude we began to chew coca leaves, which help with altitude sickness, fatigue and hunger. These small green leaves have created such controversy with the production of cocaine, but in reality coca is as similar to cocaine as sugar cane is to vodka. The process of cocaine production requires massive amounts of chemicals, including white gasoline, and coca in its integral leaf form is about as stimulating as a cup of coffee. In addition to the benefits for energy and altitude, coca also contains very high levels of iron, calcium, vitamins A, C & E - the perfect supplement for vegetarians! Coca can be chewed in its leaf form (which has a strong taste, a bit like green tea), or soaked in boiling water and drank as tea, or ground into flour and used to make food, sweets, tea bags etc. We drank coca tea each morning and lunch time and chewed it in our mouths during the high mountain passes; it really made such a difference and I didn't struggle with the altitude anywhere near as much as I thought I would have. The UN has now classified coca as a banned substance, and it is only legal in Peru and Bolivia, but imagine how wonderful this product would be if it could be used for its health properties in western countries!

Climbing Dead Woman's Pass was incredible for me - with the slow pace, I made it to 4,000 metres without too much physical pain, and the last 200 metres (the most difficult) were an amazing experience. I climbed in solitude, my mind became completely calm and clear, and the pain in my legs could barely be felt. I took each step slowly, being guided by a small dark blue bird who flitted slowly in front of me, hopping up each step, as if leading me to the pass. I felt a strong sense of the spirits of my grandmothers with me, encouraging me onwards. It was such a meditative, beautiful, tranquil journey up; I felt so empowered. Reaching the top of the pass was incredible - the temperature dropped so quickly and freezing winds whipped around us, the view down the valley incredible, showing how far we had come. We cheered each other as the top, and performed a small ceremony to thank Pachamama. After we made it to our camp that night and sat around the camp table eating dinner, Freddy explained that the pass is named "Dead Woman's Pass" because of the deaths every year of people who climb it - about three or four, usually from altitude, or heart attacks.

The third and fourth days of the trek were at lower altitudes, as we crossed down through cloud forest into the jungle and passed ancient Incan ruins, used as bases for farmers and as temples for pilgrims on the trail. The ancient stone structures held such power, the stones formed with perfect engineering ability, requiring no mortar to hold them together, and temple stones smoothed to feel almost like glass. Our last morning we rose very early, at 4am, to make it to the Sun Gate of Machu Picchu as the sun rose... unfortunately the morning was wet, raining, and very misty - we struggled in the darkness with our headlights over the uneven paths, not stopping during the six kilometre stretch, pressing on urgently through dense forest and up flights of Incan stone stairs, to reach the Sun Gate, completely covered in mist, not able to even make out the mountains surrounding us! But, for me, this was not important. The journey to Machu Picchu, was so powerful, so enriching, that it was far more important than the destination could ever be. I felt my chakras cleansed, my mind clear and open, my heart so refreshed. We reached Machu Picchu by 7am and after a few hours the cloud and mist lifted, revealing the Incan city in all its glory - and the surrounding mountains dark and beautiful contrasting the intricate stone structures of the city. Every stone perfectly formed, perfectly placed, the architecture designed to withstand earthquakes, El Nino and La Nina storms, and the mountains terraced to provide space for varied agriculture even at this altitude, each terrace provided a different microclimate and the Incas had developed over 3,000 varieties of potatoes, jungle fruits like avocado and passionfruit and many varieties of maize. The Incas had an amazing sense of organisation and development - creating an incredible empire and controlling an area almost the size of Europe. Every year, in July, unused agricultural land was redistributed to poor people for their use (not just an idea of socialists or communists!) and their lives were ceremonious, with each month bringing a separate ritual - including the sacrifices of animals and people for Pachamama.

Arriving back in Cusco late last night my body was exhausted, and filthy, but my mind felt so refreshed, inspired, and my chakras, my personal spiritual power felt so clean, so sensitised. Being back in Cusco with the tourists and the busyness feels paradoxical, so I will head south shortly, towards Lake Titicaca (the birthplace of the Incas) and across to Bolivia... the land of coca, of revolution, and of hope for the indigenous tribes of South America.

Coming home to Rumi Wilco

From environmental destruction to environmental preservation... what a contrasting experience, and such a salve for my soul after the Northern Oriente. I have spent the past two weeks working at Rumi Wilco, a nature reserve created by two Argentinian biologists to protect the sacred huilco tree in Vilcabamba, the south of Ecuador. Arriving here felt like coming home - the reserve is nestled between a range of mountains, dense and green and full of life, the mountain's energy seems to humm almost audibly and an amazing sense of "God" is felt in everything, such a quiet peace. Working with my hands, with the soil, has been such a powerful experience - there is such integrity in this humble work - we rise early every day, with real coffee, drank while watching the mountains, observing the changes in the weather and the air, walking through the reserve, the rich smell of the earth and the sound of the river, the meditative process of tree planting, the small seedlings pressed tight into the soil, or weeding, planting herbs, picking coffee, the beans bright red and sticky in this season... life at a different pace. I have learnt so much here, the realisation that another possibility for life exists - and another possiblity for environmentalism, that is active rather than intellectual or political. To purchase land, and protect, conserve - directly, humbly. It is a life with such integrity and perhaps this direct action is what is needed most now, on a grand scale, to preserve what is left of wilderness the world over. And this ecological philanthropy is being seen on an increasing scale in South America, the prime example being Doug Tompkin's amazing development of Parque Pumalin in Chile... but that comes later... for now, the southwards journey of the Andes continues and I head onwards to Peru...