1. Cochabamba and the Prison Kids

The prison system in Bolivia is worlds apart from our regimented, sterile enclosures back home in the UK. In Bolivia inside the prison walls, the hustle and bustle of a little internalised city can be seen. Families sleep together, mothers share a single bed with her two small children, while other people sleep on the bunks above, below, beside, behind and in front, in cramped rooms with blaring TV noises and baby cries. As you walk out the room onto the balcony, you hear the same noises emanating from the hundred other rooms that encircled the concrete courtyard below. Four levels of closet rooms, no privacy and no space to put yourself or the limited stuff you may possess.

In the courtyard below, lines of tables are set out in the centre. Woman cook in one corner of the paved square madness, others wash their clothes in the opposite. A few open-air shops/stalls are scattered in between the washing lines and the cooking stoves and children run energetically admidst the people eating álmuerzo´ (lunch) at the tables in the middle. This is the prison, this is the life, this is the home of the beautiful kids of Cochabamba who we worked with for one month.

After being on the road, so to speak, for four months, we decided when we arrived in Cochabamba it was time to unpack our rucksack´s, enroll in some much needed Spanish lessons, stay with a host family and do some voluntary work for a month. We found a project called KAICK through an organisation named Sustainable Bolivia. The project was working with children aged 0-17, although we worked only with the kids under 5 years old. The project was based in a centre about 15 kilometers away from the prison itself. It was a place where the children could be creative, have space to run around, learn, laugh and simply be in an environment which was not a prison.

As far as I know, although it is hard to find information about the specific prison we visited, the system is such that inmates have to pay for their stay inside the prison. We visited a woman´s prison and all cells inside we very similar, despite the fact that some woman had small private rooms and others had small shared rooms, the standard and facilities remained the same. In San Pedro prison in La Paz, the difference between accommodation can vary dramatically, with the richest person staying in a large luxurious cell with private bathroom, kitchen and TV, while the poorest sleeps on the concrete floor, unsafe, vulnerable  to the dangerous activities that carry on in the mini metropolis, especially during the night. Children and spouses stay in the prisons for different reasons. Often it is because both parents have committed a crime and thus there is no other alternative for the children, except for them to tempt their fates´by braving the city streets alone. For others, the inmate is the main or sole breadwinner of the family and without his or her support the entire family would be left without home, income and basic amenities. Therefore, they decide to live in the prison as a family. It is also happens because the one remaining parent who is not incarcerated has ran off and abandoned their children.

Inside the prisons there are no guards as such. The woman´s prison that we visited had a few woman ´security´guards dotted at the entrance to the prison but couldn´t be seen anywhere else inside the complex. In San Pedro prison, you rarely see any guards and police do not dare to enter the prison or interfere with any internal business. The prisoners are left to resolve their own problems  by democratically elected section representatives. On average there are 4 deaths a month from both natural cause and “accidents”. The worst thing about the prison system in Bolivia is that only about 25% of the inmates have actually been convicted of a crime, the other 75% are awaiting trials (and they could be waiting years).

Although we were able to visit the women’s prison as volunteers, in general, foreigners are not permitted into the prisons in Bolivia. San Pedro jail used to allow foreigners and tourists in for tours but now a person must part with many hundred of dollars to gain access. The principle reason for this is, people used to capitalise upon this access as a means to secure drugs, in particular cocaine, which is said to be one of the most purest forms in South America. 80% of the inmates are imprisoned for drug-related offences.

So, this is the Bolivian prison system. An enclosed mini city, with ´democratically´elected representatives, little if no police or security control, massive internalised drug problems, huge discrepancies in standards of livings and families and children neglected amidst the dangerous heights of four walls. All this showed in the children we worked with.

25 beautiful, creative, frustrated 4 and 5 year olds greeted us as we entered through the gates of a colourful building on the outskirts of Cochabamba. Some ran to us for cuddles, others took our hands and one or two took their position on high ledges and when we weren´t looking, leapt towards us at great speed, open armed and starry-eyed, veering steadily and heavily towards our agape throats, landing neatly and unexpectedly around our necks they took us down, down to the concrete floor, where the other 4 children we were carrying or holding hands with fell with us and on top of us.  The next task was trying to get up again to your feet, while another 6 children are desperately trying to get a piece of you. The all want the same hand, one knee each, you to listen to them, when all you want at the moment is to breath, to rise up, push the children off you and find a corner to regain your calm state of mind but they won´t let you have that. So, still you sit, composed and red-cheeked and saying firmly ´no mas´ (no more), over and over again, you await until one of the ´good´ little ones takes control and starts to herd them off you and you are up, pulling up you top where you bra and breast has been revealed to all the little ones and you are breathing once again…and then another little one, who you have failed to see has taken position on an other high ledge and is surging towards you mid-air but you move forward to split up a fight between two of the others, the flying ranger misses and lands hard and heavily on the concrete floor, he´s crying, the kids fighting are crying, the kid who is not getting attention is crying and I sure as hell feel like crying!!!!!

One of the funniest times was when a particular naughty kid decided to pull Ben´s trousers down and grab his willy. He pulled him half way across the garden by his manly part before Ben was eventually able to reclaim his willy, pull up his trousers and regain some sense of composure. The kids then pulled down his trousers again revealing his bare arse and willy to the female staff at the centre. With 10 giggling 5 year olds, a flustered Ben and a rather shy, reserved Bolivian woman, you can imagine the rather awkward yet amusing situation. These were our beautiful prison kids.

It took us a few weeks for them to begin listening to us. Mainly they wanted to use us as climbing frames, machines to spin them round and robots to chase them around the garden but also as people to love them, to hold them, to listen to them. It was hard work at first, as we literally had no authority over them at all. They would do as they wanted and punch each other incredibly hard in the nose, the ear, the eye, trip each other up, push, steal and shout but as the weeks passed they began to respect us a little bit more and see us as more than just giant rag dolls. We began doing some art projects and unleashed some incredible artistic potential in so many of them. Through art, many could express themselves and see actual progress and outcomes from their work. They were achieving things, learning, enjoying themselves and had less time to pummel one another.

The centre gave the children a chance to have some fun, be loved (which many of them do not receive from their parent/s), use up some of the pent up frustration and be in a different space, a space without so many rules, a free space. These kids were very special children and although most of them had severe behavioural difficulties, they were loving, creative, independent and firey high flyers!

Our month in Cochabamba was wonderful. The host family we stayed with were loving, kind and made the best veggie food we´d had since we started travelling. The Spanish lessons were great and I got to the stage where I was able to talk about basic political issues with my teacher (although most has been forgotten since). However, the best thing about my time here was the 25 little mischief makers, which made our days so entertaining, challenging and full of love. This project is massively underfunded, so if anyone would like to make a donation to the centre you can do so through the Sustainable Bolivia website at: http://www.sustainablebolivia.org/donations.html

2. The Mighty Jungle

After 5 weeks of living in a polluted city, the point had arrived when we needed to pass some valuable time close to nature. We had been accepted to work on an organic farm 15 hours from La Paz. The project was based in an indigenous community high up in the Andes, creating awareness and working on a self-sufficient community permaculture farm. However, the day before we were meant to leave, they emailed us saying they no longer had space for us. A good friend had told me about this project in the jungle which worked with endangered wild animals. We decided to go.

The organisation is called Inti Wara Yassi and was initially set up about 20 years ago by a man called Juan Carlos. He started off working with street kids in Cochabamba and soon after the project became more directed towards the welfare of animals. The street children discovered some parrots locked away in small cages in dire conditions. So affected they were by this cruelty to animals, they rescued them and persuaded the botanical gardens to realise them in their premises. After a while it became apparent they could no longer manage them on the grounds of the gardens, so they looked to purchase some land of their own, a natural habitat to protect these birds and other endangered animals they found. They opened the first parque Machia in the mid 1980´s and since then another two parques in different locations in Bolivia.

We worked at Parque Ambue Ari for one month. Ambue Ari is about 7 hours north of Santa Cruz in the middle of the jungle, on the East side of Bolivia. It is mainly a cat parque, with about 25 different types of Jaguars, Oscolots and Pumas. The animals arrive at the parque, rescued from circuses, restaurants and families who stupidly believe they could house a puma as a pet. There is very little chance that these animals will or can be realised, so the parque provides them with the best alternative lifestyle they can receive. They are looked after by volunteers, who feed them, nurse them and walk them daily (although not all cats are able to be walked). Each cat has their own territory and trails and they decide for how long they want to be out their cages each day. The volunteers look for new ways to help their cats to become more confident, trusting and happy. No volunteer can work with a cat for less than a month to protect the welfare of the animal and help build a strong relationship between the cat and the volunteer.

Although the Parque is mainly for cats, it is also home to many other types of animals, including; deers, pios, parrots, pigs, a tapier; a monkey park with howler monkies and a quarantine section, which is where I worked.

Quarantine, in theory, is a place for all the sick animals to come to, before potential realise back into the wild, however, due to lack of facilities and resources, it also housed animals that there was no other space for in different sections of the park.  In quarantine we had 3 different types of monkeys (Capuchin, night and squirrel), a tayhorn, turtles, parrots, a Brazilian wild cat and a pig named Shmelda. A day working in quarantine consisted of cleaning the animals cages, preparing food 3 times a day, constructing new and better cages, repairing broken fences, creating interesting ways to keep the animals challenged and as close to their natural habitat as possible, monitoring all the animals progress, giving medication to the sick ones, walking the Brazilian wild cat and some of the monkeys and generally loving them as much as was appropriate. Many of these animals will be realised back into their natural environment so it was extremely important to strike the correct balance between directing love at the animals but also encouraging them to retain a sense of independence and detachment from humans.

A day working with these animals was never boring and everyday when I had to get up at 6.30am to commence work at 7.00am, I would walk down the road from the cabin I was staying in, smiling and happy to be starting the day. The animals were all so loving and intelligent and I never realised I could build up such a strong relationship with the animals, in particular with a pig!. She, Shmelda (later to discover she is a he), would come to me daily for his routine belly rub, respond to your voice and follow you around like a dog. The squirrel monkey Lucas would get jealous if he was not the one getting the attention and attempt to bite your nose or pee on your back (his way of showing you love). The other monkeys would lay on you as you searched through their fur for insects, copy and mimic you (our capuchin monkey, Mamut saw us clean so often, he started picking up the brush and trying to do it himself). The tawhorn would climb onto top of you and nestle his head in under your hand to ask for a stroke or two and the Brazilian wild cat would run fast ahead of you, jumping over fallen branches, under bushes and up tress until he eventually he managed to get himself stuck up a tree or entangled in his leash. These animals were incredible.

These animals also had a lot of pent-up sexual frustration. Our squirrel monkey would spend a huge proportion of his time desperately endeavouring to hump the tayhorn, or pleasure himself orally! The alpha turtle “Roger” (very appropriately named) would constantly mount any other of the turtles, regardless if they were male or female and the wild cat would occasionally try to hump your leg. Another incredibly important reason why these animals have to find a partner and be realised back into the wild soon.

On my last day at the parque, I was allowed to walk one of the Pumas who was more confident and friendly with humans. Her name was Wara, one of the three sisters (Inter, Wara and Yassi for whom the parque is named after), who were first brought to the parque after it came into being. It was an incredible experience. We trudged through muddy water up to our waists, ran and jumped over fallen trees.  I swam in the river beside the puma desperately trying to keep up with her bounding strength. I swam a little too close and her claw sliced through my finger as she was mid paddle, we kept on swimming together for 20 minutes until I tired. On the way back I stopped to take some photos and she pounced for my rucksack. She ripped open the plastic bag attached and tore out my bra (after exiting the river, I took off all my wet clothes, including my bra). Prized between her teeth, she restled furiously with my prized laced bra, clawing at the straps and deeply embedding her teeth into the shiny satin material. After 5 minutes of witnessing this puma swinging my bra through the air, stomping it deep into the muddy undergrowth, we managed to reclaim my once pert satin laced bra. It scrubbed up pretty well.

Working at this parque in the jungle reconfirmed how much I love spending time close to nature and with animals but also how much I love meeting new and wonderful people. This experience was completed by the exceptional folk I met and spent time with at the parque. For them, I dedicate this poem:

Jungle glory

The jungle in all its green glories

with no electricity and mossies like Tories

hot sultry days,

longing for that ice-cold burst of shower when work had ceased.

Tarantulas and snakes

pool halls and jungles cakes

Choir practice at lunch for the music concert bunch,

fruit salads for the monkeys

seeds for the birds

cleaning consistently to rid their turds

potatoes for lunch, again, again, again we munch

Anouncios come early and loud

telling once more of the promises vowed

don’t poo in the pee hole, ive told you before

the toilet cleaners can’t take it no more

sit to the back and let it all drip

that for today, is the pooing tip.

Potable to welcome the good new folk

potable to comfort the good old folk

potable to fire breath, and make you heave

potable to keep you going so you can never leave

group dances with pimp shirts and hat

right to the front with Dame chocolate

50 horny bodies all in one place

no room for privacy in this communal space

try in the street, trees or shower

we hear your noises and feel you cower

With beautiful animals, peaceful and strong

with cheeky monkeys humping tayhowns

they come for your love and daily tummy rubs

little personalities who love their grub

I miss them all loads and you´ve taught me swell

hope you all live happily and well!

Again this is a project greatly underfunded and it desperate need of support. Many of the animals live in small cages, as funds do not permit the volunteers to buy new resources to build bigger and better ones. If you would like to donate some money to help these animals, please follow this link:

http://www.intiwarayassi.org/articles/volunteer_animal_refuge/donate.html

3. The Cochabamba Climate Change Conference

Here is an extract from my diary the day the climate change conference finished:

I sit sipping an ice-cold beer, watching a 4 year old kid play and reflect back on the last 4 days of the Cochabamba Climate Change Conference and wonder how much I have part-icpated in the security of her future. 4 days of intense discussions, 140 participating countries, 35,000 delegates and me. 1 girl with a camera trying to make a documentary about climate change. 1 girl trying to find out how some people feel empowered over the issue and others remain apathetic, 1 girl feeling even more disempowered than she did before the conference started! My first thoughts are, what did I gain from this conference? Why did I feel so lost? I have been working on climate change issues for the last 4 years of my life and now I feel I know less than I ever did. The potential of the conference was revolutionary, the potential for my documentary was paramount and now my head is mangled with fears, disillusions and anger, tinged with happiness, surprise and somewhat bewilderment. Did I not organise myself enough? Was I not wised up enough about the current issues? Or do I just feel this conference was more of a token affair to make people feel empowered and involved, when participants weren´t even permitted into the final governmental dialogue to express their views?

The little girl still plays, oblivious to the intense, important decisions that are being made in her city, oblivious to my frantic scribbling about why I feel saddened by the last few days. Tiquipaya transformed into a 4 day festival with activists organisations presenting their causes, music and art decorating the ugliness that lay at the core of this conference and Evo Morales demonstrating how the plastic poncho (as opposed to the traditional Quechuan one) was a symbol of capitalism, which was the underlying problem behind climate change, and thus prohibits us from attaining any sensible, viable solutions to tackle issues of global warming and climate justice. (I do feel he has a point there).

I realise my negativity stems from the idea that this was supposed to be a peoples conference and although the indigenous population of Bolivia turned up in force, many peoples voices, my friends voices, my voice was not heard.  With so many well-planned discussions, knowledgable panel representatives  and passionate people, this feeling of ´lost in translation´cannot leave me. What did I gain from this conference, what could I contribute when I couldn´t understand the majority of what was being said? Don´t get me wrong I am so utterly pleased that the majority world is finally getting to ówn´something, to be at the centre of discussions that will ultimately affect them long before us in our IKEA houses in Great Britain but I wanted to understand their views, to support their views, to become apart of their views.

So, this was my diary entry immediately following the conference. I did feel pretty dejected about the entire experience but realise now in retrospect a lot of it was my own fault. I should have organised myself better and done more in-depth research prior to the start of the conference. However,  for a considerable proportion of the conference there was little, if no, good translation, thus making it extremely difficult for a lot of people to be able to contribute. It probably didn´t help either that I spent a day of the conference at a police station with a friend, as her purse was stolen and on the final day some mean person stole my battery for my camera whilst it was charging, thus putting an end to my documentary. I had some really amazing interviews lined up with the President of an indigenous womans group, who campaign for the right to protect their natural resources, a chief army official and a Peruvian governmental minister, all of which were lost as the culprit escaped with a battery of no use to them.

This conference was a step in the right direction. However, Evo Morales used the window of opportunity too much to attack capitalism (of which I am in favour of, when it is backed with sensible and sturdy arguments) and failed to capitalise upon the possibilities of having 35,000 knowledgable and passionate activists in his vicinity. Something beautiful and memorable was achieved in  Cochabamba but again the leaders of the world somehow forgot how to lead.

Here are a few of the positive proposals that were included in the final report which was submitted by the Bolivia government to the the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC):

– It recognized “the need to establish an adequate limit to global warming and that with an increase in global warming of 2 degrees Celsius, there is a 50% chance that the damage caused to our Mother Earth would be totally irreversible.”

– It expressed determination “to deal with the root causes of climate change, including the elimination of unsustainable patterns of consumption and production in the developed country Parties and the dominant global capitalist system that gives rise to these.”

– It stated the understanding that “a system of unfettered and unregulated markets has resulted in prioritizing the extreme competition for profits and growth, and that this has separated humanity from nature, establishing a logic of domination over it, turning everything into a commodity: water, earth, the human genome, the ancestral cultures, biodiversity, justice, ethics, rights of peoples, and life itself.”

– It said “that a new system must be built to restore harmony with nature and among humans and that there can only be balance with nature if there is equity among human beings.”

– It advocated “a development model that is not destructive or based on unlimited growth, and recognizing that countries need to produce goods and services to meet the basic needs of its population, but by no means can continue on the current path of development in which richer countries have a carbon footprint five times larger than the planet can bear.”

4. The Suffering City

The final part of my adventure in Bolivia took me to the capital La Paz. One person told me ´La Paz is a city you either love or hate´. I both adored and despised it. My reaction to this place was greatly influenced by the bad experiences I had in the city. Plagued with illness, on my first few days in La Paz, a good friend was admitted to hospital with 2 types of Salmonella. We were all really worried and spent many an hours by her bedside. Then one by one the group of friends I was  with began to topple. Another two friends with hit with severe sickness and got diagnosed with types  salmonella and parasites. The fun ideas of nights partying fizzled out and the mood began somber.

One day before going to the hospital I went on search to find a battery for my camera to replace the one that was stolen at the climate conference. I headed up into a more dodgy area of town, one without any tourists but where I was told I could locate a battery. As I walked up the street, I saw a woman curled up in the middle of a road. Another women stood towering over, kicking her furiously in the head and stomach. She was shouting at the woman on the ground and her victim lay helpless, crying beneath. I stood for a few seconds paralysed with fear, wondering what to do. I looked around to see if anyone was going to help but everyone was just staring. I turned back again, still to afraid to move. One of their hats had fallen off onto the ground and I went to pick it up. I proceeded towards the woman, hat in hand (I don´t know why I picked up the hat) and took the womans arm gently and started to say ´tranquilo, tranquilo´, ´por favor no mas´. I was scared she had a knife. At that point a police officer ran over and pulled the woman off. I helped the other to the ground and she collapsed in my arms. Sobbing, bleeding and relieved, the other woman left and the police officer began walking away. I couldn´t believe what I was witnessing, this woman needed to go the hospital and the police officer was wondering off  completely unconcerned. I shouted for his attention and he turned to face me. I told him this person needed help and asked where the nearest hospital was. The hospital was about 15 minutes walk, but the woman was in no fit state to walk. Her nose looked broken, her left eye so swollen she couldn´t see, blood laced her teeth and she was swaying all over the place. I tried to hail a taxi down but none stopped. She pointed to a bus, I asked the driver and he told me they passed the hospital. We got on and arrived 10 minutes later. The whole time, she was cuddling into me, holding my hand, perhaps for the first time in a while, feeling safe. At the hospital they examined her and gave her an ultrasound for she told them she was pregnant. I saw the baby on the monitor and the relief in this womans face when she saw her baby was still alive. At one point the doctor called me into the room. With the woman sitting directly beside me, he began to ask me what my relationship was too her. He thanked me for my assistance but proceeded with´but these people are illiterate, they are mentally retarded and spend their time sniffing glue on the side of the streets´. I felt enraged, my blood began to seethe profoundly beneath my skin. Again I could not fathom, this sense of nonchalance upon a regarded medical professional. I replied in the best Spanish I could, something to the extent of ´ So? This is not important to me,  what is important is this woman is hurt. To me doctor, everyone is equal´. He stared back stunned and embarrassed by my response and proceeded to talk about the health of his patient. Snotty, disrespectful XXXXXXX!

I told the woman I would pay for all treatment etc that needed to be carried out. The problem was I had left the hostel (not expecting to spend a lot of money the day) without sufficient funds. I paid for her consultation, scan and a xray of her nose but they wanted to give her another for her chest. I told her to wait for me at the hospital and I would be back in half an hour with more money. She pleaded for me not to leave. She was scared and no wonder…they kept talking about social workers and judging by the police officer and doctor…she didn´t want to hang around. I tried to calm her down and reassure her I would definitely return and that her health was extremely important for her and the welfare of her child. I brought her a drink and some snacks and she told me she was going to name her child Hannah. I left, rushed back to the hostal, collected my money and returned within the half an hour. She had gone.

She had 3 fractures in her nose, swollen eye, possible chest problems and head trauma. Her husband had beaten her up the day previously, she was pregnant, had another 3 children to care for, nowhere safe to go and had just been beaten up again. I tried to look for her but to no avail. I returned feeling depressed, disheartened and annoyed with myself for not having had more guts and intervened sooner when the woman was getting rhythmically beaten.

The following day on my way to the hospital, a young boy lay shivering and bloody at the side of the road. I brought him a jacket, some food and a hot drink. I stayed with him for about half an hour and he informed me he had been beaten up (apart from a bit of blood on his leg, I could see no other evidence of injury, so I knew it wasn´t as serious as the previous day). I told him I would be back in an hour when i returned from the hospital and that I would buy him some hot food. I returned with hot food in hand (the first time I have bought meat in my life) one hour later but he was gone. Why did everyone keeping disappearing on me? Maybe they were scared, didn´t feel safe in the place where they stayed or perhaps they didn´t want to be helped.

Accompanying all this profound suffering, was an old man, who sat daily on the pavement, playing over and over again this sad, despondent riff on his flute. He would play it a few times over and then put his hand out to passers-by. I watched him for one hour while I ate lunch one day, only one local young girl stopped to give him some money. This riff epitomises the sound of suffering I witnessed in La Paz.

My friends left La Paz and I got struck down by severe stomach pains and fever. I got diagnosed with two types of Salmonella and a parasite and spent three of the most lonely days of my life, bent double in pain in my hostel alone.

So, how can all this happen and I still adore the city? It wasn´t all bad. The city is beautiful, with cobbled streets and artisanal shops in abundance. We had a few great nights out at a reggae club and a jazz club. I was with great people, ate some wonderful food and the city (in places) radiated this colourful, energetic vibe. It is a city designed for tourists but bustles with local untouched culture in districts further out. This city made me vulnerable again, it tore down the hard facade I had to immune myself to peoples suffering and once again opened my eyes. After 3 and a half months in Bolivia, it was time to leave.

About an hour and a half from Santiago, deep in the Maipu canyon, nestled in a forest, Ben and I searched relentlessly for the ´forest community´ in the mid-day heat. All we had was a small piece of paper with a rough diagram on it, given to us by a girl we had met for 15 minutes in cafe. She had heard about my documentary on climate change and had suggested we visit this commune that lives off the methods of permaculture. So after a 40 minute metro ride, and an hour taxi journey we were dropped at a bridge in the middle of this canyon with no clue of where we were going. We followed the map and the locals directions which led us up a steep hill for a few kilometers and then back down the same hill to the very beginning. We slid down gravel, climbed over boulders, jumped over sections of the river until eventually, three and half hours after our starting, we stumbled upon the community. The first sight was a little kitchen, all made from wood, pilled high with tins and fruits and two lovely welcoming girls cooking lunch. The invited us to eat with them and led us to a wooden table, where about 20 people sat holding hands. We joined hands in the circle, closed our eyes following in suit and listened to the others sing together. We ate in silence with chopsticks. As it had taken us so long to find the place we had to leave soon after lunch before darkness beckoned. We had to get back to Santiago to collect our bags as we had decided to return to the commune to stay.

We stayed at the commune for about a week and half and really began to feel like part of the community. We helped water the plants, cook meals, sort out rubbish (that was to be used for the building of a house) and clean. We spent our free time bathing naked in the waterfall, playing music, and talking with the permanant residents and the passers by. It was amazing how many people came and went. Most of these people lived in the city during the week but needed to retreat into the wilderness, to the simple life at the weekend. I became immune to dirt and didn´t really wash atall the entire time I was there. My hair was matted, we were eating from dishes laced in filthly excrement, washed merely with water using your hands, sleeping in blankets laden with insects and it felt really good. Not to worry about germs or using chemical products to clean, knowing that I was not applying anything unnatural on my body made me feel much closer to nature. However, I won´t deny that at one point or another I wanted to buy a large bottle of dettol disinfectant and scrub the entire place down, but I resisted. The best thing about the commune was having the time to really apprecaite things. Taking time for food, conversation, music, people, plants, trees and water made me realise we always seem to be rushing in our city lives. It was really sad to leave this place, as we were not only leaving behind some good friends but a beautiful way of living. I got some good interviews for the documentary which I later discoved Ben had forgotten to press record for. Damn that boy!!

After the commune we headed North to Pisco Elqui, a village deep in a picturesque valley. I unfortunately, stepping off a curb (that dangerous activity) tore the ligaments in my ankle just before we arrived at this town. It was probably the best place for this to happen, as our hostel had the most incredible garden with fruit trees galore, and hammocks overlooking (underlooking) the looming sorrounding mountains. I spent my days here rocking in the hammock, sipping cold beer, reading my book as Ben went off to explore. One of the days we attempted a day trip down to the river to bathe by Ben giving me a backy on a bike. It was a pretty uncomfortable journey (I had forgotten how much a bicycle seat can really ride up…. ) but I got to take photos from the back as we sped down the hill taking us deeper into the valley. As the hostel was pretty expensive, when my foot got a bit better we went to stay with a man Ben had found on couchsurfing. He was a character and a half. He lived his life secluded from pretty much everyone, living solely off the fruit and nuts in his garden. He was also one of the founders of Freetown Christiana, a commune set up in former military barracks in Copenhagen in the 1970s and a key figure in the squatters movement in London in the 1960s.

We continued North after Pisco Elqui to San Pedro de Atacama. San Pedro is a little touristy town in the middle of the desert. Everything here is catered for tourists and every second shop is a tour agency. We hired a bike out one day and cycled to death valley (named because of the heat) to avoid taking a tour bus. The landscape was phenomenal. However, later that night we did join a tour and went star gazing with a leading German astronomist. The moon was bright that night so the constellations were not incredibly clear but we did see Mars, orions belt and a number of others through the telescopes. The most impressive by far though was the moon. We could actually make out the craters on the moon and see different shades of colours. The astronomist was fantastic at explaining everything and made you consider giving up your day jobs to take up a career studying the sky. Remembering how for many thousands of years people have used the stars as navagational devices, and as religious and cultural symbols and how these days we just rely on technology and spend our time gazing at the light from the television.

We then started our 3 day trek in a jeep from San Pedro in Chile to Uyuni in Bolivia. We were picked up early in the morning by a bus and driven to the border where we transfered into jeeps. Our driver looked about 14 years old, which didn´t give me much confidence since I was still (and still am) petrified of travelling following the car accident. We travelled for 3 days, passing red, white and green lakes full of flamingos, natural hot springs, volcanoes, travelling high in the mountains and then low in the desert, swerving around sharp corners and for miles over dry, flat landscape. On the second day we stopped at a little town where less than 2 years ago the last member of the community had died. The village (of 5 families) was about a days drive from any other inhabited place. Unfortunately, there water supply got infected by salt and slowly, one by one they got ill. As nobody passed by the village and there was no means of contacting help, the villagers died. Today, the have built an army base there and built a train line which passes by (a little too late!). On the final day, we reached the ultimte finale…the Uyuni salt flat.

Salar de Uyuni, the worlds largest salt flat at 4,086 sq miles and 3,656 meters above sea level was most definately the highlight of this adventure. We arrived at the salt flats for sunset and all you could see in every direction was white. It looked like thick, smooth ice and as people stood around, interspersed amongst the white back drop, the only thing that could be made out was the looming siluottes of their bodies. If you bent down to take a photo, the shadows resembled large giant like figures and if they jumped it looked like the were floating high above the skyline. We drove across the salt flat for almost a whole day. At one point, the heavens opened and the rain fell so hard and heavy, we were reduced to driving at about 5 miles an hour (which I was very pleased about it). The water spreading over the salt flats, mirrored the distant mountains and it felt like we were in heaven, riding far above the clouds.

We stayed only one day in Uyuni as there was not much to do in the town itself, and then headed North to Potosi, the highest city in the world. The altitude over the 3 day adventure had affected us both and we continually had spliting headaches. However, a good old chomp on the traditional coca leaves, a typical Andean custom, helped relieve the pain and gave us both a bit of a buzz. Perfectly legal and harmless (well I don´t know how much research has been done into the longterm health effects of this….dad maybe I have found a new project for you to do come retirement!) but made from the same plant as cocaine.

Potosi was a really vibrant and colourful city with much of its life outside in the streets. The roads were lined with sellers of every sort. Performers juggled in front of stopped cars, ladies squeezed fresh orange juices from their mobile juice stands and young boys polished working men´s shoes. There was also a mini war unfolding in front of our eyes. Kids ran the streets armed with guns, bombs were directed at you from annonoymous enemies and all the parents were condoning this behaviour. It was the festival season in Bolivia and the entire population of Potosi was particpating in one giant waterfight. If you weren´t throwing a water balloon, you were making money by filling them up for the kids that were or you were the unfortunate victim of their attack. The main targets were of course…gringos (foreigners) and girls. So, as you can imagine I didn´t fare too well. We decided not to be innocent victims in all of this and armed ourselves with water balloons and foam spray (another weapon that was being used) and hit the streets prepared. Ben was causing havock by attacking local gangs but I had decided only to attack those that attacked others. How diplomatic of me… We spent most our days in Potosi running from premeditated attacks and finished them soaking wet at our hostel.

One day, we decided to experiment and buy some llama cheese from a seller at the side of the road. It tasted pretty ´funky´ but we persisted (Ben more so than me) and truely felt the effects of it that night. Lets just say we spent most the night croached over toilets switching from one end to the other. Happy images!!!

The most interesting thing we did in Potosi was a visit to a copper mine. “Cerro Rico” (Rich Mountain) has been mined for many centuries since the Spanish invaders decided they could exploit both the workers and the extraction of gold and other minerals. Today, mining continues but at this particular place is not a government-run enterprise but a cooperative one. This means that the wages (relatively speaking) are particularly appealing to some, mainly young men without an education. The men work in the mine for most of the day, often not coming out for lunch. The chew on coca leaves to surpress their hunger and often die before the age of 55 due to the inhalation of a number of chemicals. We were taken to the mine by a young man whose father and brothers were miners. We were asked to buy some presents for the miners, this consisted of coca leaves, fizzy drinks, biscuits and dynamite! We loaded our presents into our rucksacks, put on our protective clothing and head light and walked warily through a narrow passage, deep into the mountain. Occasionally we had to jump off the narrow pathway as a cart full of ore extracts, pushed by miners, sped past us down the track. The stench was suffocating. Our guide informed us they had recently blasted a hole and that it was particularly dusty. The dust filled your lungs and the smell of chemicals burned the hair in your nostrils. Our 2 hours in the mine was not going to affect our health to much but for the miners, day in, day out, the dust and chemicals was slowly reducing their life expectancy. For some, it is a choice (or maybe not even a choice) of supporting your family but not being there to see your kids past childhood. One man we spoke to spent his entire day alone underground tapping a hole to put the dynamie in, another allowed his kids into the mine to help him with the work. In one section of the mine, there is a room with a figure of the devil. Every week the miners visit the devil to offer him gifts. The put cigarretes in his mouth and light it, scatter coca leaves on his body and pour alcohol on his penis. The believe if the devil is happy, he will produce more pure ore for them to extract. The significance of the alcohol on his penis is to make him excited and more successful in securing a woman for the night (mother nature). I am not sure whether its something I could ever belive in but it is certainly an interesting theory.

There was also families that lived on the mine. They were guards of the mountain and were there to ensure unauthorised people did not enter the mine to steal the extracted stones. Thus, there were kids running about everywhere. Babies scrambling near the entrances to the mountain and dynamite being exploded less that 50 meters from these families home. I think health and safetly in Britain would have a feild day about this.

After Potosi we headed further North to Sucre. This town was much more modern than Potosi and we stocked up on our fair share of Westernised food and a few late night drinking sessions. One of which involved a heavy debate with an ex-worker of the Nestle Marketing department about whether companies had any corporative responsibity when advertising to the public. You can probably guess who took what side. Sucre again was a firing zone and of course I was the main target. Whilst walking happily down the street, some lovely locals decided to pour a whole bucket of water from the balcony above, over my head. Then some others thought it would be amusing to cover me in spray foam, and some other beautiful little kids finished me off by shooting at me with their Super Soakers 3000. We left Sucre with very few dry clothes.

Onwards to Oruro for the “Second Best Carnaval in South America”. Prices at hostels soared as locals from all around Bolivia and other surrounding countries decended upon the city. Luckily we managed to find a relatively cheap one because some tourists were paying in excess of a $100 a night. The festival went on for three days, starting at around 7.30am and finishing about 4.30am every day. The costumes were fantastic and the main street was full of swirling colour as brass bands led groups of dancers through the crowds. People of all age groups particpated, with little boys dressed as hugh, fat white bears, men as blue wedding cake-like spectacles and (almost every) girl and woman in tiny mini skirts and knee-high boots, revealing their pants as the swirled around. Most of the dances were pretty similiar and all the brass bands played the same tune, so after a while (3 or 4 hours) it got a little repetitive. However, there was always some other spectacle occuring close to us. As if we hadn´t seen enough water in the preceeding days, huge waterfights were unfolding between opposing stands. Passers by were getting absolutely consumed, as spectators close by completely anilated them with copious amounts of water ballons, cans of spray foam and anything else they could think of to soak them. We of course with again victims of this (by people in our own stand). The carnival was great fun and many drunken nights were had. Unfortnately, this led to me being ill with a cold and chest infection for 2 weeks. When will I learn….

We are now in Cochamamba, the third biggest city in Bolivia and are staying here for a month to do Spainsh lessons and voluntary work. We are working with kids under five who live in prisons with their families. The centre is a place for them to escape to during the day, to play, learn and do activites. I will write more about the prison system here and our voluntary project in the next blog, as this entry has already covered a little too much. I am loving Bolivia. It is culturally more interesting than Chile and Argentina, most probably because it has the largest indigenous population of all south Americal countries and still retains alot of tradtional Quechuan and other indigenous customs. Every place in Bolivia we have visited feels very different to the previous one. The climate, food and atmosphere varies so much from place to place. It feels like five countries in one.

I only stayed 2 days in Pucon as I had to return to Pichilemu to start a weeks Spanish course. I had decided to do a homestay for a week to really practice my Spanish and get a better insight into Chilean customs (as staying in hostels considerably denies you of this). The family were really nice but unfortunately on 3 seperate occasions one of the family members stole money from my purse that i had left in my room. The first time it went missing i thought I must have just been ripped off, overcharged or dropped it somewhere, the second time I became a bit more suspicious and tried to find out from the owner of the Spanish school if something like this had happened before, on the third time (after hiding my purse and returning to find it sprawled out, unleashes from its hiding place), I knew for certain I wasn´t going mad. The unfortunte thing was, I knew it could only be one of 2 people in the house, as the others had been away the other times it was taken, and it wasn´t an outside job as my camaras were left on the bed. I had to go to the police station to report it for insurance reasons. They wanted to do a formal invetigation but I said it was not necessary (I think they too knew it was a family offence) and that we would sort it out ourselves. The next day the Mum returned from Santiago and we all sat around the table and had a discussion about it.They offered to repay me the money but it didn´t feel right as the mum had been away working in Santiago for the week to get extra money for the family and was so upset by what had happened. It was one of the most uncomfortable situations I have ever been in. Sitting having a converstaion translated about stolen money taken by someone at that table. The next day I woke up and the step daughter had left. She didn´t admit it, and I still can´t bring myself to accuse anyone but the family came to their own conclusions.

I returned to Santiago to meet Ben (my boyfriend for those who don´t know) who was arriving on Christmas day. We were returning to Pichilemu as I had managed to find us our own cabana on top of a cliff overlooking the best surfing spot in Chile. It was truely romantic with the sun setting over the rocks beside us, raging fires cooking nut roast, roast potatoes and a toilet positioned to look straight out the window over the surf (luckily you couldn´t see in the other side).

We spent a few days in Santiago after this visiting museums, listening to some cool folklore live music, and bathing in blue, picturesque swiimming pools in the middle of the mountains.

Following on from Santiago, we went to a coastal city called Valparaiso, an hours drive from the capital. It was here we spent new year. People from all over Chile and beyond swarm to this city to watch the bells in, as it hosts one of the best fireworks display in the whole of South America. We started the night dancing to some live ska latino type music in the central plaza, we then watched the fireworks (our view slightly tained by a building) from the main square, squashed in by thousands of people chanting words of ´long live Chile´. The streets were all crammed full of friendly, drunken bodies, the floors covered in broken glass, conga drums beat syncopated rhythms and people danced, laughed and shouted ´Ano Neuvo, Ano Neuvo´. We ended the night in a nightclub somehwere. I don´t remember if the music was any good, there were just lots of beers being passed around, dance circles and a random girl trying to swap nose rings with me in the toilet after asking me for money. The next day was a right off.

We stayed in Valparaiso for a few days wondering the back streets of the city taking photos of the most incredible graffiti, visiting antique markets and meeting many interesting characters, including a Che Guvara look-a-like revolutionary who is trying to spread the story of the history of Socialism. He runs a library full of socialist books, poems, newspapers, magazines etc from the last few centuries and wears the full Socialist, green revolutionary attire. It was here more than ever I wished I could speak really good Spanish. Ah the stories he must have….

We are now back in Santiago and are going to visit a commune tomorrow. They are a community of about 50 people nestled in the mountains, completely self-sufficient, living on a permaculture farm. We might stay here for a few days/ weeks or continue out journey North to Bolivia.

With both the new arrivals of Ben and 2010, there are many exciting adventures and possibilities ahead. I am happy to have someone I care about with me to share the experiences and help slow me in my daily tasks, as sometimes I can move so fast I miss a whole lot of what the world is showing me. I feel I have lost a little of my independence by him being here, but gained somethig more beautiful and important, companionship.

After all this happened it was hard to think about continuing travelling but I knew I must. The driver went home early and her friend was going to meet with her boyfriend in middle Argentina and then fly home with him (but hopefully return in January). Back on the road again was strange. It all felt very like a dream, although when ever I go round corners on a bus (a bit too fast) I get that same panicy feeling I did when I woke up just before the car rolled. I hope that feeling will gradually fade.

My first stop back on the road was Porito Moreno near El Calafate. It is a huge glacier at the tip of a huge cluster of glaciers. It was the most spectacular thing I have ever seen. It went on for miles with a sheer drop all along the front. I saw huge bits of ice fall from the glacier and crash into the icy waters below. A boat took us right up to the glacier and the sheer size and brightness of the glacier was really made apparent.

Following El Calafate, I went (with one of the other passengers from the accident) to El Chalten. This was a really peaceful little place nestled in the mountains. We did a one day hike up the mountain close enough to get a good view of the Fitz Roy ( a mountain people from around the world come to try and summit). After El Chalten, we went back to El Bolson…ah El Bolson, it felt so nice to be back there. I could really live in this place.  The other girl left me here to go and meet her boyfriend. I relaxed, visited a beautiful lake, went to the market, ate lovely ice cream and homemade chocolate and went to a community concert.

The Community radio station in El Bolson had been tryin to get legal status for 20 years, and after many demonstrations and diretc actions had finally been given status and this was a concert to celebrate. I was the only tourist there and I got a really beautiful feeling of a community at work, of strong political and social relationships and people just having a bloody good time. The music was fantastic and people were dancing the traditonal way to folklore music.

I left El Bolson the next day and headed up to Mendoza. I wasn´t massively impressed with Mendoza town but after a day trip out cycling around the vineyards, I sooned changed my mind. I meet a lovely group of people and cycled leisurely around vineyards and family run liquor  fractories tasting yummy Merlots, Malbecs,  Savignon Cabernets, Chocolate and banana liquors and courgette and pear jam. I really wonderful day. Developed a new liking for red wines, made some nice new friends  and cycled through tree lined streets. It remined me alot of France. During my time in Mendoza I also visited the modern art gallery. I love how political young people here are. Everywhere there is political graffatti, art and music. There was a concert in the main plaza for World Aids Day, called ´Rock and Live´. The bands were pretty average but the atmosphere great.

I then left for Santigo in Chile. I was late arriving at my hostel as we were held up at the border as someone was trying to smuggle 4 kilos of cocaine on a box in our bus, over the border. They never found who did, but I found it a bit suspicious that the boy behind me had a really bad nose bleed about an hour into the bus ride.

On my first night I met some Chileans in a retaurant and they invited me to spend the evening with them. At the plaza near where I was staying there was a shrine to a folk musician called Victor Jara. I think he was like the Johnny Cash of Chile although even more influential and symbolic to the working classes and Socialism. The square was buzzing and people were queuing to see his coffin. He died 25 years ago (killed by Pinochet I heard someone say…?) but has only just been given a funeral and brought to justice.  On the Saturday there was huge funeral march/demonstartion through the streets of Santiago. Everywhere you looked there was red,  Che Guvara flags, Victor Jara and Salvador Allende posters and banners, people dancing, singing, chanting (a carnival atmoshphere) and people ripping down Pinera (the right wing candidate) election posters. Children and workers stood on window sills, roofs, men on traffic lights and bus shelters, while the car with his coffin slowly moved through the streets to the graveyard. It was truely overwhelming.

That evening I persuaded some people to come with me to Latin America´s best Jazz club (or so it states). It was completely out of the city and in a really nice venue with candle lit table and smokey blue neon lighting. The music was fantastic. I thought of my Dad and how much he would love it. We then got invited back to one of the bands after party. We went, we danced salsa, we drank cheap wine, I attempted some drunken guitar and we left…at 7.30am! Drunk, knackered and satisfied.

On my last day in Santiago I went with some guys up the cable cars, near an area called Bella Vista to get a view of the city. I was feeling pretty hungover but still managed (I think) to appreciate the view. I love Santaigo and the people. There is a lot os smog from the pollution but its got a wonderful atmosphere.

I am now in a place called Pichilemu, further south than Santigo. It is a litttle beach town and a hot surf spot. I had a surf lesson this morning and managed to catch loads of waves. Stood up about 10 times. I have another tomorrow morning and then will decide what to do next. I could easily see myself staying here and surfing everyday until I meet my lovely boyfriend on Christmas Day back in Santiago but I have more still to explore and there are plenty of other surf spots around South America.

So, that´s me. I suppose I did feel like I wanted to write about the car crash. I am sorry if it was too graphic…the main thing is we are all ok and alive!  The weird thing was after the accident, the first sign I saw said ¨fortune¨! Sorry this was a long one but I did have alot of catching up to do.

Thinking always of my lovely friends and family and how lucky I am to have them in my life.

I left El Bolson the following day with 3 girls from London. They had hired a car and were heading the same direction as me. On the first night we stayed in an isolated Welsh village called Trevelin. There was little to do in the place apart from get cream teas at the local Welsh cafe.  It was quite bizarre listening to Charlotte Church and eating scones in Southern Argentina.  We carried on the next day to a place on the East coast called Peninsula Valdes. After staying the night in a dodgy hostel with a mean women who has something stuck mighty far up her backside, we started the day with a boat trip to see some whales.

Peninsula Valdes is famous for its whale watching and on this day we saw some whales jump clean out the sea, spray water from their holes and best of all come right up to the edge of the boat. It was amazing and because we had befriended the skipper we got to ride up top with the captain. The following day we toured the peninsula and saw sea lions and nesting penguins.

We then drove South to a nature reserve with a colony of over 300 penguins. They were all nesting as the baby penguins will hatch next week. They were so tame and came within a meter of us, waddling along and squelching their shit out with no cares in the world.

Yesterday we did an almighty drive to Ushaia, passing by oil diggers, demonstrations (with miles and miles of parked trucks blocking the roads), sunsets and again vast landscapes taking the eye as far as it can see.

We have truly been off the beaten track the last week passing hardly any other tourists, driving for miles and miles down long dirt tracks with only each other for company. I have made some lovely new friends and seen and experienced some wonderful natural beauties. We are staying in Ushaia for a few days to do the things you do when you are at the end of the world…what ever they may be…have a pint in the end of the world pub being a must.

I think of my friends and family constantly as I travel these roads wishing they too could be experiencing what i am.

Before I came to El Bolson I spent 6 days in Buenos Aires. It was a complete contrast to here. I spent most of the time exploring diffrent parts of the city. San Telmo, where I was staying is famous for its antiques and on my last day hosted a mile long market packed with beautiful jewllery, handycrafts and clothes. I had to severely restarin myself from going crazy. I also visited the Botanical gardens (not that different to others I have been to), walked around the trendy street of Palermo and visited the Boca stadium. I must admit having a tour of the Boca stadium was n0t on my list of things to do but as my dad says “to fully understand Argentinian culture you have to understand their football”. I think he´d be proud of me

I have decided to make a personal documentary while I am travelling, looking at the effects of climate change on local communities around South America to gain a better understanding about what people know, what they are talking about and what action they are taking. It was a massive coincidence that on my first week here there happened to be the World Conference on Forestry, which only happens every 6 years. I went along with a Colombian guy I had met and although I did not get to see the speakers, I managed to get 3 interviews to start off the documentary. The first was a women from the Institue for Environment and Developement, the second a man from the FAO (the partner organisers of the event along with the Argentinian Government) and an Argentinian man who has written a book about Argentinian flowers and trees that are dissapearing as a result of deforestation and soya plantations. I have no idea what he was saying as it was all in Spanish but I will translate it on my return.

I also had an intersting night out at the Buenos Airies Cultural Centre. There was a band playing Tango/Balkan/Electronic music. We arrived about 12 pm to find there was no one there. We found out later that clubs don´t get started here until about 2pm and go on all night until the early morning. I left at 5am and the club was still packed and people were just getting started. Maybe if we had a siesta in the middle of the day, us British folk would be able to match their stamina!

So, that was Buenos Aires minus some details. I left on Sunday on a 21 hour bus journey to El Bolson. The buses here put ours to shame. They are like 1st class accomodation on an aeroplane. Your chairs turn into beds, you get 3 meals plus sweets and chocolate and films! The scenery was quite spectacular. In all 21 hours we passed only 2 small towns, a village and a few house here and there. I have never seen such vast landscape. It literally rolled out in every direction for as far as the eye could see.  It then suddenly turned into mountains and lakes, and then just mountains. It actually reminded me alot of Scotland, particularly a place called Loch Lomand.

So, I am leaving on Monday and will head to the Glaciers further South where you can literally see the glaciers melting and apparently the only one in the world which is actually expanding.

I have met some wonderful people and already seen and done so much. I am thinking constantly about my wonderful friends, boyfriend and family and how much I would love to be sharing the experiences with them.

Love, Peace and no carne por favour!

As I set out my targets here and now for this next year, I see myself moving slower through experiences, taking that extra minute or two to indulge the wonders that surround me. I see myself researching and gaining a heightened understanding of the effects fo climate change on local communities around South America and documenting these findings. Trying to explore what understanding other people have and what they (especially young people) are doing, how they are feeling empowered, influential. I would like to of course learn Spanish well, participate in many conservation projects, grasp a sound understanding of the art of the tango, salsa and the samba, play some beautiful Latino Americano musiqua and just learn as much as my mind will soak. I’m retiring from this tiring sentiment as my emotions are still floating (although perhaps a little closer to me) above my head and there is a art installation taking place in the loft of the youth hostel I am staying. I will meet the Colombian boy who I have been talking too who reminded me, we’re the same you and I.