My posts have been few and far between. I’ll work on that as long as there are a few of you reading them.

I worked a morning in the coffee plant this week. It was interesting but unproductive. Another volunteer Bill and I roasted coffee “the old fashioned way” not quite as old fashioned as I did in the campo but by American standards pretty archaically. Above I am pictured turning a hand crank that rotates a metal sphere filled with coffee beans. The silo has a propane burner inside and as far as I know nothing else. There is no timer or thermometer, and the only temperature control is valve on top of the propane tank. Regardless they still manage to roast some of the better coffee I have had.

The process is usually 45 min. The progress of the beans can be gauged by the color and smell of the smoke. Of which there isn’t any in the picture. In fact we never saw any, and after about 2 hrs of turning the unwilling crank we called it quits with a few pounds of half done beans. There had been a leak in the tank, you could call the flame we had hot but not in front of my poor left forearm.

They also process tea in the facility. They take new bright green leaves and lay them out for a little while. When they are soft you have to tear and mash them up with your hands until you can squeeze juice out of them, a handful takes a min or two. After that they stick them in a bag where I think they ferment for a while before they are dried and turn black. I didn’t do much with them but it was interesting.

There was a big fiesta in Coroico…if you are thinking “isn’t this like the 5th fiesta he has been to” you’re right and there are plenty more on the way. Celebration in Bolivia is completely different than in the US. First of all they party often, and second they have an endurance that leaves this recent college grad (Wisconsin college nonetheless) completely winded. This fiesta started Sunday and went through Wednesday. It entailed heavy dancing, hard drinking, and sleepless nights. Think of the smell, public bathrooms are a rarity and were closed. The most fragrant bodily fluids mixed and pooled between the cobblestones like chains of lakes in the Boundary Waters. I rolled up my pants, tucked in my shoelaces and two-stepped till dawn.

Here is a pic of one of my favorite dances, the Saya. Only afro-bolivianos do it (I mentioned it once before). Instead of the brass bands other groups use the Saya features only drumming. I like the women’s hats, normally Bowler hats like these are the uniform of conservative cholitas, but these women bent the front rim down and proved the rumours that black people are cooler anywhere they go. Some of them have white stuff in their hair. This is paper confetti and all the participants in celebrations and ceremonies from dances to baptisms get it.

One of my friends and students Viviana danced, she let me borrow her hat for this last pic.

Take care, vote early and vote often.

LOVE

andy