Bolivia is a country of physical wonders. The Valle de la Luna, the mines of Potosí, the depths of the Amazon – the appearances of these places can collectively best be described as otherworldly. Even the altitudes at which many of its citizens live, and the climates they face, reach extreme levels not found anywhere else. Being in Bolivia can often be confusing and dissonant, as the mind can sometimes struggle to take in what is before the senses. In Bolivia, the very real world can seem surreal.
For her article ‘The Unearthly Beauty of the Salar’, Flossie Wildblood visited the vast expanse of the Salar de Uyuni, the strangest physical region in Bolivia, and arguably in Latin America. This place, the world’s largest salt flat, has more curiosities to offer visitors beyond vast, white, grainy plains. A railroad graveyard, volcanic landforms and thermal lakes provide equally curious locales. The Salar is also home to the Salvador Dalí Desert, a small area with rock towers reminiscent of images from the painter’s work. The resemblance of this place to his work has led some to believe that the Spanish surrealist was inspired by these Bolivian formations.
In this issue of Bolivian Express, our team used the idea of the surreal as a lens to explore many corners of Bolivia. In addition to the Salar, we traveled into the unconscious, showing connections between the ideas of Sigmund Freud, no stranger to coca and cocaine, to Bolivia’s most important crop. We look into what can be described as Bolivian altered states of consciousness, from the experience of taking sedentary journeys with ayahausca and absinthe to the horrifying practice of entombing oneself in an elephant cemetery, where the darkest of alcoholics condemn themselves to a death by drinking.
We discovered in our work the prevalence of surrealism in Bolivia’s creative endeavours. Although there may not be a large, formal surrealist movement here, there are in fact examples of this approach across literature, cinema, theatre and the visual arts. We talked with artists who are quietly toiling across the country to introduce aesthetics of the subconscious and the absurdity of life into their work.
Surrealism is a complex idea. It can take you to strange and wonderful new places within your own mind. Seeing our surroundings in a new way, in a manner that is perhaps more internal than external, can lead to new understandings of ourselves and our connections to the world. Whether it is through visiting strange physical spaces, seeking out understandings of the seemingly strange ways people navigate their lives, or through the breaking down of artistic inhibitions, seeing the surreal inevitably leads to self-reflection. One just needs to begin the journey. Come with us and see what we discover.
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Photo: Kit Fretz
Café ETNO Continues the Timeworn Tradition
Nestled between museums and artists’ workshops on Calle Jaen, Café ETNO is home to what is arguably the best ajenjo you can drink in La Paz. Customers have been sampling the mysterious green beverage from within ETNO’s dimly lit walls for over 10 years, and some have even recounted strange hallucinations they’ve had around the cafe after drinking. I spoke to ETNO’s co-owner, Yumi Tapia Higa, to separate fact from fiction and learn more about ajenjo’s unique qualities.
Can you tell me a bit about Café ETNO, what you do there, and about your cultural program?
We were the first ajenjo bar in the city, first opening in 2005. We involve numerous artists in the café: Café ETNO has a very strong artistic movement. We ran ‘los Lunes de la Literatura’ [Literature Mondays] for many years. Nowadays, there are various writers from La Paz.
I’ve heard stories about people who’ve drunk ajenjo and then seen ghosts on Calle Jaén. What do you know about this?Concerning ajenjo and stories of certain people who’ve seen things after drinking it, many people have told me that they felt much more lucid. What absinthe does is, more or less, wake up the senses a little bit. Like any other type of alcohol, it makes you drunk, but it also makes you a little more lucid, and awake. This is what various people have told me. Above all, there’s a gnome that plays with the little glasses of ajenjo, moving them around and throwing them onto the floor. We always leave a glass of ajenjo to the duende, so that things go well for us and the café.
Many famous writers and artists have been inspired by this drink. Have there been any famous Bolivians?
I know that Jaime Sáenz, Arturo Borda, and the circle of writers of that era all met up together, and some of them also drank ajenjo.
How do you produce the drink?
At first, we imported ajenjo from Sucre, but then we started experimenting with making the liquor ourselves, and now we make our own. It’s an artisan liquor, with no additives or preservatives. It’s just like the plant.
Does absinthe have medicinal properties?
Traditionally here in Bolivia, it was used medicinally to alleviate stomach aches, and it’s drunk as an infusion of tea to deworm intestines. It’s also really good for digestion.
Photo: Flossie Wildblood
Putting theatre on the map of Bolivian culture
Diego Aramburo, director and founder of Kiknteatr, is dressed head to toe in black, with a solitary but striking white streak in his ebony hair. As we talk over fruit juice in Alexander Coffee, Diego tells me that, despite the extensive period he spent working internationally, he sees himself as ‘an artist of Bolivia’. Indeed, Diego has been labelled one of Bolivia’s most influential artists by the national press and has won El Premio Nacional de Teatro on multiple occasions. It’s easy to see why: he is a man whose knowledge about theatre seems all-encompassing and whose creativity is apparent even in casual conversation.
Kiknteatr is a Bolivia-born artistic collective that perform their own brand of contemporary theatre both here and internationally. As we survey their influences, Diego moves rapidly from Derrida and de-constructivism to chaos theory and Andean architecture. One concept strikes me as particularly relevant not just to his plays, but to the state of Bolivian theatre in general: Félix Guatarri's conception of carencia (lack) as something positive, as a cause for action. This, it seems, is a defining feature of Bolivia’s current theatre scene.
At the moment, theatre in Bolivia just isn’t part of what Diego calls ‘a citizen’s education’. In other Latin American countries, like Argentina and Chile, theater is an essential cultural artform that exists at popular and fringe levels. In Bolivia, however, ‘popular theatre’ exists only in the form of rarely used decadent buildings, scattered across the biggest cities in the country. The scene is almost entirely dominated by a handful of grassroots theatre companies. It was only with the rise of the revolutionary Sucre-based group, Teatro de los Andes, in the 90s, that people started to view acting as a legitimate profession. But to this day there is barely any formal training available. None of the artists I spoke to had a theatre degree.
Because of this, Bolivia has developed an incredibly liberal environment for theatre arts, in which artists are free to perform without being held to an objective standard. However, Diego advises, 'If you don't make up your own rules, you can end up doing nothing.' It takes initiative and grit to get anywhere in this cultural no-man’s-land, where it can seem that ‘everything is against you’.
The intimate scale of Bolivian plays and the audience’s proximity to the cast is ideal for the small and committed crowd that regularly goes to the theater, but it is less than ideal for the people involved in the production. According to Diego, Bolivia’s theatrical community is endogámica, or incestuous: there are so few people involved that it has become something of a cooperative and a lot of work ends up being voluntary.
Unifying this tiny artistic community is not as easy as one would imagine. Last year, the Premio Nacional downsized to a controversial degree, leaving around 10 groups to share a performing space for very little time, and with very little funding. 'We protested and they told us there was nothing we could do about it,’ said Claudia Eid, who has been acting for 20 years and is the founder of the theatre group El Masticadero. There was a choice between resisting and obeying the authorities and the group divided.
‘If you don't make up your own rules, you can end up doing nothing' - Diego Aramburo
This highlights the need for greater government funding to support Bolivian artists. It also highlights the value of organisations such as Cochabamba’s mARTadero, where Claudia performed her most recent play, Princesas, which is an improvised critique of the ‘social construction of the woman’. mARTadero is a cultural space with seven areas devoted to different art forms that receives government funding only for specific projects As evidenced by colourful murals that surround the space and the phrase ‘Tu boca convoca a mejorar nuestra calle’ (your mouth calls to improve our street) , which is scrawled in duct tape across the office walls, inciting change through art is as important for the center as art itself.
Soledad Ardaya, who coordinates mARTadero’s theatre program, started acting in 1997. As she shows me around the courtyard and performance spaces, she explains that the organisation is home to the artists who run it and that it revolves around the ‘basic principles of integration and social interaction’. Although Soledad agrees that a desire for change always seeps into Bolivian theatre, she thinks it does so ‘as reflection rather than as a message’. For Diego, a strong political conscience is inherent in all Latin American art forms, as well as a preoccupation with colonialism that he thinks must be surmounted. ‘There are aspects of this country that annoy me,’ he says. ‘And when I’m annoyed I try to fight back,’ which is why much of his work, including his most recent play, ‘Morales’, is intentionally political. In Bolivian theatre, realism is becoming less prevalent. Characters are no longer one dimensional. They go beyond conventional Bolivian archetypes – dueño de la casa, cholita, etc. – and try to say something novel to an often closed-minded public. ‘There is something surreal in who we are,’ says Soledad. Since everyday life in Bolivia is surreal, reflecting on the day-to-day has bizarre consequences.
On the floor of a brightly lit room on Cochabamba’s Calle Venezuela, I’m sitting with Claudia as she teaches a drama class with twenty students from la Universidad Privada Boliviana. ‘They’re not interested in becoming professional actors,’ she admits. The classes are completely extracurricular, but the lesson culminates in the performance of several short plays that demonstrate the group’s dramatic talent. Claudia likes to use ‘textos frescos’ by contemporary Latin American playwrights to engage her students. She emphasizes the importance of getting young people involved in theatre. ‘The so-called young generation is my generation, and I’m 40,’ she bemoans. She says the few theatre schools that exist in Bolivia aren’t interested in expanding their reach or evolving to embrace new actors and concepts.
However, things are progressing. All the artists I spoke to insist that the quality of Bolivian plays has vastly improved over the last 15 years. Because of this many groups have managed to go abroad with their projects. But this is certainly not the time for complacency. There’s still a long way to go before theatre gains the status it deserves in Bolivia. ‘Things are getting better,’ Diego says, as our interview comes to a close. ‘But we can’t stop working.’
Photo: Kit Fretz
It was a rainy, overcast day when BX descended on unwitting university students at the Universidad Mayor de San Andrés to grill them on their views about some of life’s most pressing questions: Does the body rule the mind? Are our actions predetermined? What is your favourite sandwich? What follows is a record of what some of La Paz’s brightest students said, when put under the ineffable BX microscope.
Our first target, after we were thoroughly rebuffed by what can only be called a veritable party pooper, was Luis Enrique, an engineering systems student. Chilling against a wall, clad in a fetching leather jacket, he wowed us with his clearly well-thought out answers:
BX: I think therefore I am. Discuss.
Luis Enrique: I don’t know... (A long pause follows.) I exist because of my parents.
BX: Thank you, Luis. If a tree falls in a forest with no one around, does it make a sound?
LE: (Appearing deep in thought.) If a tree falls, a tree falls, but we don’t hear it.
BX: Again, thank you, Luis. What is your favourite sandwich?
Luis: (For the first time, appearing certain.) An egg sandwich.
We then turned to Ivana, also clad in leather, a tourism student.
BX: Does the body rule the mind or the mind rule the body?
Ivana: (With certainty) The mind rules the body.
BX: Are all our actions predetermined?
Ivana: No. I believe we can choose whether to do something or not.
BX: Well put, Ivana, thank you – but what is your favourite sandwich?
Ivana: (Suddenly unsure, put off balance.) Maybe ham and cheese?
BX: Delicious. Did Leo deserve the Oscar?
Ivana: I don’t understand. (Pause) Oh no. No, no, no. I don’t like him. He’s really boring.
BX: Well that’s a bit harsh.
Leaving such negativity behind, we crossed the Plaza Estudiantes and met Judith, a medical student.
BX: Does the body rule the mind or the mind rule the body?
Judith: The mind rules the body. The mind chooses what you do, what you like.
BX: Fair enough. Are all our actions predetermined?
Judith: No. I think half are and half are not. We can’t change some things.
BX: I agree to a point, but what is your favourite dinosaur?
Judith: What? Why? (Pauses.) I guess T-Rex. I don’t really know.
BX: Would you eat one of my friends?
Judith: No. I don’t know them.
Having examined the university’s finest on the pressing issues of the day, we swiftly exited the plaza, looking back only to see a collection of sandwich-related existential crises.
