The coca leaf is perhaps the most indelible symbol of Bolivia: iconic, recognizable, simple. But within its image lies millennia of history and unknown depths of energy and power. Cultivated in the Andes since at least the period of the Tiwanaku – predating the Inca Empire – the coca plant has been employed for a variety of uses, including as a stimulant, an appetite suppressant and as an anesthetic. It is prepared as a tea, applied to wounds and most famously chewed in the mouths of workers of all walks of life here.
Playing such a key role in many societies over centuries, coca is venerated as a sacred plant, and has purpose beyond its biological and medical uses. Yatiris, or shamen, incorporate coca leaves into their practices in many ways. They are spread around in sacred ceremonies and ch’allas, or blessings. Yatiris ‘read’ coca leaves to tell the fortunes of believers. And the leaf is reduced to its essence to make extracts.
It is no wonder that the coca leaf plays a special role in Bolivia’s spiritual, social and economic spheres. It has driven civilizations to greatness, and has enlivened the spirits of their countless inhabitants, as it does today. At the core of this importance is the leaf’s ability to store and give life to those who engage with it. In Bolivia, the coca leaf is more than a symbol, it is the single most potent giver of enduring vitality.
The spirit of the coca leaf resides in many corners of Bolivian society. Similar energising forces which enliven the spirit and bring people together, can be found in other facets of day-to-day Bolivian life. In this issue of Bolivian Express, we explore vitality through the stories of people filled with power and life, from Aymara cholitas scaling the heights of Bolivia’s highest mountains to dancers taking their improvisational movements to the street. La Paz’s famous zebras show us ways to imbue city streets with positive energy, and Korean immigrants and volunteers tell us how they are becoming part of Bolivian society to do good works. We celebrate big advances made for Bolivia’s transgendered community, we also learn about objects and foods filled with the powers to enliven, including Bolivian spirits and the variety of items, old and new, sold at La Paz’s famous Witches Market. Bolivia is known for a number of ‘superfoods’, and we explore their local origins and uses to provide healthy sustenance to people here and abroad. And we dive into the collective national promotion of Vivir Bien, or ‘Living Well’, an abstract idea turning into a tangible, measurable metric for creating and maintaining balance and wellbeing for all of Bolivia’s citizens.
Bolivia is a place with its own kind of energy, its own vibrance. As is the case with every issue of this magazine, here we offer stories that show this beauty in many different ways. We want to show you, the reader, that the same enduring spirit that inhabits the coca leaf also resides in the people, places and things that call this country home. And we hope that you see Bolivia as a place that can be described as, above all, vital.
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Photo: William Wroblewski
Two Partners Are Looking to Redefine the Whisky Market in Bolivia
Barely five minutes after arriving at Bolivia’s soon-to-be first-ever whisky distillery, I find a shot glass half-full of a clear liquid in my hand. I sip it, and the rich taste flows smoothly – no burn, but a warm glow fills my stomach. This is a 45-abv moonshine distilled from corn, and its name, Killa, is taken from the Quechua word for ‘moon’.
But this is no ordinary moonshine. In Bolivia and Peru, the popular drink chicha is produced by fermenting a certain variant of maize known as jora. Here at the small four-room distillery, the makers start with the traditional chicha fermentation process, but then distill it in order to make it stronger, turning it into moonshine.
This moonshine has a unique taste partly due to the combination of traditional distilling processes with parts of Bolivian and high Andean culture. In order to put a paceño spin on it, the makers have been experimenting with using local grains and processes mixed into the distillation.
According to Fernando Marin, part-owner of the company, this is not the only thing that makes this distillery so unique. Another factor in its originality is the location of the distillery, settled at 3600m in the world’s highest capital. At this altitude, water boils at a much lower temperature, so the process has to be altered slightly for best results. ‘You could take the exact ingredients, the exact equipment, and have the same distillers repeat this process at sea-level, but it would not be the same,’ Fernando says. ‘We have a very unique atmosphere here.’
At this point, the distillery is not yet up and running commercially. Small batches are being tested to refine the production before it is eventually scaled up. Fernando and his business partner, Felipe Gonzales-Quint, are eying quinoa and amaranth, both traditional Andean crops, for use as ingredients. These plants would lend the moonshine flavours distinct from those that the barley used normally in Scotch or Irish whisky gives. Although this recipe is still in development, the distillery has samples of early experiments, which, once unstopped, fill the room with the unmistakably earthy aroma of quinoa.
Located in a colonial building off Calle Sagarnaga in La Paz’s tourist district, the distillery was once a burnt-out shell, but is now coming together as an impressive micro-production plant. Fernando and Felipe reconstructed the original rooms by hand and filled them with all the equipment needed to start their business. Even the distillation tanks, big behemoths made from stainless steel, have been designed by the pair and made to their exact specifications. It has also been a family effort: much of the facility’s furniture was donated by relatives.
Their enthusiasm is apparent in their excitement when they speak about the product.
‘We started exploring the possibility of making whisky five years ago,’ Felipe says. ‘But not in a serious way. We were just curious about where the alcohol comes from. Then we started joking about it, bought some books and did some research. It just grew from there.’
The project is in its infancy, and the pair still have to get certified by the government before they can start production. But they already have ambitious plans for the future. They’re looking to hostel bars and popular tourist restaurants for distribution, and they will be offering tours to interested people, tastings included.
Upon visiting the plant, I was not prepared for the tiny scale of the operation. However, this was more than made up for by the boundless enthusiasm of the two partners. Their enthusiasm is apparent in the immaculate production rooms and their excitement when they speak about the product. But more importantly, their passion is encapsulated in the taste of their chicha-like moonshine, so carefully curated as to renew the vivacity of the drinker, raising her own spirits even as she raises the spirit in a toast to this new endeavour.
Illustration: Mauricio Wilde
A Korean Organization’s Growing Relationship with La Paz
It is no secret that, by definitions set by the United Nations, Bolivia is one of the most ‘underdeveloped’ countries in South America. A recent UN Human Development Report ranked it 119th out of 188 countries, behind all of its neighbors. The improvement of its Human Development Index is technically in the hands of the Bolivian government, but as with most countries in the Global South, foreign aid in Bolivia has always been of great value.
Disease prevention, improved medical training and increased access to computer skills are but some of the development gaps that the Korean International Cooperation Agency, or KOICA, aims to close in the country. The agency’s overall mission is to enhance ‘prosperity through inclusive and sustainable growth’.
KOICA was founded in 1991 and has since spread to 44 countries around the globe. In Bolivia it aims to promote agriculture, health, transport and energy. KOICA has designated it a ‘priority’ country in 2010 and opened its first office in La Paz.
The organization carries out its aims mainly through two channels: projects advised by South Korean specialists and a volunteer program that receives and trains around 55 Korean men and women per year. In alliance with Bolivian firms and government branches, the advisory projects employ around 100 paid professionals per year.
On the other hand, the volunteer program focuses on providing young Koreans with the necessary skills and resources to have a meaningful impact in the country. Every volunteer is given a two-year “mission” that tackles a specific issue related to one of the four KOICA target sectors.
After interviewing KOICA members in La Paz, it is clear that the organization is working to provide the city with small injections of vitality. But the personal stories of its paid and unpaid workers show that their stay in Bolivia is providing a good dose of vitality for themselves.
Speaking to Kwak Byeong Gon, an experienced doctor who advises local hospitals, and Song Min Chol, a volunteer IT teacher, it is clear that both of the agency’s channels are geared around local needs. Dr. Kwak shares his valuable expertise with health centers in El Alto and runs crucial training courses for Bolivian doctors. Min Chol focuses on improving the IT skills and the access to computers of a low-income community in the south side of La Paz.
Before volunteers such as Min Chol can begin their mission, they undergo an intense two-month training programme in Bolivia. The training includes eight hours of Spanish lessons a day and useful crash courses, such as an explanation of ‘la hora boliviana’, which Min Chol admits is a concept that can be difficult to handle.
Why face all this adversity thousands of miles from home for no material remuneration? Bo Shin Sang, a 26-year old volunteer, has some answers to this question. It is a sociological fact that young Korean males like Shin Sang are subject to highly palpable social pressures in their native country. There is a well-drawn path that Korean males are expected to follow, an expectation enforced by parents and the country’s results-driven education system: do nothing but study in high school so you can go to a prestigious university. Repeat this process in order to land the best job.
Min Chol’s description of Korean society confirms this picture. ‘What’s the value of social life or hobbies,’ he asks, ‘when following this well-trodden path is all you need to be “successful”?’ Under such restrictions, Shin Sang admits to have been plagued by a feeling of powerlessness in Korea. ‘It’s my life,’ he says, and volunteering in Bolivia has allowed him to regain some control.
The convention-breaking aspect of Shin Sang and Min Chol’s decision may be hard to grasp, given that volunteering is not uncommon in European and North American nations. In Korea, however, volunteering is an activity that receives little to no societal praise. Whilst American colleges and English universities view humanitarian work experience in a positive light, Korean universities base their admissions solely on exam scores. This narrow-minded approach creates an ultra-competitive and ultimately selfish mentality amongst many young Koreans. This could explain why the number of KOICA volunteers in Bolivia has remained stagnant since its first year.
The rejection of this culture of individualism is also what motivates KOICA’s hired experts, who make professional sacrifices to work in other counties. Although Dr. Kwak runs a private clinic in Seoul, his desire to ‘spread happiness and plant hope’ first led him to work with KOICA in 2007, for a significantly smaller wage.
On a personal level, Dr. Kwak’s family has also had to make some sacrifices. His three boys, for example, struggle to communicate with their Bolivian classmates. His widowered father, who stayed in Korea, misses Dr. Kwak very dearly. Not being able to take care of his elderly father has been emotionally burdensome for the doctor, as he worries about upholding his duty as a son according to Confucian values.
Dr. Kwak admits that it is difficult to accept the many peculiarities of Bolivian society, be it the reckless driving, endless bureaucracy or the heavy local gastronomy. Amidst these cultural shocks, ‘bravery’, he says, is what holds the family together.
He has harsh words for Korean doctors, describing some of them as ‘money-making machines’. Raised by a father who frequently volunteered for his community, Dr. Kwak is a city doctor who places ethics ahead of profits. Only this can explain why he is here in Bolivia rather than in Seoul, competing with his colleagues over who can run through the largest number of patients per day. As Dr. Kwak summarized, it is important to remind doctors, be it in El Alto or in Seoul, that there is no such thing as a ‘hospital for doctors’, only a ‘hospital for patients’.
Dr. Kwak’s energetic disposition feeds off the close patient-doctor relationships he has formed abroad. In Korea, he says,‘patients can often be rude or stressed-out’. In Bolivia, Dr. Kwak has found that patients are more grateful. Perhaps this has something to do with what Shin Sang has learned as a volunteer: Bolivia is ‘lento, lento, lento.’ Korea is ‘rápido, rápido, rápido.’
These three Koreans are not only trying to push forward the development of Bolivia’s political capital. They are also developing daily relationships with paceños that allow them to experience what they find lacking back home, or perhaps escape what they find discomforting. In the process of doing so, their sacrifices are remunerated with happiness, a much more valuable good than money.
