Right opposite our block of flats there is a small hill with a statue on. I often find myself staring out at it whilst cooking or washing up, wondering about it and imagining what sad ghosts might walk it, dejected and perpetually losing their battle.
It is a hill with a sad and fascinating history.
On 27 May 1812, the Peruvian/Spanish General José Manuel de Goyeneche, attacked Cochabamba from La Paz as part of the general Spanish invasion of South America at that time. It is very difficult to find full information in English about this event, but I understand the basics. As part of an attempt to defend what they felt to be their 'sacred homeland', the indigenous people fought back. When all the men of Cochabamba had been defeated, the women stepped in. Led by an old, blind woman, named Manuela Gandarilla, they climbed to the top of the hill outside my window, then known as La Coronilla and fought bravely to defend their homeland.
They were all killed by the invading Spanish.
Nowadays Bolivians celebrate Mothers Day on 27 May to commemorate the 'Heroines of the Coronilla' and the bravery and hard work of women in Bolivia generally. At the top of the hill there is a statue of the Heroinas de la Coronilla, and on the approach to the statue are several busts, including two of the women known to have fought in that bloody battle.
We spend most of Saturday travelling back from Toro Toro but on Sunday we climb the hill to pay our respects.
It's wonderful that the women are so commemorated, (the statues were erected, I believe, in 2012), but there are a few things with bother me about that hill, and which make it stay so firmly in my mind.
Firstly, the hill has been renamed. It's now called 'San Sebastian' hill. After a Spanish saint.
Secondly, the busts depict mostly men, only two women. I aalrighure who the men are but the balance, on a hill so famous for the bravery of the women, seems wrong.
Thirdly, when we climb up to look at the statue we find the statue itself is enclosed behind a large iron fence, and the gate padlocked, the rusted state of which makes me wonder if it is ever opened. From our vantage point we can barely see the Heroinas statue which is on a much lower plinth.
Finally, and by far the most damningly, there is the status of the hill itself.
"You can get a funicular to the top of San Pedro hill," the guide books and internet resources all agree, "but avoid San Sebastian. It is extremely dangerous, even in day time."
We find one solitary source that tells us it should be fine before dark, and climb it anyway. It's a wide, paved path visible for miles around. There's not another soul there.
Why is it "extremely dangerous'? Is it out of date information, and has been paved and cleaned up since then? Is it dangerous because people have been mugged or attacked up there? By whom? The poor? Which seems almost always to mean, the indigenous people. I have not seen a single Spanish descended beggar or street sleeper.
Or is it simply assumed to be dangerous? The same way the district we are staying in is assumed to be dangerous? Tourists, presumably, are supposed to stay either right in the very centre of town, or in the posher, plainer, duller, more sophisticated European influenced end of town. If we'd stayed there I would have had a much less fond impression of Cochabamba. It might have seemed indistinguishable from anywhere else. Are indigenous areas assumed also to be dangerous? I have seen no evidence of this, though we have of course been careful.
There is a clear divide between indigenous and European descended Bolivians. But is it a divide made by choice, each to hold to his own culture, or something socially enforced?
Certainly I understand that the plight of indigenous people, particularly deep in the countryside, has improved since the election of an indigenous president. But as we journey through countryside I often see the slogan,
"Somos mas, somos el pueblo"
We are more, we are the people.
The word 'pueblo' often signifies a specific group, usually ethnic, as opposed to 'gente', which dignifies a more general sense of the word.
The slogan is spray painted on the sides of houses, cliff faces, even rocks. Often it is shortened simply to 'mas'.
I may have misunderstood. Finding these things out is difficult given my hesitant Spanish and the fact that many indigenous people, who would be best placed to answer my question, speak only Kechwa.
But I rather agree with them. The indigenous people do seem to be more in abundance than the European descended. And they certainly are a lot tougher.
I don't know enough about Bolivian politics and the prejudices or otherwise between the two groups. I don't know how fairly society is delineated, or how each group looks upon the other. It is yet another of those things I have promised myself to get a book and read up on when I get home and, perversely, have more time.
But every time I look out at that hill, so condemned to tourists, I wonder.
The women of Coronilla lost their battle. But is it still being fought?
And who is losing?
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