The Yarsagumba Effect: Documenting the Ecology of Medicinal Plant Markets

I returned to Tibet for the final leg of my journey.  I flew from Albania to Shanghai, then settled into my cot in the nosebleed section of the sleeper car for the journey to Chengdu.  I gazed affectionately at the ramen wrappers and tiny bones piled on the table below, wondering when I would next see vacuum sealed chicken feet.  I resolved that I would miss them, and the train passengers that spit the relics into fits bedecked with carefully filed pinky nails.

In Chengdu, I was able to meet with Dr. Guo, the University of Chengdu Traditional Chinese Medicine professor, with whom I worked extensively last year.  Once in Kanding, within the Ganze Tibet Autonomous Prefecture of western Sichuan, we visited several high altitude collection sites in search of Yarsagumba.  I spent the evenings figuring out excuses to skip dinner and its copious amounts of oil-soaked pork, in favor of an apple and carefully rationed cheese from Albania.  After a week of field work and extremely productive interviews with local middlemen, Dr. Guo and his research assistants were off on the 6am bus to Chengdu.

Digging for yarsagumba

I was feeling very pleased with myself.  I was even more pleased when I discovered Raz, an Israeli backpacker with a wide grin and a great number of unidentifiable objects imbedded in his single dreadlock.  He was going to Tagong the next day, a place another Israeli had told him was worth visiting for a tangent.  After talking with him for about 7 minutes, it was resolved that we would go together.  We walked across town to buy provisions:  6 tomatoes, rice, sugar, 2 onions, one pound of fresh mushrooms, a brick of tofu and instant coffee.  Three hours later, our van pulled up in front of a ChinaMobile, where a horse was tied up outside while its owner browsed the selection of mobile phones.

a monk walking our route to the village

Tagong is about as close as one can get to the Tibetan wild West.  It is a hub for nomads to sell their yak products and buy necessities like barley flour and medicines, and also has several cafes and inns that cater to westerners.  Angela, an American expat married to a Tibetan, runs a cafe and small business that organizes treks, homestays and horseback tours – she was not there when we arrived, but another American girl kindly gave us directions to get to where her in-laws lived.  The directions were as follows:  walk out of town to the North – cross the river and walk on the dirt road until you see the monastery.  About 20 meters from the stupa, start hiking up toward the saddle between two hills.  On the other side, cross the river and it’s the third house upstream.  I kid you not.  Miraculously we made it before dark, but not without struggle.  Turns out there were two monasteries and 14 stupas.  And it hailed mercilessly for about 30 minutes while I was attempting to get oriented atop a particularly tall hill, where I could feel lightening begging to zap me.  After some scouting expeditions, we identified the correct valley and descended around dusk.  Angela, a petite blonde woman in a wool sweater, greeted us outside the yak pen adjacent to the mud and stone farmhouse.  Raz and I pitched our tent on a knoll above the river, and arranged to spend several days with Angela’s sister-in-law, who hiked up to the plateau to collect yarsagumbu each day.  When Raz returned to Tagong, I would hike to the high camp, where the rest of the family was collecting higher quality yarsagumbu.  After preparing a delicious shakshuka on the campstove, we proceeded to eat, set our woefully waterlogged boots out to dry and go to sleep.

a woman praying outside the monastery

I spent two weeks with the nomads.  I never found a single ‘butsu’ (Tibetan slang for yarsagumbu).  Angela’s sister in law, Sola, and I crawled on our hands and knees for hours, and during our lunch break we ate tsampa and napped in the grass.  I adapted a pair of cardboard hotel slippers, swiped from a hotel in Chengdu, into hand pads that protected my palms from the nettles and occasional piece of metal debris.  After several days collecting, I resolved that harvesting butsu was not my calling, and decided to spend my days helping my new friend, 10-year old Garemnoro (? – phonetical spelling) herd the yaks.  Turns out I’m pretty good.  We’d milk them at 5am, get them out to pasture at around 8am, then sit on the top of the ridge, napping and staring at the clouds rolling over the mountains until evening, when we would herd them back to the pen by throwing chunks of earth and hollering obscenities in our respective languages.  We became good friends.

The high camp was 8 hours by foot from the valley, and was at an elevation of about 4,100 meters.  When Garemnoro and I arrived, we found a band of cliffs that sheltered a cluster of tents overlooking a small alpine lake.  Kalo, Sola’s sister, was nursing a small baby in the tent that was stuffed with dried plant matter.  She had no doubt given birth up there – the child could not have been more than a few days old.  Angela later told me that she had walked up 8 months pregnant, given birth alone in the tent, then went back out to collect butsu two days later.  She also told me Kalo’s last two children had died before they reached a year old – one from a staff infection that developed after a rusty knife was used to cut the umbilical cord, and the other from dysentery.

Garemnoro

So Kalo and I walked hand in hand to the meadow where the others were still looking for caterpillar fungus.  They showed me their booty, a ramen package filled with about 20 pieces, and laughed when I gestured that I hadn’t found a single one.  Later that day a man rode up on an old Royal Enfield (as to how he got his motorcycle there, I have absolutely no idea) to purchase their goods.  He pulled out a stack of yuan about four inches thick, which I estimated was about two thousand dollars.  The deal was made, and in one stroke the family acquired most of their year’s income.

at high camp

Butsu

lunch break

We spent the night in the cave overlooking the lake – I peered into the dark overhang, which was overflowing with clothes, saddles, sacks of flour, plastic toys and stacks of blankets three feet high.  It was like a thieves’ den.  I carved a place for my sleeping bag between a mountain of saddlepads and a box of cookware that teetered precariously close to my head.  Kalo rummaged around the cave until she unearthed a bag of barley flour, which she examined and cursed when she found that some rodent had opened the corner.  I popped balls of tsampa into my mouth as the stars became polished and the shadows convulsed on the walls – just sitting, all of us nomads in the dark.  After tea was served, I eyed the piles of stuff warily, shrugged, and fell soundly asleep.

the cave

I had phenomenal luck in Albania – my couchsurfing host, Margie, is actually a Saint.  When I arrived at her apartment, she showed me to my own room, my own bathroom – with a towel, and demanded I give her my laundry for washing.  Then she fed me.  Homemade comfort food.  I was in heaven.  The bed was soft, and the water was hot – and best of all, Pasha was on his way.

I spent the first few days getting to know the city and eating my weight in macaroni and cheese.  Margie and I ate dinner together every night, and when a couchsurfer from Slovenia brought home-made grappa and wine, we had a banquet fit for kings.  There was a pastry shop across the street, and Margie would pick up these incredible Russian tea cookies, Napoleon cakes and fruit torts.  We had the best time.  The sun would set over the Tirana valley, and we would listen for the sound of hoofbeats on the pavement – every day at 6 o’clock, a gypsy man would ride his shaggy pony through the streets, weaving haphazardly through cars and kicking up a cloud of dust.  Tirana is almost like a hybrid between Kathmandu and a small European city – like Kathmandu, the valley is crammed with look-alike rectangular apartment buildings that are questionable in structure and even more questionable with respect to utility services.  However, coffee is cheap and readily available – every Albanian you meet will invite you to coffee, a fabulous custom.  Western food is also tasty and ubiquitous – delicious pastries, gelato and peanut butter, the staple for my existence.  It’s pretty funny how the water and power would disappear without notice (ahem!  KTM) and how horse and buggy are still a respectable mode of transport, second only to the Mercedes.

A woman selling herbs on the street in Tirana

The Mercedes proved to be a hot topic for conversation – I was shocked that there a higher concentration of Mercedes than any other city I had ever seen in my life (LA and Almaty, Kazakhstan included).  It was honestly pretty weird, considering most people were barely feeding their families, but had a C-series in their barn.  When speaking with Rico, Margie’s son, he explained how the roads were so bad 10 years ago, people had no choice but to drive Mercedes, which could handle the potholes and ruts.  As the country’s infrastructure slowly improved, the Mercedes morphed from a utility to a status symbol, and he told me thousands were stolen from Western Europe and imported into Tirana every year.  His friend’s sister had worked at the motor vehicle registration office, and would often find stacks of Euros 6″ thick on her desk – the papers for the cars would be ready the next day.

With respect to Albania’s medicinal planAs far as my project goes, I met with the Rural Assistance Support Project, an organization that works to help rural farmers earn income through sustainable development.  Petrit Dobi, the director, arranged for me to stay in Kukes, a small village near the Kosovo border.  I went out with Naim and Vera, local agricultural directors for the program, and met with the farmers that were cultivating sage and other medicinal plants for commercial use.  They were neatly dressed in shabby but clean three-piece suits, and were excited to meet me.  Their fields were lush, and I learned that they earned about $250 dollars per year for a small plot of sage, which was mostly exported to Germany and the states.  I took a lot of good video footage, and enjoyed the tour of the countryside.  I noticed there were many mushroom-shaped cement structures piled in the corner of the field – when I asked what they were, Naim told me they were bunkers and bomb shelters from the war.  Vera herself had sheltered 20 Kosovans in her mother’s small apartment, and there was still a palpable hatred for Serbia in her voice when she told me about all the atrocities she witnessed.  Only 12 years ago, this was a war zone.

There were women herding cows in a nearby field, white headscarves bobbing between the animals – Albanian villages are far more conservative than I thought – most older women wore Russian-style head scarves, and were rarely seen outside the home.  Whenever I went out for a coffee with Naim or Vera, which was often, I never saw a single woman in the cafe or bar.  Even on the streets, it was overwhelming men walking around.  It gave me the creeps, to be honest.  However, I was graciously received in Vera’s home, and her mother cooked me an authentic Albanian meal (I didn’t have the heart to tell them I was a vegetarian), and we talked for a long time about women’s issues in the rural areas of Albania.  As it turns out, women have it pretty rough there – domestic violence is ubiquitous, and young women are not permitted out of the house without a chaperone.  I was shocked, as it seemed like Albania would have been more modern, given its proximity to the EU and other countries like Greece and Croatia.  I experienced these traditional views firsthand when I decided to go out for a beer one night – I met a nice family who invited me to watch the soccer game in their bar, and we stayed out quite late.  When I called my friend in Tirana the next day, he told me I needed to contact Naim right away.  Confused, I asked him why.  He told me that Naim had called him last night when the hotel owner had noticed I did not come back to the hotel (I went back around 3 am).  I was shocked and embarrassed that the hotel owner had contacted Naim, and that he had contacted Petrit in Tirana.  He was a hotel owner, not my father.  They couldn’t understand why I was upset, so I let it go, but I felt sorry for all the women who grew up in this stifling environment.  Needless to say, when my research was done, I gladly returned to Tirana, where Margie was waiting with a fresh pie and a hug.

I was so glad to see Pash – we spent a day just watching movies and cooking, which was very necessary.   We hung out with Margie for a few days while I met with more medicinal plant export companies and talked to the street vendors selling fold remedies and dried herbs.  This is probably one of my favorite things to do, no matter what country I’m in – getting someone to translate for me and walking around markets talking to people.  Everyone I met in Albania was so kind and generous with their time and knowledge – a friend of a friend took me to coffee and spent the better part of an hour translating for the various vendors and shopkeepers, many of whom invited me for coffee.  I learned that although most of the remedies, like mountain tea, were not expensive, vendors sold large quantities and made a substantial living.  One woman sitting outside my friend’s jewelry shop earned about $200 per month selling lush bouquets of dried yellow mountain tea.  The most expensive of the remedies was a type of dried berry, which is said to be good for stomach ills and kidney disease.  I don’t remember what it is called, but it sells for about $10 per package.

A Slovenian couple was also couchsurfing with Margie – they were filmmakers doing a documentary on the gypsies in the city.  We went to the opening of Miha’s

Pasha and I were excited to meet up with our friend, Anze, whom we met in Thailand about 6 months before.  We roadtripped with our other two Slovenian friends to Croatia, where we enjoyed a weekend of camping and rock climbing.  Croatia was beautiful – the crystalline water and tall granite cliff bands were paradise.  Anze, Pash and I climbed until we were worn out, then jumped in the sea, which was shockingly cold.  I had convinced Pash to jump in after me, and he immediately screamed “are you INSANE!” and jumped out again.  I nearly died laughing.  We went back to our campsite with more Slovenian rock climbing buddies, and barbecued and drank beer out of 2L plastic bottles while stoking the fire and sharing stories.  It was the best.  We awoke to see that we were camped by a narrow saltwater inlet, with not a soul in sight.  I jumped in the clear blue water for a morning swim, and felt I was in heaven.  There have been many times throughout the year when I’ve silently said a prayer of gratitude for my existence, and this was one of them.  We climbed another day, then decided to try hitchhiking back to Albania.  Bad decision.  For two days, we sat in the sun, cursing every vehicle that drove by.  Eventually we gave up and bought $60 bus tickets to Belgrade, where we could get a connection to Albania via Kosovo.  There was no other way, as my flight to China was in two days, and we couldn’t risk missing it.

Climbing at Paklenica

Belgrade is possible the most depressing city on the planet.  We were only there for a few hours between buses, but we had enough after a failed attempt at finding anything edible within a two mile radius of the bus station.  It was a disaster.  The police wouldn’t even let us nap in the waiting area – there weren’t enough chairs in the place, and we were exhausted.  I started yelling at him, about how every country in the world lets its weary travelers rest in public transportation centers.  He replied, “well, this is Serbia,” and I about lost it – yelling about how their country was a sh** hole and how nobody wanted to go there.  I think Pasha would have been horrified if he had not been laughing so hard.  Regardless, we were happy to get back to Albania, where the people were friendly and the coffee was cheap.

I met with RASP a few more times and got an interview with the director, which was great.  Pasha and Margie and I enjoyed evening walks in the city park, where we would stop for coffee and people-watch.  I especially liked the family dinners Margie would cook – elaborate pot roasts, fresh salads and always a delicious confection from the bakery across the street.  I hope to visit her again sometime – we became great friends and she is truly a wonderful person.  She teared up when we had to leave after a whole month of staying with her!

Albania is not without its problems, but I am grateful to have been able to live there.  You can see the cows tied up outside the butcher, and the fresh meat hanging the next morning, which you will not likely see in the West.  It’s very much like Turkey in that it is a crossroad of East and West; of tradition and modernity.  And I loved it.

After two days in Dar es Salaam, I came to the conclusion that there wasn’t much for me there.  Although it was not unlike many of the other developing world cities I have lived and worked in (crowded minibuses, unpredictable or nonexistent services, power and water outages), I found the vibe of the city particularly inhospitable for foreigners.  Had I spoken Swahili, I think I would have had far better luck with project-oriented endeavors.   Although I did have some very positive experiences that made me forget the negative ones (people demanding money to even talk to me about medicinal plants or point me in the right direction).  While getting to know the public bus system, a young librarian who helped me find my way (once I ended up 20 kilometers outside the city with no clue of where I was) – I am always touched by the kindness I encounter in each and every country, no matter the culture or religion.  Kindness is kindness everywhere – this has been a reoccurring theme in my Watson year thus far.  In my experience, for every jerk taxi driver that tries to rip you off, there are three complete strangers who will lead you to your destination and invite you for a tea or coffee just because they can.

However, I received a rather brusque introduction to Africa upon my first meeting with a professor at the University of Dar es Salaam.  First meetings with officials or professors are especially nerve-racking, because I am always unsure of their personal views and their ‘angle’ on the issues I am investigating.  I don’t want to seem to controversial, but I want to let them know what I am looking to learn and accomplish.  I want access to information, but I have to be careful how I sell myself – sometimes an academic spin is more useful, other times an NGO worker-spin is best.  I have found that people are quick to pass judgment, and will either deny you or give you access to their resources based on who they think you are.  The complete truth has often gotten me rejected from potentially awesome project-related opportunities because I don’t ‘fit’ into the framework of the individual or the organization.  I made the wrong choice when I entered the botany professor’s office for the first time; I made a passing remark that I wanted to work together to create a survey that would help NGOs learn about market trade flow (the approach that landed me some incredible opportunities in China) in hopes of crafting a program for sustainable harvesting.  Wrong angle.  I was immediately assaulted with questions about how I would address intellectual property issues and how I could prove that I was not going to commit intellectual property theft by publishing any information that I gathered, even informally.  When I explained what the Watson was and how I planned on using information on for my own learning, he responded that even my blog could be read by pharmaceutical companies looking to exploit my findings for their own betterment.  I was horrified.   I found myself trying to talk my way out of the academic approach, ensuring the professor that I am trying to raise awareness about the issue of biopiracy, and downplaying the fact that I wanted to collect information.  He began to warm up to me when I showed how shocked I was to learn about the laundry list of pharmaceuticals that have been developed using Tanzanian plants.  The National Cancer Institute and the Missouri Botanical Society are the most toxic of the offenders, and have worked side by side with Tanzanian scientists, but have shared no benefits with the communities where the specimens were found, nor with the Institute itself.  As I shook my head with disgust and explained the parallel between Tanzania and Peru with respect to Biopiracy, I felt the professor shed some of his previous suspicion.  He explained that the Missouri Botanical Society had, in fact, just taken over 200 specimens of soleanicaea from the Kilimanjaro region, for use in the development of chemotherapy treatments.  Each specimen taken from the field is noted in the Herbarium; its location and the names of local people that aided in collection are listed in files.  However, I was allowed no access to these records without a research permit.  I was furious; how could he not see that I was trying to help his country and fight biopiracy?  It was disappointing to be denied information that I knew could radically change how Westerners perceive pharmaceutical companies; however, I forced myself to remember that I wasn’t Nancy Drew, I was a Watson Fellow, and I was out to learn.  I’m under no pressure to make revolutionary discoveries this year – I only need to do the best I can.   So, I ditched the idea of getting a research permit and proceeded to learn as possible about biopiracy while circumventing the system.

Serengeti

At the watering hole

I found my groove eventually, and seeing my parents certainly helped boost my energy and enthusiasm.  After working on my project almost nonstop for four months in Peru and Ecuador (and developing gluten intolerance due to amoebic cysts…eek), I was beyond grateful that they came all the way to Africa for an all-too-short visit.   Their trip to Tanzania was special to me because I finally had the opportunity to share my experiences with them – after traveling abroad consistently since the age of 17, I was only ever able to show them photos and tell stories.  Especially when it came to my experience living in Nepal and other developing countries, I felt that there were some things that just couldn’t be communicated.  I often wished that they had been there so they could understand exactly how and why I had grown as an individual in these seemingly far-off places.  It was important to me that they experience what I have been living for the past 10 months.  I was also excited because my Dad had been dreaming of going on a safari in Africa since he was a little boy, and had not taken a vacation in almost 10 years.

The time we had exceeded our wildest dreams – watching a jaguar drag a kill up a tree from 10 meters away, photographing lions in the Ngorongoro crater and observing the great migration across the Serengetti. They also made a point to ‘shadow’ me while I did project-related work, such as interviews and background research at the university.  They tagged along for a typical day – catching a bus (and then another) to the university, waiting for an hour for an absent professor, tracking down someone with a phone so we could call him, then having it all pay off when we got an incredible interview!  Mom and Dad learned a lot, and I’m truly grateful they were able to take part in my Watson year – experiencing both the enjoyable and the not-so-enjoyable aspects of living abroad.

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Although he was still apprehensive about my intentions, the professor of botany shared some jarring facts about bioprospecting and biopiracy in Tanzania.  The Missouri and Frankfurt Botanical societies have a history of patenting compounds isolated from plants collected in Tanzania without notifying the Institute for Traditional Medicine or the Department of Botany, taking all academic credit for these genetic resources despite collaboration with Tanzanian experts.  The cycle of bioprospecting goes like this:  first, pharmaceutical companies reach out to botanical societies and privately hire scientists to search for plants that have the potential for use in drug development.  These scientists obtain research permits and draw up contracts with partner organizations in developing countries such as Tanzania.  The botanists then collect specimens identified by indigenous healers and note their traditional use.  Once in the states, pharmaceutical companies isolate the active compounds in the plant, then patents the genetic sequence responsible for its medicinal properties.  The company then creates and markets drugs without sharing any benefits with the Tanzanian academic community, the government, or the impoverished indigenous people whose knowledge is earning them millions of dollars.

With the healer at the market

Perhaps the most famous case of biopiracy in Africa involved the corporation Shaman Pharmaceuticals, which used a Tanzanian plant to develop Metformin, a treatment for diabetes. The company hired botanists from the US, who, with the help of the Institute for Traditional Medicine, consulted local healers in order to identify and harvest a variety of species.  In the end, Shaman patented several genetic resources found with the help of Masai tribesmen, and removed an estimated 2 tons of plant specimens (far more than allowed) by allegedly bribing government officials.  Corruption within the Institute for Traditional Medicine was also rumored to have existed at the time.

This Masai woman makes over $200 per month selling medicinal herbs and traditional remedies

When I spoke to the current director of the ITM, who was enthusiastic about my interest in exposing biopiracy and was kind enough to agree to be interviewed on film, he described in detail the history of one-sided relationships between Tanzanian scientists and foreign organizations and corporations.  The National Cancer Institute has brought several Tanzanian PhDs to the States, but otherwise has not shared any benefits with Tanzanian researchers or the indigenous communities.  When I asked why Tanzanian lawyers had not taken legal action against these corporations, he explained that a lack of funding and poor organization within the government has stunted any efforts to curb bioprospecting.  I can only hope that Tanzania can follow in the footsteps of South American countries like Ecuador and Peru, which have developed stringent genetic resource and intellectual property laws.  An extensive network of lawyers, NGOs and government bureaus in Peru and Ecuador have also succeeded in voiding patents that give foreign corporations exclusive rights to genetic material found in native plant or fungus species.  Although the legislation is far from perfect, it is an important step in vanquishing biopiracy, and I am hopeful that Africa will soon develop a system for counteracting the exploitation of their environments and indigenous peoples.

After deciding that I had pushed the envelope enough by snooping around the University of Dar es Salaam, I was eager to get out into the field and learn about the culture and tradition surrounding medicinal plants – specifically within Masai communities.   I visited the WWF office and TRAFFIC in search of potential connections, but unfortunately the one person representing the organization in Tanzania had no idea they had even published anything on medicinal plants in the past.   Luck came to my aid once again (I think I’m an exceptionally lucky Watson when it comes to meeting people….) when I found a young man to take me to a Masai village and translate for the healer.  The village also happened to be near where Babu, a Lutheran minister and medicine man, was healing thousands of people per day using his miracle cup of tea.  The story developed while I was in Arusha the first time, and over the course of two weeks, almost a million people had visited his home, seeking a cure for everything from AIDS to cancer.  Many claimed they had been successfully cured, however, the logistical nightmares that come with hundreds of thousands of people camped in an area without water or services quickly attracted the attention of the government, who shut the area down for two weeks in order to improve infrastructure and prevent an outbreak of disease.  It was a very interesting and fortuitous time to be studying medicine, as the Baba craze soon made national headlines.  When I asked the director of the Institute for Traditional Medicine if there had been any other healers that had reached celebrity status, he responded that this was the first time traditional medicine had been thrust into the national spotlight.  He also stated that in the past ten years, Tanzanians had embraced western medicine, but as poverty, unemployment and HIV/AIDS continue to spread, people have become desperate.  In their desperation, they have turned to traditional medicine and faith-based healing.  He said that Tanzanians have always valued traditional medicine, but because many people do not have access to western medicine, or have diseases that western medicine cannot yet cure, they look to In desperation, he said, people will believe in unlikely cures.

Me and the village healer

When we arrived in the village, I was greeted warmly and was excited to speak with the men and women who were collecting and selling medicinal plants.  Astonishingly enough, the Masai women I met earned over $100 per month selling ground herbs and other medicinal products at the market.  This is an exorbitant amount of money, given that over 70% of Tanzanians are unemployed, and rural poverty near the Kenyan border is ubiquitous.  Everywhere I went I heard unbelievably high numbers; a man with his own grinder and a small shack that served as his shop made over $400 per month from his concoctions; the most valuable of which was a salve mixed from the sap of a tree and animal oil, and cost approximately $10 per jar.

We continued on to a more remote village on motorcycle – I was quite excited, and enjoyed speeding through the savannah on the old Triumph.  Joshua dodged donkey carts and drainage canals while waving to children that gathered to see the mzungu (white person).  As we drove further and further from the small town, the land became more wild and the dwellings more traditional – the village was a collection of 5 or 6 mud huts, perfectly smooth and immaculately thatched.  The medicine man greeted me warmly, and Joshua translated as he pointed out the different trees and shrubs that are collected and sold to traders.  He pointed out that every tree or shrub with about a 400m radius of the village had medicinal properties – otherwise, it would be cut down for firewood or eaten by cattle.  The trees that dotted the savannah were special, and therefore respected.  Not to mention they are an important source of income for an otherwise subsistence-based community.  The Masai elder informed me that his clan earned approximately $300 per year from the sale of medicinal plants; significantly less than the people selling the medicines on the street or at the village market, but a considerable sum nonetheless.  While we were walking, he pointed out a tree that provided the expensive salve I had seen in the market – he pointed to my pale, sun-prone skin, and chuckled.  He then made a few hash marks on the bark with his machete, then collected the sap oozing from the cuts with his finger.  After spreading the oily substance on my face and arms, he proclaimed that I was now protected from the sun.  Surprisingly, despite the fact that I forgot to put on sun crème that morning, I had no burns.

When I reflect on my time in Tanzania, I can say that my experience with the African continent was a challenge to say the least, but I feel I rose to the occasion.  There were a few moments where I can honestly say I came to understand the purpose of the Watson – not only did I learn about the complex ecology of Tanzania’s medicinal plant market, I felt myself evolve as a person.  Even my parents noticed a few changes in my personality – for one, I have become decidedly less timid when it comes to taking care of important needs and making sure people follow through on duties or promises.  I also don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and have found the courage to stand up for my own rights and needs despite intimidating officials, hotel staff or taxi drivers.  On one particularly memorable occasion, my parents and I were standing in line for the ferry.  People were jumping the rope and boarding early, while the guard shook their hand and paid them no mind.  We became uneasy, as our luggage had been taken behind the rope and was out of sight.  When I protested the blatant favoritism the official was displaying, he pretended I did not exist.  I walked over to the nearest policeman and tried to explain/mime the gist of what was going on.  He lifted the rope and let me through, and when the guard began to yell, I pointed defiantly at the policeman with the AK 47.  I would have never been so bold before my Watson year.

I suppose I have also developed a stronger need for alone time.  This is probably due to the fact that I spend 90% of my time solo – even when I am staying in a community or visiting the field with an NGO representative, I am usually by myself at the end of the day.  I enjoy being by myself, truly by myself, far more than I used to.   As the year begins to draw to a close, I am taking more time to reflect on what I have learned in an empirical sense, as well as what I have learned and how I have changed as a person.  It’s strange because there is a tangible sense of change in my behavior, mentality, even speech, that I can actively observe in myself.  Personal transformation is often touted in books, television – throughout every corner of the media – but I think very few people know what it feels like to observe a shift in their own persona.  It is one thing to actively attempt to change one’s self, but to act or think differently, without conscious effort, is an entirely different type of transformation.  This is the goal of Buddhism; to train the mind to act differently automatically, without having to constantly fight one’s own thoughts.  I lived in a monastery, and continue to keep the Dharma in my life, but I have found my Watson year comparable to my time in meditation with respect to a clearer, more compassionate mind.   The new challenge will be maintaining this clarity upon return to the States.

From Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

I’ve made several gambles with respect to travel itinerary – some additions were successful (Kazakhstan) and others less so (Thailand) -  but I can say with confidence that adding Peru to my project countries was the best decision I have made this year.  That and my inexhaustible stock of Cipro.  Also, after several months of going it alone, I was ecstatic to have Pasha join me again.

Coming from Ecuador, I was already in a groove and was very comfortable traveling in Latin America.  My fluency in Spanish was key to my success in the area, and made me regret not being able to speak Chinese.  Although I am well-connected with an academic community that speaks English, knowing the language of a country greatly impacts the experience.  Travel was easy and the food delicious – Pasha was grateful for my Spanish (as I was grateful for his Russian in Kazakhstan).          

We spent some time in Lima, reaching out to environmental law firms and anti-biopiracy NGOs.  I was introduced to the concept of biopiracy, or the commercialization of indigenous knowledge without compensation for communities, when I was in Ecuador, but I did not find it to be a hot topic there, nor did I find the pharmaceutical industry to be particularly active.  Ecuador is mostly oil.  In Peru, however, pharmaceutical companies have made billions off the ancient traditions of indigenous Shapivo and Kichwa communities.  In the early 2000s, one community took legal action against the University of Washington St. Louis.  A professor of Ethnobotany had visited an indigenous community in the Manu bioreserve, where I lived at a research station for a few weeks, and had performed research on a plant that was later patented by Bayer.  Although the University was forced to halt research for several months, and lost all government funding, there has been little change in the way bioprospecting (the systematic search for biological resources) takes place.  When I spoke to a representative from the Sociedad por el Protegion de Derechos Ambientales (Society for the Protection of Environmental Rights), I learned that companies must now have a permit to visit indigenous communities, and must share 15% of revenue from products made from indigenous plants.  However, the famous Wash U. case ended in a slap on the wrist for the professor, and weak legislation that actually harms the economic endeavors of Peruvian companies.  The high taxes on pharmaceuticals, in addition to the 15% benefit tax, prevents companies from earning adequate revenue, which means that minimal amounts of capital end up reaching the communities.  Therefore, one lawyer told me, there must be a better system to share benefits with communities without crippling commerce.

Kichwa healer

I was fascinated with the problem of biopiracy, and set out to learn as much about the affected communities as possible.  The two most famous cases of biopiracy are Ayahuasca, the hallucinogenic vine used in traditional shamanic rituals, and Maca, a tuber akin to ginseng that has fueled a craze in Japan and China.  I spoke to countless shamans that lamented on how difficult Ayahuasca was to find these days, because the whole village is going out to collect it for gringos.  I was shocked to find out that an American scientist held the patent for the active psychotropic compound in Ayahuasca, and that even if Peruvians were to want to manufacture drugs using this native species, they could not.  Ayahuasca is currently used to make drugs for schizophrenia and depression.

Perhaps my favorite adventure, other than a weekend spent rock climbing in Huaraz with Pasha, was the tiny town of Junin.  I caught an overnight bus from Lima, slightly sad to leave the posh hostel with chaise lounges and a swimming pool.  At 5 am I awoke to rain and a deserted dirt road lined with plain concrete buildings.  There was one moto taxi in sight.  I was dropped of at the only hostel in town, which was simple but clean.  It did, however, take me 4 days of not showering to figure out that you had to ask them to turn on the hot water.  At over 4,000 meters (about 13,000 feet) taking off my jacket and hat was not an option.  I slept with a down sleeping bag and four wool blankets.  But it was great.  I quickly developed a relationship with the mamacita at the town’s only café  – where she served me cup after cup of steaming hot chocolate with cloves and cinnamon.  We chatted and I watched the old women knitting.  She knit me a beautiful purple hat – a treasured possession.

I had set out for Junin to visit the Koken Maca factory, which was one of the only organic Maca corporations in the country.  They process over 600 tons of Maca per season, and have approximately 30 growers in the county.  Their factory is one of the main employers in Junin, and regularly exports to Japan and Germany.  The manager took me out to one of the Maca fields in an old delivery truck, and plucked some of the roots from the ground for me to smell.  I can’t say it was appetizing, but the numerous health benefits would certainly make consumption worthwhile.  When I talked to the owner of the company, he told me how the company Naturex (a reoccurring name in my studies over the past 9 months) had a patent for the genetic sequence thought to be responsible for the root’s libido-boosting properties.  Being touted as an ‘Andean Viagra,’ Asian, European and American companies alike are clamoring to create a market for Maca.  However, Peruvian companies cannot export supplements that are processed to target libido because Japan, Europe and America recognize Naturex’s patent.  Interestingly enough, it was the ‘Medicine Hunter,’ Chris Kilham, who played a pivotal role in the ‘discovery’ and patenting of Maca by Naturex.   Chris has a show on the Discovery Channel, which shows him in remote and rugged settings, interacting with indigenous people dressed in loincloths and seeming completely removed from modernity.  The show makes him out to be a type of Indiana Jones, navigating dark jungles and eerie rituals in order to learn the secrets of indigenous medicine.  Well, he does learn the secrets, then he sells them to Naturex, his sponsor.  It’s abysmal.

Maca root fresh from the field

By chance I met a Maca expert, moonlighting as a taxi driver, who took me to several farms in the area.  Almost all the agricultural land in the arid Junin landscape is dedicated to Maca production.  The only problem is that the crop depletes soil at an extraordinarily high rate and renders land sterile for years following two rotations.  Most farmers do not rotate their fields adequately, and the land ends up sterile and lies fallow when it could be producing food for a food- poor region.  In addition, biodiversity takes a hit when grasses such as Icho are replaced with one crop – insects and wildlife lose habitat and overall productivity and fertility of land goes down.  When speaking to a local scientist that heard there was a gringa in town studying Maca, I learned he was working on a program to educate growers and re-nutrify the landscape without the use of chemical fertilizers.  His work involved planting Icho between rows of Maca, which allowed endangered deer species to remain in the area without sacrificing the economic opportunity for farmers.  It seems like a good system, and I hope that it can catch on.  Otherwise, the Maca boom will be short lived, as the land runs out and Japanese investors move on to the next big thing in health supplements.  However, if the community effectively manages land and Maca agriculture, there could be a substantial source of jobs and capital for years to come.

delicious grapes at the market in Junin...

Back in Lima I met with several of the pharmaceutical companies that purchase raw Maca from Koken and who also conduct research for new drugs.  I visited the compound of Schuler Pharmaceuticals, but only after having received a visitor badge and passing three different security checkpoints.  The young woman I met was very helpful – she answered all my questions about the company and its exports, but told me that security surrounding research was so strict that even she had never seen the labs.  I was not allowed to go to her office, so we met in a conference room near the reception desk.  I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t talk with someone about their research, but was grateful that they would even talk to me.  I’m sure that this is quite unprecedented in the industry, where secrecy is the key to success.  Nevertheless, I was surprised by the precautions taken by only a small Peruvian company – I can’t imagine what it would be like trying to go to a Naturex plant.  I’m going to try while in China, but won’t be surprised if they politely decline a meeting.

I had several more interesting experiences in Peru, including one incident when I was literally chased out of an indigenous community because they thought I was a pecacara, or a white demon that steals the eyes and tongues of children.  It was terrifying – but probably more terrifying for them.  Anyway, my time quickly came to a close and I was off to Tanzania.  I literally grasped at every shred of information I could get – until two hours before my flight I was meeting with various companies and cursing myself for not staying longer.  I was a little sad to leave the place where I had grown so comfortable – but also excited to start another leg of the journey.

Africa blog coming soon!

With my Runa days at an end, I finished a large portion of video editing and academic writing in Quito, and spent the holidays volunteering at a hostel in exchange for free room and board.  Two weeks was plenty for me, and although I was able to get a lot of work done, I can’t say it was the best experience.  After spending so much time with locals in the field, I found it strange to be surrounded by tourists and foreigners, and did not especially like the clique-y-ness of the staff.  I did, however, enjoy the delicious meals, comfy bed and abundant wifi, which was great after suffering a rather vicious attack by jungle chiggers and a nasty case of amoebic cysts.  It was a good place to recuperate – it seems my luck with strange illness has not improved, but I think I’ve flushed them out for good with several rounds of Metrodinizole….

Anyhow, I learned an extraordinary amount about indigenous medicinal plant culture in Ecuador, but struggled to find a connection to bioprospecting and commercial export.  It turns out, while I was interviewing one employee of TRAFFIC Ecuador, that most pharmaceutical exploration takes place in Peru, as intellectual property laws are less stringent and export is easier.  After making contact with several large companies, which I had never been able to come across in my preliminary research, I decided it was imperative to relocate to Peru.  Not only is Peru the center of pharmaceutical exploration, it has long been a hotbed of controversy surrounding indigenous rights and genetic resource battles.  Now that Pasha was rejoining me for the month, I was eager to get going on investigations into the commercialization of medicinal plants.

Puerto Maldonado is a sprawling frontier town that runs on a trickle of jungle tourism and a whole lot of gold mining.  It is the very last town on the fringes of the Amazon and the Madre de Dios river bioregion; a swarm of motorcycle taxis create a surprising amount of dust considering the 100% humidity.  After 4 1/2 hours up the river on a longtail boat with a deafening diesel engine, I arrived at the Los Amigos Biological research center.  This was the true heart of the Amazon, a place that I had dreamed of seeing since I was in the third grade and did a book report on Okapis.  I was in the company of three other scientists:  two ecologists and a primate specialist.  I spent the weeks I was there interviewing members of the nearby mining communities about their knowledge of traditional medicine and medicinal plants.  I found it vaguely ironic that all the staff members at the research center moonlighted as gold miners on the river.  This represented the classic paradox of conservation; how do you feed your family and still care for the environment?  A serious question, and one I still haven’t found the answer to.  My mornings were spent reading backissues of National Geographic and walking the jungle trails in search of Dragon’s Blood tree and Cat’s Claw.  I often ran into groups of Saddleback and Black  Capouchin monkeys – one even threw some sticks and leaves at me from a tree above.  There was life everywhere – it was amazing.  I filmed everything, crawling around the forest floor in pursuit of a giant blue horned beetle.  I was sad to have to leave, but was eager to continue learning about medicinal plant markets in Puerto.

The biggest tree I've ever seen. Magnificent.

Climbing the observation tower. very high.

I had the luck of meeting with a rather charismatic ethnobotanist by the name of Teosito, who introduced me to an entirely new suit of issues that I had never even heard of before.  Not only did my extensive pre-Watson research fail to reveal an information on Maca and its subsequent biopiracy controversy, I was unable to find any Peru-based pharmaceutical companies willing to talk to me.  With the help of Teosito, I was able to discover a whole new and exciting facet of the medicinal plant market.  I hit the jackpot.

Fernando, Shaman in Puerto Maldonado

Upon my return to Lima, I met with representatives from the National Commission Against Biopiracy, a legal activist group that seeks to protect the interests of indigenous groups in the face of intellectual property battles.  Perhaps the most famous case (which I had never heard of before, of course) was that of Maca.  A tuber native to the Andean highlands, Maca resembles Ginseng in its invigorating properties, and has long been used by indigenous people as a health supplement and general healing compound.  In the early 90s, a company called PureWorld ‘discovered’ Maca, performed extensive research on the plant’s chemical composition, and proceeded to patent the genetic sequence that the company associated with improved sexual stimulation.  Peru does not recognize patent on genetic material or living organisms, however, the US, Japan and Korea allow the product to be sold under the current patent.  No other company is permitted to sell Maca products that tout its abilities to improve libido within countries that recognize the patent; thus, Peruvian companies export Maca in either powdered or syrup form.  When I asked Alexander Villalonid about how the patent impacted the Peruvian medicinal plant and nutrition industry, he told me that the restrictions surrounding how the product is branded is not the issue; rather, it is the principle of patenting the ancient knowledge of indigenous groups that have used Maca for millenia.  Not only is it insulting for an outside company to claim to have ‘discovered’ knowledge that has existed for generations, but it is further insult to injury that Peruvians indigenous groups receive no compensation from sales of the products.

When I spoke with the owner of a mid-size Maca exporter, Koken Organics, I was told that Maca was a sacred right of the Inca people, and that the foreign patent was an insult to his people.  Juan grew up near Huancayo, in the province of Junin, where Maca was relatively rare until the early 90s, when a boom in demand led agriculturalists to cultivate the root as a source of income. Juan told me how Maca is absolutely not a sexual stimulant; it is a nutritional supplement that has the ability to improve overall health and quality of life.  He told me how Maca is fed to children and the elderly, and how a ceremony surrounding harvest time serves to remind the people of its important role in indigenous culture.  Maca is more than a cash crop, Juan said, it is a source of identity and pride among Andean communities.  Foreign consumers do not understand that it is not a magic solution to a poor sex life or low energy; Maca has the ability to improve general health, as it contains high concentrations of antioxidants and other important amino acids.  If you take Maca as a supplemental food, and combine with exercise and diet, you will of course experience a boost in the bedroom and a decrease in anxiety and stress.  Much like Yarsagumba, the effects of the product are much exaggerated and threaten to create an unstable market once people discover that it is not an instant cure for their ailments.  However, Koken Organics is striving to create a sustainable business model by working with a grower’s union in Junin, which ensures fair pay and absolutely no use of chemical pesticides or fertilizers.  Juan’s main market is in Japan, where the product is extremely popular.  Despite several patents held by Japanese companies, Koken is able to export extracts and powders in their purest form.  His company does approximately 150,000 USD in business each year, but he is hoping that the market will expand in future years, given that he has a steady and sustainable supply of Maca.  He did warn me about Naturex, the company that bought PureWorld in 2004, stating that they purchase Maca from unsustainable sources that use chemicals.  He went on to say that this damages the system that is designed to ensure the livelihood of indigenous farmers by providing a fair wage; farmers that grow Maca for cheaper to sell to Naturex undermine the economy and the environment.  I find Naturex becoming a reoccurring theme in my research – beginning at the Medicinal Plant Research Institute in Beijing, where they sold licorice and yarsagumba extract to Naturex.  In addition, Tyler Gage, founder of Runa Tea, told me about the Medicine Hunter, who does a show for Fox about indigenous medicine all over the world.  The catcher: he is sponsored almost entirely by Naturex, and was one of the botanists that helped Naturex identify Maca as a product in Peru.  I intend to try to meet with Naturex at some point in the year, and get their side of the story on their work.  However, in the mean time it seems like Naturex is exactly the type of company that consumers should be aware of – this is the main purpose of my documentary.

With respect to the commercialization of other plants, I plan to work with the Peruvian company Shuler, which specializes in the sale of Cat’s Claw and Dragon’s Blood (can’t help the Harry Potter imagery).  Due to stringent export laws, they have a network of collectors that are certified through the Department of Forestry – it is absolutely illegal to export Cat’s Claw or Dragon’s blood without several permits.  When I was speaking with Alex at the National Commission Against Biopiracy, he told me the regulations work well, and that there is very little concern for overharvesting in Peru.  However, he argued it should be easier for indigenous people to get permits, as the bureaucratic process and high cost prevents many people from benefiting from selling the products.  For now, I have my hands full, and am extremely excited about spending time with the indigenous communities in Junin.  I extended my time in Peru because I feel like there is so much to see and do – Africa will just have to wait another two weeks!

I transitioned from Quito to the small town of Puyo, which sits just within the Amazon basin.  I lived at the home of a local man and his wife, who run a small natural products company in addition to a nonprofit that works to promote indigenous medicine.  It was great – I had my own casita in the garden – every night I would light a candle and sit outside listening to the jungle.  During the day I helped clean and dry various plants and roots that were eventually made into shampoos, soaps and infusions to be sold at their small shop in town.  One day I spent 5 hours peeling ginger, and feel like it is safe to say I never want to peel another vegetable ever again.  In addition to helping out in the garden and ‘lab,’ I worked with Didier (a French expat) to develop written materials for grants as well as videos that will be distributed to remote villages as part of an educational outreach project.  The goal of Didier’s organization, PROMETRA (promotion of traditional medicine) is to revitalize knowledge and practice of traditional indigenous medicine in communities without access to healthcare while acting as a tool to preserve ancient medicinal knowledge.

Table for two. occupation: uno

Indigenous health is in a state of crisis in many remote areas, due in part to environmental contamination, compromised nutrition as a result of deforestation and loss of traditional knowledge regarding plant remedy and shamanistic healing rituals.  The concept of health for indigenous peoples differs from the Western conceptualization, which has served to complicate government efforts to address healthcare in Amazonia.  Indigenous people view health as dependent on many different factors that convene to either make a person sick or to cure them.  The health of social life, the environment and the physical body converge – if one is out of balance, the person can fall ill.  For example, no one person ever dies of natural causes in the Napo Runa tradition; they are viewed to have fallen victim to a curse from a rival.  In order to address the complex web of health among indigenous communities, Didier has created a series of instructional videos that show how to use plants to cure common illnesses such as parasites, diarrhea and flu.  In theory, distributing these videos will aid in reconnecting people with their healing traditions while simultaneously providing resources to empower people without access to western healthcare.

Broom salesman in Puyo

With respect to the medicinal plant market in Puyo, I learned that local people do not value local products in the same way that they view imported products.  For example, about half of the people who buy from Dider’s shop are foreigners:  locals don’t believe that something made in Puyo could be as good as something imported from the states.  Imported goods are seen as a status symbol in the community, which is ironic because most imported traditional medicines (cat’s claw, sangre de drago)  are of questionable purity and quality.  Plants must be harvested in the Amazon or cultivated in the region, then exported to the states where they are then processed, sorted, packaged, etc. before they make it back to Ecuador.  Not only do people in the states have little working knowledge of medicinal plants (what they look like, for example), the extensive shipping and changing hands increases the likelihood of contamination.  You are much better off buying your cat’s claw from the jungle.  I plan on visiting the European office of Naturex in London; one of the largest natural products companies in the world, to learn about their commodity chains and supply network.

Skyler's hut

After several weeks at Didier’s, I moved deeper into the Amazon.  There was a young man my age living at Dider’s – he was apprenticing and participating in various ‘diets,’ or cleansing ceremonies practiced in Shamanistic tradition.  As we got to know each other, he told me about the company/foundation that his friend had started.  Runa was founded with the vision of bringing Guayusa, a naturally caffinated traditional indigenous tea (with a crazy amount of antioxidants), to the global market – and in the process make a positive impact on small farming communities and the rainforest to which they are inextricably linked.  The company is certified organic, and is working on fair trade certification – by replacing clear cut plots with Guayusa, farmers not only plug into the market and a steady stream of income, they aid in reforestation efforts.  The word Runa means “fully living human being” in Kichwa, and the company has been founded on the principle of sharing a ‘new kind of energy’ with the world.  I feel lucky to have stumbled upon the project, which perfectly embodies my thesis: the relationship between people, medicinal plants and the global economy.

At the Runa nursery

I have been working to produce a video that encapsulates the vision of Runa, which is a lot of work, but very enjoyable.  I have also been to a community in the inner rainforest to hold ceremony with an indigenous healer, which was incredible.  Don Vicente is between 86 and 91 years old, and is most likely healthier than I am.  His son took me deep into the old growth forest, where he spent hours pointing out different plants – ‘this one is for stomach ailments,’ ‘this one is for lung disease,’ ‘this one is perfume,’ ‘this one is tasty.’  Patricio also showed me how to build a ‘trampa,’ or trap for Watusa (large tasty rodent):  in no less than 5 minutes he had constructed a flawless system of leveraged force using only a machete, 5 sharpened branches and a handful of thin (but surprisingly strong) vines.  It was unbelievable.  It made me think about how we have completely lost our connection with ancestral knowledge in most of the Western world, and although our advancements in technology and health are remarkable, we no longer know where we come from or who we really are.  I could not help feeling awed by the path we were walking – when I asked when it was constructed, Patricio told me it had been there since the time of his ancestors.  Generation after generation has walked the path, and Patricio told me this is why he and his father walk several times a week – “no podemos perder esta camino – es un parte de nuestra historia,” (we can’t lose this path, it’s a part of our history.”  I didn’t say anything for a long time.

Patricio

After being attacked by a swarm of ‘assasinos,’ or killer bees, I was reminded that the jungle demanded respect.  I was stung between 6 and 9 times – 20 stings will kill a human.  I was lucky, and did not develop a severe reaction.  I find it ironic that the jungle is both the cause and cure of so many ailments. While we were walking, Patricio told me the story of how his brother died of a snake bite; several years ago he was working in Yasuni National Park, and was hours from the nearest road – he was bitten by a viper and did not make it to the hospital in time.  Patricio also lost hi brother-in-law when he was killed by a rival tribe when fishing in the river.  I was humbled by these stories, and was not at all surprised when a venomous snake crossed our path during our return to the village.  We stood completely still until it slipped back into the understory.

One of the many beautiful flowers I found in the jungle

When we got back to the village, I took a long swim in the river – the crystal clear water revealing no signs of snakes.  It felt unbelievable, but I felt sad when I learned that Ivanhoe Energy already has plans to develop an oil field no more than 10 km from the river.  Soon it will be contaminated like so many other rivers in the Amazon.  The fish will taste like petroleum, game will become harder and harder to find, and the health of the people will decline as the health of the forest declines.  The people are working to gather and fight the drilling, but their future is uncertain.

For now, Runa I am happy to be working with a positive force in Ecuador, and I look forward to being involved with them in the future.  I am excited to be surrounded by a group of motivated young people like myself – the house/office is filled with 20-somethings and is an inspiring environment where I can work on my project while lending a helping hand to the organization – an entirely different vibe than some of the other places I have lived in the past 6 months!  A welcome change of scenery.

I have a love-hate relationship with China.

Many doors were opened for me while I was there – I learned about the way the medicinal industry works, and frankly I didn’t like what I learned.  Which is why I’m happy that I’m making this documentary.  Unfortunately it is extremely difficult to film in China, which is a hurdle I was aware of.  My flip camera looks like a cell phone, which is handy.  The thing that isn’t handy about it is that there is a large photo of the Dalai Lama on the front (courtesy of Douglas J. Frydenlund).  Thus, I had to cover it with my hand when in public, and hide it when crossing borders, which was not always successful.  I was detained several times, but inevitably got it back.

I learned that the bones for tiger bone wine do not come from tigers poached from the wild, but from “tiger farms,” posing as research facilities, which are steeped in corruption and protected by the government.  I was unable to gain access to any of these facilities, obviously.  Even if I were Chinese, they would never let someone in who wasn’t a government official, which was disappointing to me.  When I return to China in the spring, I will try again to crack the system and get some footage.  I decided to return to Kazakhstan via the Caspian Sea in May, when the licorice farms harvest their crop.  From there I will go back to Chengdu to meet with Dr. Guo – with whom I will perform another study of yarsagumba in Litang county.

The last week with Pasha was perfect – we headed to Yangshuo, near Guilin, and took advantage of all that the natural landscape had to offer.  Having recently mastered riding a bicycle, Pash and I explored the countryside and its eerie karst towers – men and women bent over in the fields, cement trucks bringing tons of building materials for the ever-expanding Chinese metropolis.  We enjoyed beer on the roof of our hostel every night, watching the sun set and enjoying the beauty of our lives.   We went climbing and carried on our Railay legacy, thinking of the friends we met and the fun we had.  I couldn’t have been happier.

Pasha on the roof

Hot springs in the infamous Water Cave.

Despite mild frustration with authorities and a dearth of footage for the film, my time in China and Kazakhstan far exceeded expectations.  Because I do not speak Chinese, I feel as though I was limited with respect to cultural understanding and immersion.  I developed a close friendship with Xueyan Liu of WWF and IUCN, and Dr. Guo Jinlin of Chengdu, and they served as my primary connection to Chinese culture.  With respect to cultural immersion, Kazakhstan was more successful – living in the Avalanche observation center was incredible, and Pasha proved an invaluable link to Kazakh life.  I was able to practice my Russian, and actually got pretty good.  I think I was happiest in Kazakhstan because I felt most at home there.  I didn’t feel like I was doing research, I felt like I was simply living.

Birthday party in my Beijing hostel

This is how I feel in Ecuador – like I’m at home.  In one week I’ve made a handful of friends, hosted an independent art exposition at Juan’s home in the historical center (he gave me the keys to the mansion and said he’d be back in 3 hours), received a traditional cleanse from a Shaman, and talked politics and business with Quito’s social elite (in Spanish, of course).  It’s been a good week.  I’ve got another appointment with the Shaman tomorrow, and am awaiting news on my appointment with TRAFFIC SouthAmerica.  I’m expected in Puyo next week, and also plan to visit a biodiversity research outpost in the southern Amazon.  I have high hopes for the next few months!

mysterious stranger

Graffiti artist: the motorbike is the canvas

La Plaza de San Francisco, view from Juan's balcony

Luckiest couch surfer ever. Juan's family home on the Plaza de San Francisco in the historical center.

The art exposition

Our Kazakh visas were set to expire on Sept. 22; however, due to the overwhelming number of students returning to school at the University of Urumqi, buses were nearly impossible to get.  To make matters worse, there were no flights for the next two days, when our visas would expire.  Ergo, we took a flight to Thailand, where there is a strong WWF and TRAFFIC presence.  I had connected with WWF Thailand when I was first selecting my project countries, but ultimately decided to leave it off the list.  However, the possibility of getting footage of customs busting exotic plant and animal traffickers was too tempting to pass up.  Only three weeks prior, a  woman was caught smuggling a tiger cub in her checked luggage….

Customs confiscating turtles headed for the TCM markets of China

Unfortunately, even after waiting 5 days, the plant expert never returned  - apparently he was on some kind of vacation (?) – not even the people in the office knew where he had gone (wierd).  When I suggested coming in to the office to meet with other WWF employees, they told me they were extremely busy.  It was the same brush-off I received from the Vladivostok, Russia office (minus the rudeness).

Climbing at Muay Thai Wall

Despite the frustration, I felt that Thailand had been a risk worth taking – even if I didn’t get the footage I wanted, I learned a little about the trafficking business from locals, and honestly had a lot of fun.  From Bangkok, Pasha and I began making plans to return to China, where I was set to meet with several professors at the University of TCM Kunming.  Once at the tourist agency (most buses in Thailand are run by private companies, as the public buses are not the most comfortable for long rides…), we booked a bus that would eventually take us to Kunming.  We had originally planned to go through Viet Nam, but, as it turns out, we boarded a bus to Laos.  It worked out fine, and we spent a couple days unwinding between 24-hr hard-seat bus rides.

Railay West

En route to China.

Laos is incredible – there isn’t a more laid back place in existence.  The people are unbelievably friendly, and the pace of life is slow.  Very few people bother you, and there is a cozy, traditional-village feel to even the larger towns.  We stopped halfway between Vientiene and the Chinese border in Luangprabang and VangVieng, where we rented motorcycles and explored the surrounding countryside.  It was wonderful.  In the evenings we enjoyed fresh barbeque (tofu for me) with sweet chili sauce, and chuckled that we had Laos to ourselves because of the widespread fear of malaria among Westerners.   I didn’t get a single bite while there.

The primary reason I decided to go to Kazakhstan was to explore the burgeoning licorice industry.  I first learned about licorice production in KZ from a medicinal plant extract corporation; during a business lunch, I asked which plants produced themost profitable extracts.  I was told that licorice was incredibly important for TCM (traditional Chinese medicine), and was also exported in great quantities to Europe.  However, none of the licorice root comes from China – it is all imported from Kazakhstan.  This struck me as worth investigating further, and when Pasha and I arrived in Almaty, I began the process of seeking out the source of the thousands of tons of licorice that were imported into China every year.  The first two weeks were tough, as I got very sick and had to convalesce for a while before resuming work.  Things went well in our third week – I made several important connections with the largest licorice companies, although they were squeamish about being interviewed on camera.  I found out that there are six major plant extract factories in KZ, and millions of hectares of farmland that is cultivated only for licorice.  When asked about sustainabiltiy, the owner of one company was firmly optomistic: not only is 100% of licorice farmed (not collected in the wild, as was custom in the past), the farmers use a rotating field system that allows for regrowth and prevents soil erosion.  Alyosha continued telling me why China imported all the licorice from KZ; it used to grow wild all over the northern Xinjiang region, as well as throughout the east, however, overharvesting and unsustainable farming rendered the species nearly extinct.

Licorice flowering

Another question was raised during my conversation with the botanist; why was China importing so much licorice?  I rarely saw it in TCM markets, and it’s use in China was limited to stomach tonics and lozenges for the common cold.  The answer would not come until several months later, when I was sitting in a coffee shop with Alyosha, the founder of Kazakhstan Licorice Corporation.  He revealed to me that every ounce of licorice that is exported to China is made into a concentrated extract, then sold to Mafco and Phillip Morris.  The reason?  About 6% of every cigarette is licorice.  The strong flavor of the root balance the strength of the tobacco, and makes the cigarette taste better.  I was very surprised.  Why didn’t KZ process the root and sell it directly to Mafco themselves?  The answer was that China had vAlthough I was unable to see the farms during my visit (it was already snowing and the crop was collected), I made plans to return to KZ in May of 2011, following a month in Turkey.  The licorice fields in eastern KZ are easily accessible from Turkey via a ferry from neighboring Azerbaijan.  From there, I will try to get footage of the largest plant processing and extraction factories in Asia, then hop back to western China to capture the Yartsagumbu collection season.  I’m also hoping to investigate Mafco, the largest exporter of licorice for western cigarette companies.  They have bases in Germany, England and France, but I am not sure if I will make it there.

When the business was done, it was already too cold to continue field research on plants used for folk medicine.  Naturally, the only thing left to do was ski.  It started snowing uncontrollably on September 16 in Almaty, and our mountaineering friends offered to take  us backcountry skiing.  We spent about an hour and a half skidding up a dirt “road” to a remote bowl, where avalanche danger was minimal and the lines untouched.  At more than one point my head was smashed against the roof of the car as we slid dangerously close to the edge of the road (which was a cliff).

Pasha and Igor in front of our peak.

Once we arrived at the beginning of the hike, we checked our equipment, strapped our ski regalia awkwardly to our packs, and set out for the peak.  Turns out there were crevasses.  A lot of them.  And, funny enough, we only had one crampon each.  Regardless, the 6-hour ascent proved more than worth the sweat.  Igor said that the snow was better than he had ever seen, and we felt lucky to shred the virgin gnar, albeit with rented children’s skiis (there’s only one ski rental store in Almaty….).

Our lines

The powder was unbelievable – until I nearly fell in a crevasse.  Regardless, we reveled in the remote, rugged beauty of the Tien Shan – not thinking of anything but how lucky we were.

Blini!

When we got back to the Levinka (avalanche center), we decided to make Russian pancakes for everyone – nothing like some hot blini and vodka to warm a snowy night.  The snow fell hard as Pasha and I calculated the correct flour-to-milk ratio….I flipped the thin pancakes and danced around the kitchen.  Our housemates seemed to be impressed with the handiwork….rolled up with butter and sugar, the blini were delicious.  There were a few vodka toasts, and we listened to Valodya tell us about the struggle for musical freedom – not only were rock and roll records almost 200 dollars each in the 80s, if you were caught with one, it was likely that the police would break the record and subsequently beat you up.  We listened to Rush and the Rolling Stones before climbing the wrought iron stairs to our teenage attic lair…complete with a poster of the President of Kazakhstan – to which Alyosha had affixed a pair of oversized women’s sunglasses.

Now back in China, I miss the quiet of Kazakhstan, and the sense of friendship I felt there.  Traffic is loud, people are everywhere, and I feel like a foreigner again.  Nonetheless, the project is going well, and I am beginning to solidify plans for Ecuador next month.

Next post:  no buses to China, so a detour to Thailand.  Still catching up….

After nearly two months in China, Pasha and I were ready for a change of scenery.  Although it was difficult traveling and government regulations were often maddening and ridiculous, the Chinese people were unbelievably kind.  We hoped Kazakhstan would give us the same welcome we often felt in China – people were constantly stopping to help us find our way; one man even gave me his umbrella when I was caught in the rain.  As it turns out, we met even greater hospitality in Kazakhstan, beginning the very moment we crossed its border.  Land borders are notoriously difficult to cross; officials often extort tourists and threaten to prevent them from leaving or entering if demands are not met.  Luckily, we did not experience anything too horrible – but were questioned for four hours while the entire Chinese base went through every photograph on Pasha’s computer (they didn’t find mine….).  They also watched every video from my senior week prior to graduation, which was pretty funny.  Chinese officials watching footage of drunken university parties and trying to figure out whether Pasha was a threat after seeing several dozen photos of him shooting an AK-47 with my father.  Nevertheless, we made it to Kazakhstan unscathed, and were met by incredibly friendly border patrol.  Not only did they invite us to tea and biscuits, they chatted us up endlessly and even showcased their interest in America by playing us some music and declaring ‘Tupac fo evah’ in heavily accented English.  We felt honored, and knew that our trip to Kazakhstan was off to a good start.

Although the 24-hr taxi ride to Almaty from the northern border was grueling, we got a brief reprieve when the other two passengers in our Taxi (a giant Kazakh man and his stout, Babushka wife) invited us into their home to have tea.  We soon realized that tea in Kazakhstan is not just tea – there are endless mounds of home made bread and fresh butter, candies, cookies and other delights.  I probably drank seven bowls of chhai, and reveled in the home made raspberry jam.  The family lived in a Calhoz, similar to a Kibbutz, in which individuals live solely on what they produce.  They grow their own food and tend cows, which made for especially delicious milk and butter.

The view from a ridge near Igor's secret backcountry skiing playground

Once in Almaty, Pasha and I stayed at the Bet Chabad, or Jewish home, where we were graciously given hot food and a place to stay.  I spent the first week recuperating from a brief stint in the hospital; the Bet Chabad was the perfect place to rest.  We celebrated Shabbat and talked with the Rabbis often.  We especially enjoyed the location – directly across from the Maxima mall, where delicacies such as bread, Nutella, yogurt and Snickers abound.  We eventually moved on, joining our friend and fellow mountaineer Igor in the mountains outside Almaty.

Pasha and Dedya Vova (uncle Vova) hauling cable up the ski hill to expand the lift.

We felt like we had come home when we arrived at Anatoli Ivanovich’s simple but extraordinary compound – each building was made by hand, even the pirate ship that housed the kitchen and dorms.  We spent the days expanding the ski runs (Anatoli Ivanovich constructed a diesel-run tow lift system for skiing) and chopping wood for the banya.  Igor showed me every medicinal plant in the region – we hiked for hours learning the names and uses of different roots, berries and trees.  In one day alone, he found over 15 species of plants used in traditional folk remedies.  We collected some of the Shupshena, a red berry that looks a lot like Rosehip, and made tea that is said to improve overall health as well as aid in recovery from altitude sickness.

Yes, we lived in a pirate ship.

Making medicinal Shupshena tea to be enjoyed in the banya

The evenings were spent in the Banya.  At first glance, a Banya may appear to be just like any other sauna.  However, the experience could not be more different.  There is no electric switch to power up the steam – no, it’s an entirely organic process.  First the wood must be cut, then dragged on a sled down the precipitously steep ski slope from whence it was cleared.  The wood is then split and loaded into the wood stove, which makes one feel like the Banya has been truly earned.

However, once I entered the Banya I had second thoughts – it was so hot, breathing was difficult.  I pondered out loud whether people had actually died in a Banya – Igor replied that the only Banya death he had ever heard of had occurred when an acquaintance of an acquaintance employed the services of a female escort while remaining in the heat for an exorbitant period of time.  After hearing this, I felt a little better and put the fear of imminent death by boiling out of my mind.  However, I was soon cursing myself for agreeing to be “invigorated” by the Biryoza (Birch) branches.  It is customary to beat the Banya participant firmly and repeatedly with the branches in order to stimulate blood flow – pretty comical, really.  Someone standing outside the Banya would likely hear a slurry of “Vot tak!”s and “harasho!”s (‘like this!’ and ‘good!’) accompanied by a questionable thwacking sound.  When the heat became unbearable, we would escape into the cool night air and chuckle as Igor yelled “FREEDOM” in heavily accented English while dumping icy glacier water over himself.  Yes, the Banya is an experience like none other.

Igor loading the stove for the banya

And then there is Bacya.  The best dog (next to Hank and Siri, of course) EVER.  He is adorable – a large mix between German Shepherd and local herding dog – of the sweetest temperament.  I spoiled him rotten – in my family we never (ahem! Dad) feed dogs people food, but I gave him everything I could get my hands on.  Chicken – yes, potatoes – even better – Bacya was clearly in dog heaven.  I think he’s got a pretty good life at the camp – being adored by children, roaming the grounds and enjoying the occasional discarded biscuit.  It was so nice to share the company of a good dog – that’s the thing about traveling, you really start to miss having a dog around.

We extended our stay at the camp for another day when Igor’s friends came up to throw a birthday party for another friend – a giant speaker was brought into the dining hall and began pumping Russian techno tunes, while we broke open some Vodka and played Durak (the official card game of Russians everywhere).  We had the best time.  It is remarkable how the Kazakh people feel like family, even if you’ve only known them for a few hours.  We were witness to several toasts (there is a strong tradition of giving long and elaborate toasts on even the simplest occasion where vodka is present) – each more moving than the next.  Igor toasted to the memory of all the mountaineers that did not make it back from the mountains – in his life he has lost many friends to Alpinism, but continues to climb and honor the memory of his friends and mentors.  Kolya toasted to the health and happiness of his friend, and to our meeting.

Bacya!

For now, we are living at the Chim Bulak ski resort Meteorological Center….where there is no running water, but where friendship abounds!  Nobody said freeloading was easy.  We are enjoying ourselves immensely – hiking a lot and getting more info from local pharmaceutical companies.  Apparently the import of Chinese herbs, medicinals and beauty products is a growing business here.  Kolya has told me how Spirulina is dredged from lakes in China and sold in Kazakhstan as medicinal supplements, while wealthy women pay thousands of Tenge for exotic herbal shampoos.  I look forward to learning more about this industry, while continuing to enjoy the beauty of the mountains, Kazakh culture, and the company of our new friends!