After my tour through the Bolivian salt flats I had to take an all night bus (on more unpaved roads) to the city of Sucre - where my coworker had gone earlier to see his grandparents and recover from a cold. When we bought the bus tickets much earlier, the office had told us the bus would arrive in Sucre at 4am. When I arrived in Sucre at 6:30am, my coworker was still at the bus station, waiting for me to arrive. He informed me that he had come down with a nasty case of bronchitis and it was a good idea he had decided to skip the salt falts and rest at his grandparent`s place.
Sucre was to be a transitional stop. Staying just long enough so my coworker could visit the other side of his family before getting back to La Paz. I had no real desire to stay here (or even stop here), but once I arrived I was very much impressed with the whitewashed city. It`s considered the jewel of Bolivia and I could see why immediately. UNESCO declared it a Cultural Heritage site in 1991 and the city is full of history. Back when Potosi was the richest city in the Americas because of its silver mining, the residents eventually grew tired of its high elevation and the younger people started moving down to Sucre for its preferable climate and elevation. Families moved here to have their children in a cleaner environment, and as more families arrived and those families grew, the need for schools and jobs made the city larger. The silver mines of nearby Potosi made it a wealthy city. After some time Sucre grew so large it became the capitol of Bolivia.
As the city of La Paz, to the northwest, grew in size and wealth (because of the increasing price of its tin) and Sucre became less important (as silver prices dropped) a civil war started between the two cities over which should be the capital city of Bolivia. La Paz won making it the defunct capital. Sucre remained the judiciary capital and the the Supreme Court still convenes here. But there is still strife as the people of Sucre continue to urge the country, and the president they hate, to return the title of capital city to its original place. Demonstrations are happening all the time. In fact, I missed a big demonstration by only a few days when the Supreme Court started the new year. Cars were burned and bottles thrown as a huge group of protesters marched through the streets. The only evidence that remained was a burned out car in front of the Supreme Court when I arrived.
While I was there my coworker and I stayed in his grandfather`s 2nd home; a home away from home where he once tended to his large garden behind the house. When the house was built it was in the country side, even though it was only a 10 minute drive from his original house. Now the city has surrounded the house (a huge soccer stadium is blocks away and can be seen over the house walls). But the large garden remains and is still tended to by a man who lives at the house and maintains the crops for abuelo. The fresh fruits and vegetables that were once grown for family dinners and for friends, are still grown and used for family lunches and snacks. Walking through the large garden, with its variety of crops, I lost the sense of being in a city completely. My coworker showed me the above ground cement pool the grandfather had built to be used for his grandkids and as an irrigation system for the plants. He told me stories of growing up and spending vacations and summers here. Now tall apartment building surround the home, all must be enjoying their view down into the garden.
When it was time for lunch we would cab over to the orginal house and join his grandparents and aunt for a large traditional meal. The helpers (every family has a maid to clean and cook) made some of the best meals I have had during my travels. Abuelo would recount stories from his life and my coworker would translate for me. Afterwards Abuelo and Abuela would walk the halls of the house for exercise. My coworker and I went out to explore the city and its historic streets and buildings. Later in the afternoon we would return for coffee and tea with the family. At night we discovered the Joy Ride Bar, a bar mentioned to me by the aid workers from my Salt Falts trip in Uyuni. The bar had great music and the best mojitos I have ever had (the secret seemed to be the mint shrub they stuffed in the drink).
At night I crashed hard - needing to catch up on sleep missed during the over night bus rides and the tours through the deserts. On the third day we met the Abuelos for breakfast and a long tearful goodbye - they didn`t know when they would see my coworker again. And then tia took us to the airport. We had agreed the 14 hour bus ride to La Paz was out of the question when I $65 plane ticket only took an hour. By lunch I was back in La Paz, the city I had spent less than 24 hours in just before Christmas. And I was also back with the tios and primos from my holidays in Tarija. It was good to see the family again. And it was time to explore the highest capital in the world (even if it wasn`t considered by Sucre residents to be the real capital).
For pictures from my time in Sucre, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705342804/
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Shhhh...I´m Hunting Peengwins
There you go, four more stories to read while I am off exploring Antarctica. That catches me up to about a month ago. Ugh, so far behind. Make some comments while I`m gone and tell me something interesting. Complain about the blog or the stories. Rave about the pictures. Laugh at me because I have only one short month left. Give me something to read when I return in 12 days.
I may try to get in one more entry tomorrow morning depending on how much sleep I get tonight and how much cold weather clothes shopping I do.
Anyway, I am looking forward to hopefully getting a full night`s sleep tonight for the first time in about a week. Buenos Aires was tough on me. Shame on it and it`s yummy bottles of wine. I just hope this bright sky at 11pm doesn`t keep me awake. I am having Iceland flash backs, but without the young Icelandic hipsters out clubbing. Just hippies and old couples. Wish me luck and warmth. I`ll be sending out post cards from Antartica. If you want one, send me an address and I`ll see how much money I have left for stamps.
Hasta Luego
I may try to get in one more entry tomorrow morning depending on how much sleep I get tonight and how much cold weather clothes shopping I do.
Anyway, I am looking forward to hopefully getting a full night`s sleep tonight for the first time in about a week. Buenos Aires was tough on me. Shame on it and it`s yummy bottles of wine. I just hope this bright sky at 11pm doesn`t keep me awake. I am having Iceland flash backs, but without the young Icelandic hipsters out clubbing. Just hippies and old couples. Wish me luck and warmth. I`ll be sending out post cards from Antartica. If you want one, send me an address and I`ll see how much money I have left for stamps.
Hasta Luego
The Scenic Safari Part 2
On day two of the tour the landscapes would change as drastically as the music playing in the car. Our first day we were treated to traditional flute music. I have come to really hate this music. But I was pleasantly surprised to find the Police playing when I climbed into the truck that morning. The music was across the board that day, just like the scenery we would see.
I was up at 6am and into the cafeteria for a bread and bananas breakfast. Not exactly an Americano breakfast, but what can you do. The others in my group gradually made their way out to the table to join me. But no one really talked.
We were in the truck and on the "road" by 7:30am. Most of our day would be spent driving from location to location, none of them being close to each other. In fact, we drove for five straight hours that morning with only random stops for pee breaks. At one point we were in a ghost town where our guide disappeared for 20 minutes doing who knows what. Other times we just stopped along the hills for some one to relieve themselves.
The music changed from the Police to Nirvana to a Swedish mixed CD. The scenery seemed to change with each new CD. We drove past large heards of alpaca and llamas in the middle of no where. We passed tiny villages of farmers. And we passed giant rock cliffs. The driving again made my eyes heavy, but I didn`t want to shut them for fear of missing something.
There were two other trucks following us on our route. One filled with a Brazilian family, the other with the family of the loud German from the bus incedent in Potosi and the aid working couple. When we all stopped for lunch, the guy from Iowa darted out of the truck. Apparently the German guy was driving him crazy - the guy wouldn´t shut up and he was belittling the guide. I kept a healthy distance. Lunch was lame. Disappointing actually. I ate what I could and went off to climb a hill for a better view before we took off again. We drove on to our first real destinations: lagoons. Some times we seemed to be driving along an obvious trail. Other times we seemed to be following light tracks in the dirt.
The lagoons were pretty. Everything was. But our time to see them was limited. Our guide seemed bent on keeping us moving. We seemed bent on slowing him down. We found flamingos at one and made him wait patiently as we crept close and closer to the birds to get a good picture, and they moved farther and farther from us. We drove further into a desert-like area where the landscape seemed to change colors with the breaks in the clouds. Our next stop was the Arbol de Piedra (the rock tree), a rock that had been weathered into the shape of a tree. We took our obligatory pictures, relieved our full bladders and marveled at the colorful sands and other rock formations.
Eventually we made it to Lago Colorado, a lake colored a rosy shade because of the algae in it. Here we apparently entered a portion of the park we needed to pay for and show our passports. Our guide cut off the engine as we all went in to take care of formalities. When we returned, the engine wouldn`t turn over. The other guy and I had to push our truck the 500 meters to our hostel. We were at over 5000 meters elevation, and so when we got the truck parked, I felt like I was hyperventalating. Our new hostel was a bit less extravegant than our previous one. No heat. No hot water. Just 8 blankets on our beds to keep us warm. I stole several more off the bed my coworker was supposed to get. And then I found a small store with wine to make sure I stayed warm. Dinner was even less extravegant than our place. Spaghetti noodles. I think there was sauce, but it could have also been the soup. I settled for bread and my wine and went back to the store for some cookies to tide me over. With nothing to do and the temps so low, we were all in bed early. Our guide told us to be up at 4am so we could get an early start. I had no problem going to bed early. But I did have a problem staying asleep. I tossed almost all night and ended up grumpy when my alarm went off in the dark of the early morning.
There was no breakfast before we got moving. We pulled off in the truck in the dark. Our guide followed truck tracks for the first 15 minutes in the dark, in the middle of a desert. Then he veered of that trail and seemed to just be following his instincts. The moon was just a thin sliver in the sky, but it was the first time I was able to see the entire moon although it was in the shade of the earth. As the sky gradually grew lighter we arrived at a site where the earth opened up and steam poured out and grey mud pits boilded. Our first stop of the day.
There was little to keep people from getting too close to the suflur smelling steam vents. A danger sign marked one particulary large hole. I watched as two older women tempted the fates by edging ever closer to the cusp. It was cold out - we were at the highest elevation of the tour. Our group explored for a short time and then raced back to the car to huddle in the heat spitting from the vents. I passed around the big bag of cookies I had bought the night before. That was breakfast for the time being. We stopped half an hour later at another lake - this one steaming in the cold air. It was thermally heated. And there was a small pool of water where the tourists could take a warm dip. Our guide failed to mention this to us. So we watched as the other groups jumped in with huge smiles brought by the warmth of the waters. I snapped photos. The Swiss girls looked pleadingly at the warm waters. Fifteen minutes later we were all back in the truck heading to Lago Verde. I strolled down to take a picture of the beautiful landscape and meandered around the cliffs surrounding the lake. When I looked back at the jeep I noticed everyone was already back inside. Ugh. Back I trotted.
Our next stop was for breakfast, at the Lago Blanco. Breakfast sucked. I ate more cookies. And then we sat around the lake waiting for the other truck to show. The two Dutch girls, along with the German group from the other truck, were going on to Chile while the rest of us drove back to Uyuni. So we had to wait on the other truck to divide up the passengers. But they had stopped for a dip at the thermal pool. grumble...
When they arrived and we got everyone divided up, I found myself in the other truck with the Isrealies and the aid working couple. The guy from Iowa went on a rant about how annoyed he was traveling with the German. The stories were funny. But we had an eight hour ride back to Uyuni and fortunately converstation changed from bad-mouthing the German to a list over other topics. Until everyone passed out.
I woke to everyone frantically looking for sugary foods and drinks. Apprently our driver had gotten sleepy and was having trouble staying on the road. I tossed the remaining cookies I had into the front seats. It must have done the trick because we were back in Uyuni two hours early. I had plenty of time to kill before my bus to Sucre at 7pm so I checked email and made calls. I was looking forward to my ride because I still had the open seat my coworker gave up when he left earlier. So I could stretch out. But I was later reminded there are no open seats on Bolivian busses. How do you explain to a Bolivian mother and her three kids that they can`t have the empty seat because your friend paid for it already and you want to stretch out? So when an Argentine girl, who missed her earlier bus, asked if she could take the available seat I gave it to her. Better her than a family of four cramped in beside me. Though when I woke up mutch later (some how I managed to sleep a few hours), the Argentine girl was gone and a large, snoring man had taken her place. I didn`t sleep the rest of the way. And we arrived in Sucre two and half hours late.
But all the long commutes were worth that amazing scenery. If you find yourself near Bolivia, brave the unpaved roads and cramped busses to get down to Uyuni. The pictures tell it all...
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
I was up at 6am and into the cafeteria for a bread and bananas breakfast. Not exactly an Americano breakfast, but what can you do. The others in my group gradually made their way out to the table to join me. But no one really talked.
We were in the truck and on the "road" by 7:30am. Most of our day would be spent driving from location to location, none of them being close to each other. In fact, we drove for five straight hours that morning with only random stops for pee breaks. At one point we were in a ghost town where our guide disappeared for 20 minutes doing who knows what. Other times we just stopped along the hills for some one to relieve themselves.
The music changed from the Police to Nirvana to a Swedish mixed CD. The scenery seemed to change with each new CD. We drove past large heards of alpaca and llamas in the middle of no where. We passed tiny villages of farmers. And we passed giant rock cliffs. The driving again made my eyes heavy, but I didn`t want to shut them for fear of missing something.
There were two other trucks following us on our route. One filled with a Brazilian family, the other with the family of the loud German from the bus incedent in Potosi and the aid working couple. When we all stopped for lunch, the guy from Iowa darted out of the truck. Apparently the German guy was driving him crazy - the guy wouldn´t shut up and he was belittling the guide. I kept a healthy distance. Lunch was lame. Disappointing actually. I ate what I could and went off to climb a hill for a better view before we took off again. We drove on to our first real destinations: lagoons. Some times we seemed to be driving along an obvious trail. Other times we seemed to be following light tracks in the dirt.
The lagoons were pretty. Everything was. But our time to see them was limited. Our guide seemed bent on keeping us moving. We seemed bent on slowing him down. We found flamingos at one and made him wait patiently as we crept close and closer to the birds to get a good picture, and they moved farther and farther from us. We drove further into a desert-like area where the landscape seemed to change colors with the breaks in the clouds. Our next stop was the Arbol de Piedra (the rock tree), a rock that had been weathered into the shape of a tree. We took our obligatory pictures, relieved our full bladders and marveled at the colorful sands and other rock formations.
Eventually we made it to Lago Colorado, a lake colored a rosy shade because of the algae in it. Here we apparently entered a portion of the park we needed to pay for and show our passports. Our guide cut off the engine as we all went in to take care of formalities. When we returned, the engine wouldn`t turn over. The other guy and I had to push our truck the 500 meters to our hostel. We were at over 5000 meters elevation, and so when we got the truck parked, I felt like I was hyperventalating. Our new hostel was a bit less extravegant than our previous one. No heat. No hot water. Just 8 blankets on our beds to keep us warm. I stole several more off the bed my coworker was supposed to get. And then I found a small store with wine to make sure I stayed warm. Dinner was even less extravegant than our place. Spaghetti noodles. I think there was sauce, but it could have also been the soup. I settled for bread and my wine and went back to the store for some cookies to tide me over. With nothing to do and the temps so low, we were all in bed early. Our guide told us to be up at 4am so we could get an early start. I had no problem going to bed early. But I did have a problem staying asleep. I tossed almost all night and ended up grumpy when my alarm went off in the dark of the early morning.
There was no breakfast before we got moving. We pulled off in the truck in the dark. Our guide followed truck tracks for the first 15 minutes in the dark, in the middle of a desert. Then he veered of that trail and seemed to just be following his instincts. The moon was just a thin sliver in the sky, but it was the first time I was able to see the entire moon although it was in the shade of the earth. As the sky gradually grew lighter we arrived at a site where the earth opened up and steam poured out and grey mud pits boilded. Our first stop of the day.
There was little to keep people from getting too close to the suflur smelling steam vents. A danger sign marked one particulary large hole. I watched as two older women tempted the fates by edging ever closer to the cusp. It was cold out - we were at the highest elevation of the tour. Our group explored for a short time and then raced back to the car to huddle in the heat spitting from the vents. I passed around the big bag of cookies I had bought the night before. That was breakfast for the time being. We stopped half an hour later at another lake - this one steaming in the cold air. It was thermally heated. And there was a small pool of water where the tourists could take a warm dip. Our guide failed to mention this to us. So we watched as the other groups jumped in with huge smiles brought by the warmth of the waters. I snapped photos. The Swiss girls looked pleadingly at the warm waters. Fifteen minutes later we were all back in the truck heading to Lago Verde. I strolled down to take a picture of the beautiful landscape and meandered around the cliffs surrounding the lake. When I looked back at the jeep I noticed everyone was already back inside. Ugh. Back I trotted.
Our next stop was for breakfast, at the Lago Blanco. Breakfast sucked. I ate more cookies. And then we sat around the lake waiting for the other truck to show. The two Dutch girls, along with the German group from the other truck, were going on to Chile while the rest of us drove back to Uyuni. So we had to wait on the other truck to divide up the passengers. But they had stopped for a dip at the thermal pool. grumble...
When they arrived and we got everyone divided up, I found myself in the other truck with the Isrealies and the aid working couple. The guy from Iowa went on a rant about how annoyed he was traveling with the German. The stories were funny. But we had an eight hour ride back to Uyuni and fortunately converstation changed from bad-mouthing the German to a list over other topics. Until everyone passed out.
I woke to everyone frantically looking for sugary foods and drinks. Apprently our driver had gotten sleepy and was having trouble staying on the road. I tossed the remaining cookies I had into the front seats. It must have done the trick because we were back in Uyuni two hours early. I had plenty of time to kill before my bus to Sucre at 7pm so I checked email and made calls. I was looking forward to my ride because I still had the open seat my coworker gave up when he left earlier. So I could stretch out. But I was later reminded there are no open seats on Bolivian busses. How do you explain to a Bolivian mother and her three kids that they can`t have the empty seat because your friend paid for it already and you want to stretch out? So when an Argentine girl, who missed her earlier bus, asked if she could take the available seat I gave it to her. Better her than a family of four cramped in beside me. Though when I woke up mutch later (some how I managed to sleep a few hours), the Argentine girl was gone and a large, snoring man had taken her place. I didn`t sleep the rest of the way. And we arrived in Sucre two and half hours late.
But all the long commutes were worth that amazing scenery. If you find yourself near Bolivia, brave the unpaved roads and cramped busses to get down to Uyuni. The pictures tell it all...
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
The Scenic Safari Part 1
The morning of our tour of the salt falts, my coworker was feeling much worse. He looked much worse too (no offense bro). But we packed up our bags and made the walk to our tour agency anyway. Here we ditched our bags and went looking for a bus to book back to Sucre after the tour, hopefully for the same night. It took six bus companies but we found one that would get us directly to Sucre without having to stop in Potosi again and without having to switch busses. That secured, it was time for some breakfast before our tour`s departure. I ordered my coworker two large glasses of fruit juices and I downed another Americano breakfast (my favorite - typical).
As we waited at the office for all the provisions to be packed into our truck, my coworker started feeling worse and decided it would be best to skip the trip. Clearly I was bummed. Who was going to take all the pics of me now? Or speak Spanish for me? But he decided he needed to go ahead and catch a bus to Sucre then and rest at his grandparents` house. I couldn`t argue with him and just wished him well as I jumped on board my jeep with the other four people in the group.
My group included two Isrealies who had just finished their conscription and two Swiss girls who unwillingly got stuck in the back of the truck, just over the tires. Everyone was quiet at first; the Swiss girls talking amongst themselves in Swiss-German and the Isrealies talking in Hebrew. And the guide humming flute music to himself. That left me to stare out the window.
Our first stop was our guide`s house where he picked up some laundry. That duty taken care of, we moved on to our first official stop: the train cemetary. Not all that exciting. Not sure why it`s on the tour. Just a bunch of old locamotives abandoned and rusting on the outskirts of the town. We dutifully took pictures and then let the guide know we were done and very much ready to move on. Next it was to a small village that technically, I believe, worked directly gathering the salt for distribution; but seemed to exist soley to sell tourists ashtrays and figurines made our of salt. There was a little salt hotel where everything was made of salt, even the beds (mmm...comfy). And some salt sculptures that a woman tried to charge me 5 soles to view. They weren`t that interesting. We let our guide know we were, again, ready to go.
On to the salt flats. It was wild. We were suddenly surrounded on all sides by white. Lots of white. We made a stop in the drier area of the flats and, skipping the second salt hotel, played with various poses in the salt desert. It took a few goes, but I finally was able to explain to the barely English speaking Swiss gals what I was trying to acheive in my fool-the-eye pics. Though they still couldn`t get most of the pics just right, they did manage to get one the way I wanted it (see photos for bottle posing). Once our guide grew tired of watching us pose with various food packaging, he summounded us to move to the next spot.
We drove further into the flats as the landscape became more and more surreal. The horizon disappeared as the clouds melded into their reflections in the salt water. It felt trippy. Woooaaaaahh.
Watching other trucks in the distance sail across the flats looked like they were flying in mid air. We eventually arrived at Isla Incahuasi in the middle of the flats. Here an "island" full of cactus seemed to rise up from the waters. There were trails to hike up for better views of the surroundings. But mainly the crowds of trucks and their passengers stopped here to have lunch and walk through the salt water. And take more pictures. It was a very cool experience and I am still going back and looking at the pics a month later.
It was getting late in the afternoon and time to get to our hotel for the night. We sailed on through the trippy landscape and I fought off heavy eyes so I could take it all in. My truckmates were out for the final hour`s drive back.
At our hotel, with nothing to do in the two hours before dinner, I ordered a grande beer and pulled a plastic chair outside to watch the sunset. An American from Iowa and his girlfriend, a Dutch gal, joined me as did the Isreali guy. The couple were aid workers and we spent the evening talking about their work and their travels. Dinner was better than expected and bed time was early - in my shared dorm.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
As we waited at the office for all the provisions to be packed into our truck, my coworker started feeling worse and decided it would be best to skip the trip. Clearly I was bummed. Who was going to take all the pics of me now? Or speak Spanish for me? But he decided he needed to go ahead and catch a bus to Sucre then and rest at his grandparents` house. I couldn`t argue with him and just wished him well as I jumped on board my jeep with the other four people in the group.
My group included two Isrealies who had just finished their conscription and two Swiss girls who unwillingly got stuck in the back of the truck, just over the tires. Everyone was quiet at first; the Swiss girls talking amongst themselves in Swiss-German and the Isrealies talking in Hebrew. And the guide humming flute music to himself. That left me to stare out the window.
Our first stop was our guide`s house where he picked up some laundry. That duty taken care of, we moved on to our first official stop: the train cemetary. Not all that exciting. Not sure why it`s on the tour. Just a bunch of old locamotives abandoned and rusting on the outskirts of the town. We dutifully took pictures and then let the guide know we were done and very much ready to move on. Next it was to a small village that technically, I believe, worked directly gathering the salt for distribution; but seemed to exist soley to sell tourists ashtrays and figurines made our of salt. There was a little salt hotel where everything was made of salt, even the beds (mmm...comfy). And some salt sculptures that a woman tried to charge me 5 soles to view. They weren`t that interesting. We let our guide know we were, again, ready to go.
On to the salt flats. It was wild. We were suddenly surrounded on all sides by white. Lots of white. We made a stop in the drier area of the flats and, skipping the second salt hotel, played with various poses in the salt desert. It took a few goes, but I finally was able to explain to the barely English speaking Swiss gals what I was trying to acheive in my fool-the-eye pics. Though they still couldn`t get most of the pics just right, they did manage to get one the way I wanted it (see photos for bottle posing). Once our guide grew tired of watching us pose with various food packaging, he summounded us to move to the next spot.
We drove further into the flats as the landscape became more and more surreal. The horizon disappeared as the clouds melded into their reflections in the salt water. It felt trippy. Woooaaaaahh.
Watching other trucks in the distance sail across the flats looked like they were flying in mid air. We eventually arrived at Isla Incahuasi in the middle of the flats. Here an "island" full of cactus seemed to rise up from the waters. There were trails to hike up for better views of the surroundings. But mainly the crowds of trucks and their passengers stopped here to have lunch and walk through the salt water. And take more pictures. It was a very cool experience and I am still going back and looking at the pics a month later.
It was getting late in the afternoon and time to get to our hotel for the night. We sailed on through the trippy landscape and I fought off heavy eyes so I could take it all in. My truckmates were out for the final hour`s drive back.
At our hotel, with nothing to do in the two hours before dinner, I ordered a grande beer and pulled a plastic chair outside to watch the sunset. An American from Iowa and his girlfriend, a Dutch gal, joined me as did the Isreali guy. The couple were aid workers and we spent the evening talking about their work and their travels. Dinner was better than expected and bed time was early - in my shared dorm.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and surrounding landscapes, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
Bouncing Across Bolivia on Unpaved Roads
Waking up on January 2nd was a struggle. The 30 hours of solid drinking had exhausted me. But it was finally time to leave Tarija, my coworkers family, and the comforts of being chauffered around on paved roads. We were off to see the salt flats of Bolivia, the largest in the world and the other highlight of my trip to this country, and I needed to get moving so we could catch our bus across the country.
I moved very slowly. Papito made home-made ravioli for lunch. This dish had been talked up all week and had anxiously been waiting for him to get down to it. It was delicious (well worth all the hype) and helped get me moving a bit more quickly.
That afternoon we checked on busses going in our direction. It wasn`t easy. Several were full. Most didn`t go exactly where we wanted to end up. We finally settled on an over-night bus to Potosi, the highest city in the world. There we would find another bus going to Uyuni and the salt flats. We figured an over-night bus would save us time as we could just sleep as we made our way to our destination. By daybreak we would be well rested and ready for our next bus. We were that niave.
Tio got us back to the bus station later that afternoon in time to catch our 6pm bus. The bus left much to be desired - including shocks. And we were seated in the back, right on top of the wheels. It was only about 40 minutes later, when the bus took a left turn off the paved road and onto a dirt road, that we realized we would be getting no sleep that night. Just to test the waters, I pulled out my iPod in an attempt to block out the droning of the rattling windows. And I discovered all of my music had been erased. Strike three.
There was no bathroom on the bus, so 2.5 hours into the trip we pulled off at a small village surviving soley on the stopped busses. A collection of small restaurants (I use this word loosely) and shops sat in the middle of no where, way up in the mountains. Looking for, and not finding a bathroom, I took a cue from the women squating near a stream and walked down to some bushes. The tall grass hid the stream/sewage water, and I stepped right into it up to my shins. That would be a smell that wouldn`t leave my boots and socks for another two weeks. The driver said we would stop here for 20 minutes. We were stopped for close to an hour. Not such a big deal unless you find yourself locked on the bus as my coworker did. The driver locked the bus after he got off. My worker was just going to chill in the bus for the 20 minutes. But when the 20 minutes came and went, he decided he wanted off. Thems the breaks.
Since we couldn`t sleep as we bounced all over our seat that night, my coworker brought out his iPhone and we watched a movie. Then another. Then another. Then we just sat in the dark and tried to will ourselves to sleep. No luck. I hate busses in Bolivia.
At 5am we finally arrived in Potosi. Exhausted and broken we got off the bus and went walking through the cold air (an unwelcome change from the warmer air of Tarija only 11 hours earlier) towards the bus station across the street. People laid on the floors of the station covered in layers of blankets or burried in sleeping bags, waiting for bus offices to open or their bus to leave. Everyone looked cold. We couldn`t find a bus office advertizing Uyuni and finally asked some one how to get there. There was a street just 10 minutes away full of bus companies offering rides there. Why they were operating there and not out of the bus station like everyone else I have no idea. But it seemed to fit with the overall oddity of S America. So we taxi`d there at 5:20am. Everything was, of course, closed. And now we didn`t have the slightly warmer bus station to keep us slightly more comfy. We out in it and cold. We asked a man on the street what time the offices opened. He shrugged. We asked another man. He thought maybe 8:30. sigh.
So we waited. We met another backpacker as we waited, a Bolivian out seeing his country during a 10 day vacation. We passed some of the time talking to him. Actually my worker did, as they talked to each other in Spanish. They took pity on me every 15 minutes or so and offered some English for me. But then it was right back to Spanish.
When the offices opened at 8am, we quickly snatched up two tickets for the first bus leaving at 10:30. That was a little too much more time to kill standing in the cold so we decided to catch a cab into the city center and see what it had to offer for a couple of hours. We found a warm cafe with free internet. Dos Americano breakfasts por favor. We slowly warmed up. With little enthusiasm, and an increasingly heavy backpack, we walked around the city plaza and down the colonial streets of this UNESCO World Heritage sight. It was raining. We grew tired of exploring quickly. Why not just wait in the bus office? Good idea.
The bus was running late. Or so the office manager said. It seemed more like it was not working and thus not coming. An older german man waiting for the same bus threw a fit and demanded his money back. The manager hid from him in another agency`s office. He found a cop. The cop seemed to have little sympathy for either of them as he clearly wanted to just be inside where it was warm. But the man managed to get his money back. Then he suggested we do the same and go across the street to the other bus company. We discussed it, decided we didn`t want to be stuck there, and my coworker offered to argue for our money as I went across the street to buy two tickets on the other bus. When I returned he had not yet gotten the money back. The manager was hiding again. Tickets were only about $4 so we decided to eat the cost and just go with whichever left first.
Our first choice finally arrived and we decided to go with it. I hoisted my big pack to be tied down on top of the bus. We boarded. It wasn`t pretty. And it was very tight. We looked across the street at what seemed to be a much larger bus. Off our bus we went. My coworker pleaded with the man on top of the bus to untie and lower my pack again. And across the street we jogged. The bus wasn`t in much better condition. But my bag would go underneath (out of the rain) and there were fewer people on board so it felt less squeezed.
The 7 hour trip to Uyuni only took 5 hours. This was because our driver refused to stop. It was bittersweet. I wanted to get threre quickly to secure a tour of the salt flats for the next day. But I also needed to pee. Badly. And we were on another unpaved road which didn`t help my bladder.
When we arrived we went looking for a hotel in the small town with flooded streets and walkways. It was an ugly town. And the rain didn`t help me appreciate it any more. But the bathroom at the hotel did. Checked in and bags ditched we went looking for a tour operator. We found three with varying levels of costs and offers. When one later told us they didn`t have enough people to form a tour, we went with the one that seemed to have a shred competency. Now, time to eat.
Excited to find the pizza place our guide book touted as "Uyuni`s best all around choice", we went off in search with stomachs growling. But we couldn`t find it. On the second try we discovered it inside a hotel. But it was closed due to lack of customers. So we settled on a random pizza place, with painfully slow service, near the hostel. My worker was growing increasingly more sick and couldn`t finish his meal. With our three day tour taking us into the middle of no where, we called it an early night and went to bed. It was nice to close my eyes and lay in something that didn`t move. It wouldn`t last.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and the journey there, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
I moved very slowly. Papito made home-made ravioli for lunch. This dish had been talked up all week and had anxiously been waiting for him to get down to it. It was delicious (well worth all the hype) and helped get me moving a bit more quickly.
That afternoon we checked on busses going in our direction. It wasn`t easy. Several were full. Most didn`t go exactly where we wanted to end up. We finally settled on an over-night bus to Potosi, the highest city in the world. There we would find another bus going to Uyuni and the salt flats. We figured an over-night bus would save us time as we could just sleep as we made our way to our destination. By daybreak we would be well rested and ready for our next bus. We were that niave.
Tio got us back to the bus station later that afternoon in time to catch our 6pm bus. The bus left much to be desired - including shocks. And we were seated in the back, right on top of the wheels. It was only about 40 minutes later, when the bus took a left turn off the paved road and onto a dirt road, that we realized we would be getting no sleep that night. Just to test the waters, I pulled out my iPod in an attempt to block out the droning of the rattling windows. And I discovered all of my music had been erased. Strike three.
There was no bathroom on the bus, so 2.5 hours into the trip we pulled off at a small village surviving soley on the stopped busses. A collection of small restaurants (I use this word loosely) and shops sat in the middle of no where, way up in the mountains. Looking for, and not finding a bathroom, I took a cue from the women squating near a stream and walked down to some bushes. The tall grass hid the stream/sewage water, and I stepped right into it up to my shins. That would be a smell that wouldn`t leave my boots and socks for another two weeks. The driver said we would stop here for 20 minutes. We were stopped for close to an hour. Not such a big deal unless you find yourself locked on the bus as my coworker did. The driver locked the bus after he got off. My worker was just going to chill in the bus for the 20 minutes. But when the 20 minutes came and went, he decided he wanted off. Thems the breaks.
Since we couldn`t sleep as we bounced all over our seat that night, my coworker brought out his iPhone and we watched a movie. Then another. Then another. Then we just sat in the dark and tried to will ourselves to sleep. No luck. I hate busses in Bolivia.
At 5am we finally arrived in Potosi. Exhausted and broken we got off the bus and went walking through the cold air (an unwelcome change from the warmer air of Tarija only 11 hours earlier) towards the bus station across the street. People laid on the floors of the station covered in layers of blankets or burried in sleeping bags, waiting for bus offices to open or their bus to leave. Everyone looked cold. We couldn`t find a bus office advertizing Uyuni and finally asked some one how to get there. There was a street just 10 minutes away full of bus companies offering rides there. Why they were operating there and not out of the bus station like everyone else I have no idea. But it seemed to fit with the overall oddity of S America. So we taxi`d there at 5:20am. Everything was, of course, closed. And now we didn`t have the slightly warmer bus station to keep us slightly more comfy. We out in it and cold. We asked a man on the street what time the offices opened. He shrugged. We asked another man. He thought maybe 8:30. sigh.
So we waited. We met another backpacker as we waited, a Bolivian out seeing his country during a 10 day vacation. We passed some of the time talking to him. Actually my worker did, as they talked to each other in Spanish. They took pity on me every 15 minutes or so and offered some English for me. But then it was right back to Spanish.
When the offices opened at 8am, we quickly snatched up two tickets for the first bus leaving at 10:30. That was a little too much more time to kill standing in the cold so we decided to catch a cab into the city center and see what it had to offer for a couple of hours. We found a warm cafe with free internet. Dos Americano breakfasts por favor. We slowly warmed up. With little enthusiasm, and an increasingly heavy backpack, we walked around the city plaza and down the colonial streets of this UNESCO World Heritage sight. It was raining. We grew tired of exploring quickly. Why not just wait in the bus office? Good idea.
The bus was running late. Or so the office manager said. It seemed more like it was not working and thus not coming. An older german man waiting for the same bus threw a fit and demanded his money back. The manager hid from him in another agency`s office. He found a cop. The cop seemed to have little sympathy for either of them as he clearly wanted to just be inside where it was warm. But the man managed to get his money back. Then he suggested we do the same and go across the street to the other bus company. We discussed it, decided we didn`t want to be stuck there, and my coworker offered to argue for our money as I went across the street to buy two tickets on the other bus. When I returned he had not yet gotten the money back. The manager was hiding again. Tickets were only about $4 so we decided to eat the cost and just go with whichever left first.
Our first choice finally arrived and we decided to go with it. I hoisted my big pack to be tied down on top of the bus. We boarded. It wasn`t pretty. And it was very tight. We looked across the street at what seemed to be a much larger bus. Off our bus we went. My coworker pleaded with the man on top of the bus to untie and lower my pack again. And across the street we jogged. The bus wasn`t in much better condition. But my bag would go underneath (out of the rain) and there were fewer people on board so it felt less squeezed.
The 7 hour trip to Uyuni only took 5 hours. This was because our driver refused to stop. It was bittersweet. I wanted to get threre quickly to secure a tour of the salt flats for the next day. But I also needed to pee. Badly. And we were on another unpaved road which didn`t help my bladder.
When we arrived we went looking for a hotel in the small town with flooded streets and walkways. It was an ugly town. And the rain didn`t help me appreciate it any more. But the bathroom at the hotel did. Checked in and bags ditched we went looking for a tour operator. We found three with varying levels of costs and offers. When one later told us they didn`t have enough people to form a tour, we went with the one that seemed to have a shred competency. Now, time to eat.
Excited to find the pizza place our guide book touted as "Uyuni`s best all around choice", we went off in search with stomachs growling. But we couldn`t find it. On the second try we discovered it inside a hotel. But it was closed due to lack of customers. So we settled on a random pizza place, with painfully slow service, near the hostel. My worker was growing increasingly more sick and couldn`t finish his meal. With our three day tour taking us into the middle of no where, we called it an early night and went to bed. It was nice to close my eyes and lay in something that didn`t move. It wouldn`t last.
To see photos of the Salt Flats and the journey there, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603705286504/
This Family Likes to Drink - And I Get No Sleep
Christmas morning I woke up hungover. That was a first.
There was nobody gathered around a Christmas tree eagerly awaiting presents. That was also a first. There were no presents to hand out. The smallest cousin got his Wii the night before and that was it for presents. On the actual day of Christmas the idea was just to spend time with the family. And we did this at a public pool. Another first.
The first thing I did on Christmas day was call home to wish my family a merry Christmas. That was about the only thing I did that day that seemed tied to the holiday.
The pool outing was interesting. We all piled into two trucks and drove to this large, German-run pool complete with basketball courts and a bar. It was a little chilly and about to storm, so my coworker and I made a b-line to the bar as the uncles went straight into the pool. We watched them play and carry on from the comfort of the bar. Until the thunderstorm started. And then we were all huddled into the small bar. So after an hour at the pool, it was back to the house.
The following days were fairly routine. Random relatives would drop in each day to say hello and pay their respects to Papito. We would generally sleep in as late as possible - usually until one of the cousins couldn´t wait any longer for the nicer shower in our bathroom and come through waking us up. Afternoons we would eat a big lunch and later we would go to the Puente, a large covered area by a bridge where locals sold various foods cooked on-site and other locals gorged themselves on these empanadas, ahmintas, and home-made sweet drinks. At night the cousins who were old enough (and one who wasn´t) went out to dip into Tarija`s night life. Tarija`s night life is apparently at it`s peak this time a year, when kids from all over the country are in town visiting family. It`s remarkable; sort of like American families who know other families only by the time they spend with them at the beach or other annual vacation spots. All the kids know each other from the two weeks a year they see each other out at the bars and clubs in Tarija. But Tarija isn`t really a backpackers destination. So, being one of the only gringos in the city, I stood out at the bars and clubs. I am sure people will remember me, too, when I go back next year. At the end of the night, usually around 5am or later, we would stumble to our beds and sleep as late as possible the next morning.
This routine was occasionally broken up. We would go out to a big dinner at a restaurant. And one day we visited one of Tarija`s vineyards - Tarija is home to the highest vineyards in the world. Another full day of drinking wine.
But all this eating and drinking finally took its toll on me on the eve of New Year`s eve. After another trip to the Puente, my stomach started to cramp something awful. I had been waiting for this. So far I had been fairly lucky with my eating adventures in S America. In fact, I had started to believe I was immune to all the dangers that come with eating foods my weak American stomach isn`t used to. But now my stomach was in bad shape (I blamed the fried cornmeal from the Puente - I had serious doubts about the hygiene of the woman cooking them in the big black, crusty pan) and I wasn`t excited about having pissbutt the day before big parties were supposed to go down.
All day New Years eve I was trying various combinations of pills hoping to relieve my stomach of its burden and better my chances of having a decent New Years out. Who celebrates New Years in a different country without drinking? Not this gringo. Pepto wasn`t working; the white, toxic drink tio gave me to down (with a pinched nose) wasn`t working; even the drugs proccured from a drive-thru pharmacy were only stopping the pains for a few minutes at a time. I relunctantly avoided the asado-cooked meats offered up for lunch that day and the glasses of wine that accompanied them. I spent most of the day lying on the bed watching whatever movies I could find in English (and some that weren`t). As each hour ticked down I prayed for my stomach to grant me this one night. I promised it could be as upset as it wanted to be on January 2nd. But tonight was my night.
It didn`t listen. And so I decided to ignore it.
The family toasted away on the patio and I took no part in these toasts. But when it came time for the cousins to pile into the car for the formal party we had all bought tickets for earlier in the week, I clinched my stomach and made my way gingerly to the car. My coworker and I discovered a few days after we bought the tickets to this event that it was a formal one. Neither of us had anything remotely resembling something formal. His cousin, all decked out in her formal dress, didn`t make us feel any more confident in our jeans and button-up club shirts. But we went anyway.
And when we arrived and saw all the guys in attendance wearing suits, we pretended not to care and went for the free drinks. An hour later, when the heavens opened up and let forth the mighty roar of a heavy downpour, we smiled at each other and watched as the fancy shmucks all dolled up for their party got drenched or clung to each other as they pressed to the edges of the meager tents set up outside. The last laugh was on me, though, when I got stuck talking to one of the more boring of these shmucks for hours while everyone darted off to the dance floor. And there was no ditching him. For two hours I listened to him drag on about how great American music was (using some interesting examples to illustrate his point) and how good he was at mimicking their sounds with his band. When he excused himself to head to the bathroom I darted in the opposite direction to find my coworker and curse him for stranding me (I had been waiting for this moment, wondering how long a guy downing mug after mug of beer and glass after glass of whiskey could possibly hold it for so long).
As the party wound down, and I got slightly more eniberated with each drink I could find, the sun started to breach the horizon. I was ready for sleep. The cousins weren`t. Apprently there was an after party in the main plaza. It took very little convincing to get me to go. My coworker wasn`t biting. He went straight to bed. And, at 7am, instead of going to sleep, I followed the cousins to the city`s plaza where everyone who was at the party, and still dressed in their formals, were drinking beers (etc) from boxes by their feet.
It was here I learned about the strong feelings of distaste for one another that each half of Bolivia felt for the other. Well, mostly how much people from Tarija don`t like people from La Paz. The people of Tarija, in general, are not fans of the president and blame the people of La Paz for putting him in office. They don`t stop to consider that these people visiting Tarija are mostly white and don`t like Evo Morales either. Or the large amounts of alcohol in their systems at this point didn`t let them stop to think that point through. And these huge amounts of alcohol only fueled this dislike. Fights broke out every where. Over something as simple as a different accent.
Some how I managed to avoid all these confrontations. In fact, the only incident I encountered was a guy offering me his pink tie when I mentioned how much I liked it. For the rest of the morning I felt a bit more formal. Even as I got progressively more drunk. As the time coasted toward noon, the visitors from La Paz started heading home, and the locals of Tarija broke out into song. The sight of the man bent over himself on a park bench with a puddle of vomit in front of him was enough to convince me it was time to call it quits. And home we went.
Only to be told we needed to get ready for Papito`s birthday party. I made the effort to at least shower the previous party off of me before getting back into the car to be shuttled to another tio`s house for the big BBQ. My stomach had long since ceased to be in pain. Or it was so full of booze that it was numb to the pain. So when crusified pig was offered up, I dove in. When more wine was offered, I dove in. And my buzz continued. My sensitivity grew. I told my coworker how much I appreciated being with his family during the holidays. It was a hushed, serious moment. But one that was overheard by the tios. They pressed me to make a formal annoucement telling the entire family what I had just told my coworker. They weren`t taking no for an answer. And so I suddenly found myself standing in front of the entire family, seventh glass of wine in hand, telling them how much I appreciated each of them. They didn`t understand a word, so my coworker stood beside me and translated. There were toasts. There were hugs and kisses and offers to host me next year. Eventually me, my coworker and the tios were hugging, eyes welled-up, telling each other how much we loved each other, man. It was a mess. But an endearing mess. I felt loved. And very drunk. The hours after this are a blur. Drinks were spilled, shirts were changed, and at some point I found myself sitting at a restaurant in the middle of the night, drinking more.
I think around this point I was found to be sleeping at the table and we called it a night at 1am only to come home and break out more wine and more toasts. Some how I managed to find my bed around 4am. At least I think it was 4am. The next day I would leave Tarija and my second family on a bus bound for Bolivia`s salt flats. My liver needed the break.
For pictures of my New Years in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
There was nobody gathered around a Christmas tree eagerly awaiting presents. That was also a first. There were no presents to hand out. The smallest cousin got his Wii the night before and that was it for presents. On the actual day of Christmas the idea was just to spend time with the family. And we did this at a public pool. Another first.
The first thing I did on Christmas day was call home to wish my family a merry Christmas. That was about the only thing I did that day that seemed tied to the holiday.
The pool outing was interesting. We all piled into two trucks and drove to this large, German-run pool complete with basketball courts and a bar. It was a little chilly and about to storm, so my coworker and I made a b-line to the bar as the uncles went straight into the pool. We watched them play and carry on from the comfort of the bar. Until the thunderstorm started. And then we were all huddled into the small bar. So after an hour at the pool, it was back to the house.
The following days were fairly routine. Random relatives would drop in each day to say hello and pay their respects to Papito. We would generally sleep in as late as possible - usually until one of the cousins couldn´t wait any longer for the nicer shower in our bathroom and come through waking us up. Afternoons we would eat a big lunch and later we would go to the Puente, a large covered area by a bridge where locals sold various foods cooked on-site and other locals gorged themselves on these empanadas, ahmintas, and home-made sweet drinks. At night the cousins who were old enough (and one who wasn´t) went out to dip into Tarija`s night life. Tarija`s night life is apparently at it`s peak this time a year, when kids from all over the country are in town visiting family. It`s remarkable; sort of like American families who know other families only by the time they spend with them at the beach or other annual vacation spots. All the kids know each other from the two weeks a year they see each other out at the bars and clubs in Tarija. But Tarija isn`t really a backpackers destination. So, being one of the only gringos in the city, I stood out at the bars and clubs. I am sure people will remember me, too, when I go back next year. At the end of the night, usually around 5am or later, we would stumble to our beds and sleep as late as possible the next morning.
This routine was occasionally broken up. We would go out to a big dinner at a restaurant. And one day we visited one of Tarija`s vineyards - Tarija is home to the highest vineyards in the world. Another full day of drinking wine.
But all this eating and drinking finally took its toll on me on the eve of New Year`s eve. After another trip to the Puente, my stomach started to cramp something awful. I had been waiting for this. So far I had been fairly lucky with my eating adventures in S America. In fact, I had started to believe I was immune to all the dangers that come with eating foods my weak American stomach isn`t used to. But now my stomach was in bad shape (I blamed the fried cornmeal from the Puente - I had serious doubts about the hygiene of the woman cooking them in the big black, crusty pan) and I wasn`t excited about having pissbutt the day before big parties were supposed to go down.
All day New Years eve I was trying various combinations of pills hoping to relieve my stomach of its burden and better my chances of having a decent New Years out. Who celebrates New Years in a different country without drinking? Not this gringo. Pepto wasn`t working; the white, toxic drink tio gave me to down (with a pinched nose) wasn`t working; even the drugs proccured from a drive-thru pharmacy were only stopping the pains for a few minutes at a time. I relunctantly avoided the asado-cooked meats offered up for lunch that day and the glasses of wine that accompanied them. I spent most of the day lying on the bed watching whatever movies I could find in English (and some that weren`t). As each hour ticked down I prayed for my stomach to grant me this one night. I promised it could be as upset as it wanted to be on January 2nd. But tonight was my night.
It didn`t listen. And so I decided to ignore it.
The family toasted away on the patio and I took no part in these toasts. But when it came time for the cousins to pile into the car for the formal party we had all bought tickets for earlier in the week, I clinched my stomach and made my way gingerly to the car. My coworker and I discovered a few days after we bought the tickets to this event that it was a formal one. Neither of us had anything remotely resembling something formal. His cousin, all decked out in her formal dress, didn`t make us feel any more confident in our jeans and button-up club shirts. But we went anyway.
And when we arrived and saw all the guys in attendance wearing suits, we pretended not to care and went for the free drinks. An hour later, when the heavens opened up and let forth the mighty roar of a heavy downpour, we smiled at each other and watched as the fancy shmucks all dolled up for their party got drenched or clung to each other as they pressed to the edges of the meager tents set up outside. The last laugh was on me, though, when I got stuck talking to one of the more boring of these shmucks for hours while everyone darted off to the dance floor. And there was no ditching him. For two hours I listened to him drag on about how great American music was (using some interesting examples to illustrate his point) and how good he was at mimicking their sounds with his band. When he excused himself to head to the bathroom I darted in the opposite direction to find my coworker and curse him for stranding me (I had been waiting for this moment, wondering how long a guy downing mug after mug of beer and glass after glass of whiskey could possibly hold it for so long).
As the party wound down, and I got slightly more eniberated with each drink I could find, the sun started to breach the horizon. I was ready for sleep. The cousins weren`t. Apprently there was an after party in the main plaza. It took very little convincing to get me to go. My coworker wasn`t biting. He went straight to bed. And, at 7am, instead of going to sleep, I followed the cousins to the city`s plaza where everyone who was at the party, and still dressed in their formals, were drinking beers (etc) from boxes by their feet.
It was here I learned about the strong feelings of distaste for one another that each half of Bolivia felt for the other. Well, mostly how much people from Tarija don`t like people from La Paz. The people of Tarija, in general, are not fans of the president and blame the people of La Paz for putting him in office. They don`t stop to consider that these people visiting Tarija are mostly white and don`t like Evo Morales either. Or the large amounts of alcohol in their systems at this point didn`t let them stop to think that point through. And these huge amounts of alcohol only fueled this dislike. Fights broke out every where. Over something as simple as a different accent.
Some how I managed to avoid all these confrontations. In fact, the only incident I encountered was a guy offering me his pink tie when I mentioned how much I liked it. For the rest of the morning I felt a bit more formal. Even as I got progressively more drunk. As the time coasted toward noon, the visitors from La Paz started heading home, and the locals of Tarija broke out into song. The sight of the man bent over himself on a park bench with a puddle of vomit in front of him was enough to convince me it was time to call it quits. And home we went.
Only to be told we needed to get ready for Papito`s birthday party. I made the effort to at least shower the previous party off of me before getting back into the car to be shuttled to another tio`s house for the big BBQ. My stomach had long since ceased to be in pain. Or it was so full of booze that it was numb to the pain. So when crusified pig was offered up, I dove in. When more wine was offered, I dove in. And my buzz continued. My sensitivity grew. I told my coworker how much I appreciated being with his family during the holidays. It was a hushed, serious moment. But one that was overheard by the tios. They pressed me to make a formal annoucement telling the entire family what I had just told my coworker. They weren`t taking no for an answer. And so I suddenly found myself standing in front of the entire family, seventh glass of wine in hand, telling them how much I appreciated each of them. They didn`t understand a word, so my coworker stood beside me and translated. There were toasts. There were hugs and kisses and offers to host me next year. Eventually me, my coworker and the tios were hugging, eyes welled-up, telling each other how much we loved each other, man. It was a mess. But an endearing mess. I felt loved. And very drunk. The hours after this are a blur. Drinks were spilled, shirts were changed, and at some point I found myself sitting at a restaurant in the middle of the night, drinking more.
I think around this point I was found to be sleeping at the table and we called it a night at 1am only to come home and break out more wine and more toasts. Some how I managed to find my bed around 4am. At least I think it was 4am. The next day I would leave Tarija and my second family on a bus bound for Bolivia`s salt flats. My liver needed the break.
For pictures of my New Years in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
Random Thoughts on My Short Time in Brazil
Portugues is an odd sounding language that I never seemed to get. It`s hard to describe what it sounds like. Some people speak it and sound like Milla Jovovich`s character in The 5th Element. Others sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. It`s sort of like a sexy mix of German and Spanish.
The buses in Brazil were so much better than Bolivia. More comfortable, smelled better, functioning tvs (and no reggaeton), bathrooms, and paved roads. But the cost is several times more.
I am finally finished with the high-altitudes portion of my trip. Thankfully.
I have entered the high-costs portion of my trip. Brazil was ridiculously expensive. The dollar trades at 1.78 to 1 but everything in Brazil is twice as expensive. So I didn´t end up saving any money. I have no idea how the people, who live on a minimum wage of $400 a month, survive with those prices.
I rode a horse. It was a bit scary. He liked to break into a gallop fairly often and I almost fell off three times. I am not that comfortable with horses. Nor did I think to wear thick pants for the ride. My legs were completely chafed the next day. And my arse felt like I had been in an American prison over-night.
Birds in the Pantanal sound like screaming kids. It`s annoying during the day and terrifying in the middle of the night when you are half awake.
My guide in the Pantanal described all the mosquitos there as a sort of water torture that weeds out the weak. I was slapping myself silly for five days.
I watched a dog hump a large pig there. Think about the results of that...
There are lots of obese people in Southern Brazil. I think it`s because of the heat. I just wanted to sit around and not do anything either.
Do you know the mother who ignores her screaming child as it bounces around public places annoying everyone? Both mother and child were on my bus out of the Pantanal.
Apparently giving a thumbs up in Brazil is the equivilant of saying "thanks".
The buses in Brazil were so much better than Bolivia. More comfortable, smelled better, functioning tvs (and no reggaeton), bathrooms, and paved roads. But the cost is several times more.
I am finally finished with the high-altitudes portion of my trip. Thankfully.
I have entered the high-costs portion of my trip. Brazil was ridiculously expensive. The dollar trades at 1.78 to 1 but everything in Brazil is twice as expensive. So I didn´t end up saving any money. I have no idea how the people, who live on a minimum wage of $400 a month, survive with those prices.
I rode a horse. It was a bit scary. He liked to break into a gallop fairly often and I almost fell off three times. I am not that comfortable with horses. Nor did I think to wear thick pants for the ride. My legs were completely chafed the next day. And my arse felt like I had been in an American prison over-night.
Birds in the Pantanal sound like screaming kids. It`s annoying during the day and terrifying in the middle of the night when you are half awake.
My guide in the Pantanal described all the mosquitos there as a sort of water torture that weeds out the weak. I was slapping myself silly for five days.
I watched a dog hump a large pig there. Think about the results of that...
There are lots of obese people in Southern Brazil. I think it`s because of the heat. I just wanted to sit around and not do anything either.
Do you know the mother who ignores her screaming child as it bounces around public places annoying everyone? Both mother and child were on my bus out of the Pantanal.
Apparently giving a thumbs up in Brazil is the equivilant of saying "thanks".
Sunday, January 27, 2008
A Waste of Time?
Readers: on my Flickr page where I post all the pictures, each album is set up with comments about each picture (I have taken some pretty unusual pictures that need an explantion). I just discovered yesterday, through my hosts in Buenos Aires, that the slide shows for these albums don't automatically show the comments. Are you, readers, seeing the comments that accompany the albums? The reason I am so far behind in posting new stories is because it takes a long time to upload the pics and add comments. I shudder to think that I have spent all this time writing up commentary to these albums and no one is seeing them (and that people are looking at some of these pics, not seeing the commentary, and wondering why the hell I took a picture of a shoe).
Show of hands: are people not seeing the commentary when viewing the pics? Please comment.
Show of hands: are people not seeing the commentary when viewing the pics? Please comment.
Update
Currently I am in Buenos Aires staying with my previous neighbors from Capitol Hill. They live in a brilliant apartment just minutes from everything in the city and in just 24 hours I have managed to see quite a bit of the city. More importantly I have already had a steak & wine lunch. When you visit Argentina, try the Lomo and ask for it "jugoso". Best steak I think I have ever had. The melted cheese side dish was pretty damn good too.
Guess what I am having for lunch today. Yep, same thing. And checking out the big antiques market (anyone want anything - JL, I am looking in your direction) and a tango show. My hosts have been here about a year and a half and recommended several great places to check out, including a wine bar and a mansion-turned-bar, both of which I explored thoroughly last night until 5am (I won't go into the details of my travel buddy - who I met up with again - having a bit of an messy accident at the end of her drinking excursion last night). Chris and Beverly (and their new addition to the family) have been excellent hosts and are making my stay here an easy, relaxed, and fun break before heading off to Antarctica in a few days.
I am planning to update the blog Tuesday during some down time in Ushuaia. Hopefully I can get through Bolivia during that time. Depending on how late I am out tonight I may try and get a post or two up before I leave Buenos Aires. Stay tuned readers...
Guess what I am having for lunch today. Yep, same thing. And checking out the big antiques market (anyone want anything - JL, I am looking in your direction) and a tango show. My hosts have been here about a year and a half and recommended several great places to check out, including a wine bar and a mansion-turned-bar, both of which I explored thoroughly last night until 5am (I won't go into the details of my travel buddy - who I met up with again - having a bit of an messy accident at the end of her drinking excursion last night). Chris and Beverly (and their new addition to the family) have been excellent hosts and are making my stay here an easy, relaxed, and fun break before heading off to Antarctica in a few days.
I am planning to update the blog Tuesday during some down time in Ushuaia. Hopefully I can get through Bolivia during that time. Depending on how late I am out tonight I may try and get a post or two up before I leave Buenos Aires. Stay tuned readers...
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Status Report
I am in Iguazu, on the Brazilain side. I am also staying at a resort of a hostel, with a soccer field, a basketball court, a pool (a bar to go along with that pool), and crazy amount of green space. And free internet. But for a limited time. Tomorrow I go to the Argentina side. And then fly to Buenos Aires. Do you miss me? I miss me too. I will write more soon, I swear. As for now..It's bed time for bonzo....
Saturday, January 19, 2008
A Different Approach to Christmas Eve
On the morning of Christmas eve I found myself waiting at an airport in La Paz, with a couple I had met only the night before, for my coworker to arrive from the States. The parade of people coming past us from his flight had dwindled to just a hand few of passengers when he finally came walking out. We had started to believe he was stopped at customs because of all the gifts he was bringing into the country for his family.
Fernando had graciously offered to meet me halfway through my journey and invited me to spend the holidays with his family in the southern Bolivian city of Tarija. I had been eagerly awaiting this part of my trip since he had invited me months before I left. I knew the holidays were going to be tough without my family, so being with any family would help make them pass a bit easier. Little did I know how much a part of the family I would feel during this Christmas.
We checked our flights on to Tarija for later that day to make sure we were still good to go. Okay, Fernando checked them. He´s the one that speaks fluent Spanish. His uncle picked us up a short time later and drove us (and all our luggage) to his house in La Paz. At the house I met Fernando´s grandfather and aunt, as well as a few cousins. We had been invited to lunch and I was pleased to find we were getting a full-on home cooked meal. To start it out, there a toast with Singani (the traditional liquor drink of Bolivia. We moved on to the dinner table and out came the courses. I was completely full by the time dessert (a rum ice cream) arrived. This would become a ritual when eating with Fernando´s family. Eating until I couldn´t move. After lunch it was time to catch our flight to La Paz. We said our goodbyes as our taxi waited outside. The family told me I was invited back any time. I promised to take them up on their offer.
I don´t know if it was the altitude or the Singani, but the entire plane ride to Tarija had me feeling ill. I didn´t want to talk, I didn´t want to sleep, I didn´t want to do anything. I just wanted off that plane. The turbulance added to my misery. When we landed in Tarija 90 minutes later I bounded from the plane. The temperature was much warmer as Tarija is at a much lower elevation than La Paz. This I was looking forward to.
When we got our bags and walked to the waiting area we found Fernando´s entire family waiting for us. Grandpa (Papito), uncles, aunts, cousins; everyone that was staying in the house with us. Hugs and introductions all around and then pile into an SUV bound for home. Everyone staying in the house was from La Paz and had made the trip down by car the days before to spend the holidays with Papito. The man is like the Godfather of Tarija. The entire time I was there people were dropping by to pay their respects. And the reverence for this man was incredible. He seemed to deserve every bit of it. A man of few words, when he spoke everyone came to attention.
At the house Fernando and I were given one of the main bedrooms where we unpacked and settled. I was quickly ushered out to formally meet everyone. Immediately wine was offered up. I was taught te invito (I invite you) and told whenever some one says this to another person, that person has to follow up a drink of the same amount taken before the glass is handed off. The phrase was repeated all night and throughout my time in Tarija. By dinner time I was already tipsy. Tarija is wine country and the people of the area are proud of their wine (from the highest vineyards in the world). They are only to eager to share their wine. And Christmas eve was no exception.
Dinner was a three meat soup with large chuncks of pork, chicken and beef. A fork and knife were set with the spoon in order to cut up the meat from the soup. The portions were large. I went back for seconds anyway. It was delicious. There were toasts throughout the night. As well as many more te invitos. As midnight approached the frequency of exploding fireworks in the streets increased. And at midnight Papito offered a toast with champagne. Everyone raised their glasses and Christmas was ushered in. In the nativity scene in the house hallway, baby Jesus was placed in the previously empty manger and prayers were said. The youngest of the cousins was given his Christmas presents: including a Wii and games, which we took turns playing into the night.
Belly full and slightly inebriated, I finally turned in around 2:30am. Not exactly how I have celebrated Christmas eve in the past. But a welcome experience during my first holidays without my family.
For pictures of my Christmas in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
Fernando had graciously offered to meet me halfway through my journey and invited me to spend the holidays with his family in the southern Bolivian city of Tarija. I had been eagerly awaiting this part of my trip since he had invited me months before I left. I knew the holidays were going to be tough without my family, so being with any family would help make them pass a bit easier. Little did I know how much a part of the family I would feel during this Christmas.
We checked our flights on to Tarija for later that day to make sure we were still good to go. Okay, Fernando checked them. He´s the one that speaks fluent Spanish. His uncle picked us up a short time later and drove us (and all our luggage) to his house in La Paz. At the house I met Fernando´s grandfather and aunt, as well as a few cousins. We had been invited to lunch and I was pleased to find we were getting a full-on home cooked meal. To start it out, there a toast with Singani (the traditional liquor drink of Bolivia. We moved on to the dinner table and out came the courses. I was completely full by the time dessert (a rum ice cream) arrived. This would become a ritual when eating with Fernando´s family. Eating until I couldn´t move. After lunch it was time to catch our flight to La Paz. We said our goodbyes as our taxi waited outside. The family told me I was invited back any time. I promised to take them up on their offer.
I don´t know if it was the altitude or the Singani, but the entire plane ride to Tarija had me feeling ill. I didn´t want to talk, I didn´t want to sleep, I didn´t want to do anything. I just wanted off that plane. The turbulance added to my misery. When we landed in Tarija 90 minutes later I bounded from the plane. The temperature was much warmer as Tarija is at a much lower elevation than La Paz. This I was looking forward to.
When we got our bags and walked to the waiting area we found Fernando´s entire family waiting for us. Grandpa (Papito), uncles, aunts, cousins; everyone that was staying in the house with us. Hugs and introductions all around and then pile into an SUV bound for home. Everyone staying in the house was from La Paz and had made the trip down by car the days before to spend the holidays with Papito. The man is like the Godfather of Tarija. The entire time I was there people were dropping by to pay their respects. And the reverence for this man was incredible. He seemed to deserve every bit of it. A man of few words, when he spoke everyone came to attention.
At the house Fernando and I were given one of the main bedrooms where we unpacked and settled. I was quickly ushered out to formally meet everyone. Immediately wine was offered up. I was taught te invito (I invite you) and told whenever some one says this to another person, that person has to follow up a drink of the same amount taken before the glass is handed off. The phrase was repeated all night and throughout my time in Tarija. By dinner time I was already tipsy. Tarija is wine country and the people of the area are proud of their wine (from the highest vineyards in the world). They are only to eager to share their wine. And Christmas eve was no exception.
Dinner was a three meat soup with large chuncks of pork, chicken and beef. A fork and knife were set with the spoon in order to cut up the meat from the soup. The portions were large. I went back for seconds anyway. It was delicious. There were toasts throughout the night. As well as many more te invitos. As midnight approached the frequency of exploding fireworks in the streets increased. And at midnight Papito offered a toast with champagne. Everyone raised their glasses and Christmas was ushered in. In the nativity scene in the house hallway, baby Jesus was placed in the previously empty manger and prayers were said. The youngest of the cousins was given his Christmas presents: including a Wii and games, which we took turns playing into the night.
Belly full and slightly inebriated, I finally turned in around 2:30am. Not exactly how I have celebrated Christmas eve in the past. But a welcome experience during my first holidays without my family.
For pictures of my Christmas in Tarija, and my entire time there, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603709649737/
Moving Toward Christmas in Bolivia
Two days before Christmas I was awake at 7am on the Isla del Sol on Lake Titicaca, staring out at the beautiful scenery of the lake and the snow capped mountains in the distance. It was a tranquil morning. And I felt so far removed from any upcoming holidays.
My travel buddy woke up a short time later and we both took in the morning views. The views included several locals hiking down the path past our hotel with crates of empty beer bottles on their backs. We heard the ceremony go well into the night. Evidence of the night´s fun stumbled past us as a few older drunk men were helped down the path.
The woman managing the hotel made us a small breakfast which we gobbled up. After packing our things, we walked downhill to the port to wait for our boat back to the mainland. We were an hour early and used the time to read and nap some more.
Our boat back was near empty this time as we continued to enjoy the peace and quiet. Back in Copacabana we found a restaurant and ordered more fried trout (seemingly the only thing to eat on Titicaca) and a grande beer for lunch. Our bus was leaving around 2pm so we had some time before having to pick up my bag and laundry and riding towards our next destination of La Paz. We chatted about the odd asian-latin-fusion sounding music playing over the speakers, and what we were each going to miss most about the holidays at home.
Just before boarding our bus, I called my coworker´s childhood friend in La Paz to make sure he and his wife would still be meeting us at the bus station. They had generously offered to do this and host us at the apartment that night. My travel buddy was flying to Buenos Aires the next morning and I would be meeting my coworker at the airport and then flying on to meet his family in Southern Bolivia. They were planning on meeting us when we arrived. I thanked them and hopped on board our bus.
The bus ride was just a few hours. We passed a few interesting landscapes but overall, it was mostly just farms, small run-down villages, and distant mountains. When we approached La Paz the scenery was suddenly in a frenzy. Small buses packed full of people, pedestrians filling the empty spaces in the streets where cars didn´t, roaming malnurished dogs every where. As we rode down the winding express way towards the terminal we could see all of La Paz proper laid snuggly between the mountains. La Paz is the highest capitol in the world and I was not looking forward to continuing the high-altitude problems with breathing.
When we arrived at the terminal we went looking for our hosts. After 30 minutes of not being able to find them, I gave them a call. Apparently we had arrived at a different location from where the bus operator told me and I had in turn told our hosts. 20 minutes later our hosts found us and we drove back to their apt; a very comfortable apartment not far from where my coworker grew up. I took a much needed shower and unpacked a bit. We all relaxed with a drink and chatted. Mauricio and his wife Ide met each other in college in Santiago, Chile, and now worked in fields way over my head here in La Paz. Both hoped to return to Santiago to work soon. Ide was from Belize, meaning she spoke English, and acted as my interpretor. Though Mauricio seemed to speak enough English to understand what I was saying.
To thank them for picking us up and giving us a place to crash for the night, I offered to buy them both dinner if they chose the restaurant. They picked a nice place in a hotel not far from the apartment. We all ate heartidly and continued to chat about college, Bolivia, and my coworker. They were leaving the next day to drive 8 hours to meet Mauricio´s family for the holidays after dropping us at the airport. So we headed back to the apt after dinner and a short stop at the grocery. My travel buddy and I got the spare room - she had the bed, I had several layers of blankets on the floor to sleep on (one of the most comfortable night´s sleep I had had in days).
The next morning we all woke at 5:30am. Ide had prepared a table full of breakfast options for us. After dressing and packing, we chowed down on toast, ham & cheese, Fruit Loops, coffee and tea. And then we raced to the airport in a SUV packed full of luggage and presents. Ide made sure my travel buddy caught her flight. We said our goodbyes (the last appearance of Regina in my travels) and Mauricio, Ide and I went off to wait for my coworker to arrive. When he finally did, the start of my Bolivian holidays would be underway.
My travel buddy woke up a short time later and we both took in the morning views. The views included several locals hiking down the path past our hotel with crates of empty beer bottles on their backs. We heard the ceremony go well into the night. Evidence of the night´s fun stumbled past us as a few older drunk men were helped down the path.
The woman managing the hotel made us a small breakfast which we gobbled up. After packing our things, we walked downhill to the port to wait for our boat back to the mainland. We were an hour early and used the time to read and nap some more.
Our boat back was near empty this time as we continued to enjoy the peace and quiet. Back in Copacabana we found a restaurant and ordered more fried trout (seemingly the only thing to eat on Titicaca) and a grande beer for lunch. Our bus was leaving around 2pm so we had some time before having to pick up my bag and laundry and riding towards our next destination of La Paz. We chatted about the odd asian-latin-fusion sounding music playing over the speakers, and what we were each going to miss most about the holidays at home.
Just before boarding our bus, I called my coworker´s childhood friend in La Paz to make sure he and his wife would still be meeting us at the bus station. They had generously offered to do this and host us at the apartment that night. My travel buddy was flying to Buenos Aires the next morning and I would be meeting my coworker at the airport and then flying on to meet his family in Southern Bolivia. They were planning on meeting us when we arrived. I thanked them and hopped on board our bus.
The bus ride was just a few hours. We passed a few interesting landscapes but overall, it was mostly just farms, small run-down villages, and distant mountains. When we approached La Paz the scenery was suddenly in a frenzy. Small buses packed full of people, pedestrians filling the empty spaces in the streets where cars didn´t, roaming malnurished dogs every where. As we rode down the winding express way towards the terminal we could see all of La Paz proper laid snuggly between the mountains. La Paz is the highest capitol in the world and I was not looking forward to continuing the high-altitude problems with breathing.
When we arrived at the terminal we went looking for our hosts. After 30 minutes of not being able to find them, I gave them a call. Apparently we had arrived at a different location from where the bus operator told me and I had in turn told our hosts. 20 minutes later our hosts found us and we drove back to their apt; a very comfortable apartment not far from where my coworker grew up. I took a much needed shower and unpacked a bit. We all relaxed with a drink and chatted. Mauricio and his wife Ide met each other in college in Santiago, Chile, and now worked in fields way over my head here in La Paz. Both hoped to return to Santiago to work soon. Ide was from Belize, meaning she spoke English, and acted as my interpretor. Though Mauricio seemed to speak enough English to understand what I was saying.
To thank them for picking us up and giving us a place to crash for the night, I offered to buy them both dinner if they chose the restaurant. They picked a nice place in a hotel not far from the apartment. We all ate heartidly and continued to chat about college, Bolivia, and my coworker. They were leaving the next day to drive 8 hours to meet Mauricio´s family for the holidays after dropping us at the airport. So we headed back to the apt after dinner and a short stop at the grocery. My travel buddy and I got the spare room - she had the bed, I had several layers of blankets on the floor to sleep on (one of the most comfortable night´s sleep I had had in days).
The next morning we all woke at 5:30am. Ide had prepared a table full of breakfast options for us. After dressing and packing, we chowed down on toast, ham & cheese, Fruit Loops, coffee and tea. And then we raced to the airport in a SUV packed full of luggage and presents. Ide made sure my travel buddy caught her flight. We said our goodbyes (the last appearance of Regina in my travels) and Mauricio, Ide and I went off to wait for my coworker to arrive. When he finally did, the start of my Bolivian holidays would be underway.
Island of the Sun & of Very Little Oxygen
After our day of exploring the reed islands on the Peruvian side of Titcaca, we were ready to see the islands on the Bolivian side. These weren't floating islands, but they were believed by the Incas to be their birth place. What the hell, I just wanted to attempt to cross the border, and it was on the way to La Paz where I would meet my coworker in two days.
We took a taxi early in the morning to the bus station in Puno where we bordered our bus for Copacabana. The bus was filled with backpackers, most likely because it was the one bus company recommended by Lonely Planet. Funny how that works.
The bus arrived at the Peruvian/Bolivian border a couple of hours later and waited for us to manage border crossing formalities. I showed the Bolivian border police my U.S. passport and they ushered me to a back room where one other U.S. citizen was waiting. Every other backpacker was spared the need for visa formailities. But the process went quickly. They seemed less concerned with all of my paperwork and more concerned with the $100 I had to pay to get the visa. In the end, my paper work was barely glanced at and shoved in a manilla folder and then into a drawer. Probably never to see the light of day again. But I had my visa so I didn't care.
We arrived in the grand Bolivian town of Copacabana a short ride later. Copacabana is small and, short of witnessing the "blessing of the cars" that we had missed by an hour, there was little to do but relax and enjoy the many restaurants serving more trout. We agreed to buy a boat ticket to the Isla del Sol immediately, along with a bus ticket to La Paz the next day. I left my large bag at the bus office, along with my dirty laundry (and the promise they would wash it), and we took a leisurely stroll down to the port to find our boat. It was easy. There was a large crowd gathered to board with us.
The boat ride was long, again. The wailing child and the loud Brazilian kids on board didn't make the ride any more pleasant. I read, my travel buddy dozed. It started to rain just as we arrived to the Isla del Sol 90 minutes later. Just in time to deboard on an island with no clue where to go. There were no roads, and with the hilly terrain and seemingly hidden town, we were at a loss as to where to go. So we just started walking up the same Inca stairs other people were climbing. The lake is at such a high altitude that walking any stairs is tough. Especially with the added weight of a backpack. People were struggling. The stairs seemed to go up forever. Local kids took advantage of the situation by offering to carry bags for a fee. Few people took the offer. One British girl, who was really struggling, refused to let the kids help her with the bag for the hefty sum of 75 cents. The kids were harrassing her and I felt bad for her. So I offered to carry her smaller bag the rest of the way up. Finally, seeing their last opportunity had vanished, the kids left us alone.
When we made it to the top of the hill we still had no idea where to go. We saw a few signs for hotels, but most of the people who arrived on the boat had dispersed towards various places, following kids promising hot showers. We were determined to find something on our own. Why? I have no idea. Maybe the altitude was making us stubburn. But we walked to a nicer looking place just down the path. It was empty. But a young woman heard us walk up and offered us a room for $6. There was no running water or heat. But the beds were comfy and there was electricity. And the view from our room was incredible, with the lake and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Exhausted, we dropped our bags and crashed into our beds. There we laid motionless for the next half hour.
There are a few ruins on the island, but they were small and the walk to see them was several hours away. We didn't have the energy. And sunset would be arriving within a few hours. Despite this it was agreed we needed to go out and explore the part of the island surrounding us. We heard bad band music in the distance and that became our target. Making our way through a maze of paths and rock fences and up and down hills, we took in the views of our tiny town. Eventually we found the music. What accompanied the music appeared to be a wedding ceremony. There was a man dressed up with flowers around his neck. There was a woman with the same appearance. There were two families seperated by sex. There was a LOT of beer. Several dozen crates of it. And there was music. We asked the small kid watching the ceremony beside us what was going on. He said it was a graduation. Uh, ok. We were still convinced we were watching a wedding. So we stared. It beat going off in search of ruins. And the people didn't seem to mind us watching.
Eventually we grew tired of watching. Or I just grew too hungry to keep watching. We made our way up to the top of the the hill and found a restaurant over-looking the other side of the island. A trout dinner was only a couple of bucks and we declared this our dinner choice. Until it was discovered neither of us had money. Ugh. Back down the hill we hiked to the hotel in search of money. Not happy. Too tired. Want food.
Money in hand, we started back towards the restaurant. It was a slow return. The altitude had completely wiped me out. As had three nights with no sleep. When we eventually made it back to the restaurant we found a one man show. One guy was running the entire restaurant. He took our orders, we saw him slip out the back for indgredients from a nearby market, and then back into the kitchen to start cooking. I nursed my grande beer. We played cards. We admired the view. 40 minutes later our trout dinner was served. I dove in, salivating as the bites hit my mouth. We ordered another grande beer. We were suddenly tipsy - giddy even. Altitude or beer or both? Whatever it was, it was getting dark. Time to walk back to the hostel. There was nothing else to do on the island.
Back in our room at 7pm, bundled up, we tucked ourselves into our beds and started reading. I read until 11:30pm when I passed out. I finally slept most of the night.
For pics of the islands of Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
We took a taxi early in the morning to the bus station in Puno where we bordered our bus for Copacabana. The bus was filled with backpackers, most likely because it was the one bus company recommended by Lonely Planet. Funny how that works.
The bus arrived at the Peruvian/Bolivian border a couple of hours later and waited for us to manage border crossing formalities. I showed the Bolivian border police my U.S. passport and they ushered me to a back room where one other U.S. citizen was waiting. Every other backpacker was spared the need for visa formailities. But the process went quickly. They seemed less concerned with all of my paperwork and more concerned with the $100 I had to pay to get the visa. In the end, my paper work was barely glanced at and shoved in a manilla folder and then into a drawer. Probably never to see the light of day again. But I had my visa so I didn't care.
We arrived in the grand Bolivian town of Copacabana a short ride later. Copacabana is small and, short of witnessing the "blessing of the cars" that we had missed by an hour, there was little to do but relax and enjoy the many restaurants serving more trout. We agreed to buy a boat ticket to the Isla del Sol immediately, along with a bus ticket to La Paz the next day. I left my large bag at the bus office, along with my dirty laundry (and the promise they would wash it), and we took a leisurely stroll down to the port to find our boat. It was easy. There was a large crowd gathered to board with us.
The boat ride was long, again. The wailing child and the loud Brazilian kids on board didn't make the ride any more pleasant. I read, my travel buddy dozed. It started to rain just as we arrived to the Isla del Sol 90 minutes later. Just in time to deboard on an island with no clue where to go. There were no roads, and with the hilly terrain and seemingly hidden town, we were at a loss as to where to go. So we just started walking up the same Inca stairs other people were climbing. The lake is at such a high altitude that walking any stairs is tough. Especially with the added weight of a backpack. People were struggling. The stairs seemed to go up forever. Local kids took advantage of the situation by offering to carry bags for a fee. Few people took the offer. One British girl, who was really struggling, refused to let the kids help her with the bag for the hefty sum of 75 cents. The kids were harrassing her and I felt bad for her. So I offered to carry her smaller bag the rest of the way up. Finally, seeing their last opportunity had vanished, the kids left us alone.
When we made it to the top of the hill we still had no idea where to go. We saw a few signs for hotels, but most of the people who arrived on the boat had dispersed towards various places, following kids promising hot showers. We were determined to find something on our own. Why? I have no idea. Maybe the altitude was making us stubburn. But we walked to a nicer looking place just down the path. It was empty. But a young woman heard us walk up and offered us a room for $6. There was no running water or heat. But the beds were comfy and there was electricity. And the view from our room was incredible, with the lake and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Exhausted, we dropped our bags and crashed into our beds. There we laid motionless for the next half hour.
There are a few ruins on the island, but they were small and the walk to see them was several hours away. We didn't have the energy. And sunset would be arriving within a few hours. Despite this it was agreed we needed to go out and explore the part of the island surrounding us. We heard bad band music in the distance and that became our target. Making our way through a maze of paths and rock fences and up and down hills, we took in the views of our tiny town. Eventually we found the music. What accompanied the music appeared to be a wedding ceremony. There was a man dressed up with flowers around his neck. There was a woman with the same appearance. There were two families seperated by sex. There was a LOT of beer. Several dozen crates of it. And there was music. We asked the small kid watching the ceremony beside us what was going on. He said it was a graduation. Uh, ok. We were still convinced we were watching a wedding. So we stared. It beat going off in search of ruins. And the people didn't seem to mind us watching.
Eventually we grew tired of watching. Or I just grew too hungry to keep watching. We made our way up to the top of the the hill and found a restaurant over-looking the other side of the island. A trout dinner was only a couple of bucks and we declared this our dinner choice. Until it was discovered neither of us had money. Ugh. Back down the hill we hiked to the hotel in search of money. Not happy. Too tired. Want food.
Money in hand, we started back towards the restaurant. It was a slow return. The altitude had completely wiped me out. As had three nights with no sleep. When we eventually made it back to the restaurant we found a one man show. One guy was running the entire restaurant. He took our orders, we saw him slip out the back for indgredients from a nearby market, and then back into the kitchen to start cooking. I nursed my grande beer. We played cards. We admired the view. 40 minutes later our trout dinner was served. I dove in, salivating as the bites hit my mouth. We ordered another grande beer. We were suddenly tipsy - giddy even. Altitude or beer or both? Whatever it was, it was getting dark. Time to walk back to the hostel. There was nothing else to do on the island.
Back in our room at 7pm, bundled up, we tucked ourselves into our beds and started reading. I read until 11:30pm when I passed out. I finally slept most of the night.
For pics of the islands of Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
Walking on Reeds
I've already posted about my attempt to get to Puno from Colca Canyon and the stop at the police check point, directed to board the wrong bus, and ending up in the wrong city. If you missed it, look for "I`ll Take the Physical Challenge".
Once in Puno, the town situated on Lake Titicaca, it was time to start collecting everything I would need to secure a visa for entry to Boliva, time to catch up with my travel buddy, and time to see the floating islands of Uros.
My travel buddy arrived a few hours after I did and we went out for alpaca steaks with apple sauce. Hot apple sauce. Without cinnamon. Boo. We caught up over a beer (I drank the beer since she was sick) and a bit of ice cream for dessert. Turns out she had her iPod stolen from her hostel room in Arequipa. She was not a big fan of Peru at this point. We went to sleep around 11pm in our shit beds in a worse hostel. Seriously, worse bed I had slept in since I started traveling. But my cheap ass was so excited to find a room for under $4/night that I pretended not to care. Even though I didn't sleep at all that night.
The next morning I was up at 7:30 to try my luck at the Bolivian consulate a few blocks away (another reason I picked the shit hostel). The man working at the consulate was really nice and very patient with my spanish. He brought out a notebook and pointed to all of the things I would need. But I couldn't get my visa here. I would have to collect everything and try my luck at the border. I was going to need an itinerary and invitation from my host family, along with proof I had enough money to support myself (um, I am going to Bolivia - I should only need $50 right?), a yellow fever card, passport, two forms to fill out, and two wallet-sized photos. *whew*. I thanked him over & over again for all of his help and then ran to the nearest cyber cafe to email my coworker about the need for an invitation and itinerary. Amazingly, he got his uncle to send me an invitation within minutes.
With that all squared away, it was time to discover Puno. I met up with my travel buddy again and we took care of some essentials: showers, breakfast (a huge Americano breakfast at a great little cafe), and purchasing our bus tickets to Copacabana for the next day. And with all those things done (and a quick jaunt through a locals market looking for Christmas items to stick on some one's backpack), we made our way to the port to find a boat out to the famous reed islands.
We had no problem finding transportation. Touts flocked to us as we approached the dock. "You want to see the islands??", "Come with me, we have a boat", "Special price just for you". We picked the first tout and were immediately ushered to a boat. And there we waited. The boat would leave only when the captain (I use that word very loosely) felt like there were enough riders on board to make the trip worth his while. That happened about 35 minutes later. And off we went. Slowly. The boat creeped towards the floating islands. Maybe to let us take in the scenery?
The floating islands of Uros on Titicaca are made completely out of the lake's totora reeds. The people made these islands centuries ago to escape the Collas and Incas on land. They are constantly adding new reeds from the lake's shallow waters to replace the layers that rot. This makes for fun, bouncy footing. And an island destined to become a tourist destination.
What seemed like an enternity later we arrived and took our first precarious steps on one of many of the floating neighborhoods. We were one of only three gringos, the rest of the people on our boat were Peruvian young couples checking out the islands too. One of the island dwellers motioned for us to sit in a circle near a map of the islands. We did so as he started a presentation of the history and significance of the islands in spanish. My travel buddy translated for me. He told of how their whole exhistance depended on the reeds (why else would tourists come visit them and spend money?). How they built their houses and boats from the reeds and even their crafts - which were on sale just behind us. The lecture was interesting enough and we had time and the freedom to explore the small island on our own. We wondered what the people did way out here other than wait for tourists to come. Didn't seem like there was much else to do.
Then we were told we could ride in one of the reed-made boats to another island. A young girl who seemed no older than 12 guided our boat to the next island. When we arrived we were told there was a fee for riding the reed boat. Or course there was. Keeping with that theme we found the second island made for the tourist dollar. Not quite as interesting but impressive nonetheless. There was a public phone booth (made out of reeds - not the phone, just the booth), bars where you could order a beer, little cabins to stay in over night, and little restaurants - all offering fried trout. And of course, more souvineers. My travel buddy and I ignored the restaurants, bars, and souvineers and found a place to pop a squat and take in the island life. When we realized all the others from our boat were eating at the restaurants, we settled in for a long chill session.
When the others started to come back out to the boat we jumped up to join them. One couple was missing. Apparently they had decided to stay behind and enjoy one of the cabins at 2:30 in the afternoon. Hmmm.
Back on board we made the long ride back to Puno. And noticed one of the guys on board was growing increasingly drunk. We did a quick count in our head and realized he had downed five beers on the islands. His young wife was left to deal with their child as he made several loud calls on his cell phone and seemed to doze off at points. "Lovely vacation, honey. Ju-wanna-nothah-beer?"
Back on solid ground I realized I was sunburnt from our short stay on the islands. We found a bike taxi back towards town, but it was slow and there was no protection from the sun on board. I was reduced to wearing a designed cloth craft I had bought on the island to hide from the sun.
Later that evening, still full from a late ceviche lunch, we went looking for a coffee shop. The idea was to play cards and sip coffee in the warmth of a cozy cafe. It was cold at that altitude. We found a great restaurant with a fire place and cable tv showing Christmas programs in spanish. There was loft area seating and we immediately went upstairs and planted ourselves over-looking the rest of the restaurant. The sight of the food being served was too much, and when we looked at the prices on the menu it was agreed we needed to order dinner. Besides, our super huge waitress didn't seem happy that she had to hike the stairs just to bring us coffee. We played cards, we drank coffee, we ate way too much good, cheap food, we watched xmas programs. And then we headed back to our hostal where, for the second night in a row, I didn't sleep at all. But I was only paying $4 for the room...
For pics of the time spent at Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
Once in Puno, the town situated on Lake Titicaca, it was time to start collecting everything I would need to secure a visa for entry to Boliva, time to catch up with my travel buddy, and time to see the floating islands of Uros.
My travel buddy arrived a few hours after I did and we went out for alpaca steaks with apple sauce. Hot apple sauce. Without cinnamon. Boo. We caught up over a beer (I drank the beer since she was sick) and a bit of ice cream for dessert. Turns out she had her iPod stolen from her hostel room in Arequipa. She was not a big fan of Peru at this point. We went to sleep around 11pm in our shit beds in a worse hostel. Seriously, worse bed I had slept in since I started traveling. But my cheap ass was so excited to find a room for under $4/night that I pretended not to care. Even though I didn't sleep at all that night.
The next morning I was up at 7:30 to try my luck at the Bolivian consulate a few blocks away (another reason I picked the shit hostel). The man working at the consulate was really nice and very patient with my spanish. He brought out a notebook and pointed to all of the things I would need. But I couldn't get my visa here. I would have to collect everything and try my luck at the border. I was going to need an itinerary and invitation from my host family, along with proof I had enough money to support myself (um, I am going to Bolivia - I should only need $50 right?), a yellow fever card, passport, two forms to fill out, and two wallet-sized photos. *whew*. I thanked him over & over again for all of his help and then ran to the nearest cyber cafe to email my coworker about the need for an invitation and itinerary. Amazingly, he got his uncle to send me an invitation within minutes.
With that all squared away, it was time to discover Puno. I met up with my travel buddy again and we took care of some essentials: showers, breakfast (a huge Americano breakfast at a great little cafe), and purchasing our bus tickets to Copacabana for the next day. And with all those things done (and a quick jaunt through a locals market looking for Christmas items to stick on some one's backpack), we made our way to the port to find a boat out to the famous reed islands.
We had no problem finding transportation. Touts flocked to us as we approached the dock. "You want to see the islands??", "Come with me, we have a boat", "Special price just for you". We picked the first tout and were immediately ushered to a boat. And there we waited. The boat would leave only when the captain (I use that word very loosely) felt like there were enough riders on board to make the trip worth his while. That happened about 35 minutes later. And off we went. Slowly. The boat creeped towards the floating islands. Maybe to let us take in the scenery?
The floating islands of Uros on Titicaca are made completely out of the lake's totora reeds. The people made these islands centuries ago to escape the Collas and Incas on land. They are constantly adding new reeds from the lake's shallow waters to replace the layers that rot. This makes for fun, bouncy footing. And an island destined to become a tourist destination.
What seemed like an enternity later we arrived and took our first precarious steps on one of many of the floating neighborhoods. We were one of only three gringos, the rest of the people on our boat were Peruvian young couples checking out the islands too. One of the island dwellers motioned for us to sit in a circle near a map of the islands. We did so as he started a presentation of the history and significance of the islands in spanish. My travel buddy translated for me. He told of how their whole exhistance depended on the reeds (why else would tourists come visit them and spend money?). How they built their houses and boats from the reeds and even their crafts - which were on sale just behind us. The lecture was interesting enough and we had time and the freedom to explore the small island on our own. We wondered what the people did way out here other than wait for tourists to come. Didn't seem like there was much else to do.
Then we were told we could ride in one of the reed-made boats to another island. A young girl who seemed no older than 12 guided our boat to the next island. When we arrived we were told there was a fee for riding the reed boat. Or course there was. Keeping with that theme we found the second island made for the tourist dollar. Not quite as interesting but impressive nonetheless. There was a public phone booth (made out of reeds - not the phone, just the booth), bars where you could order a beer, little cabins to stay in over night, and little restaurants - all offering fried trout. And of course, more souvineers. My travel buddy and I ignored the restaurants, bars, and souvineers and found a place to pop a squat and take in the island life. When we realized all the others from our boat were eating at the restaurants, we settled in for a long chill session.
When the others started to come back out to the boat we jumped up to join them. One couple was missing. Apparently they had decided to stay behind and enjoy one of the cabins at 2:30 in the afternoon. Hmmm.
Back on board we made the long ride back to Puno. And noticed one of the guys on board was growing increasingly drunk. We did a quick count in our head and realized he had downed five beers on the islands. His young wife was left to deal with their child as he made several loud calls on his cell phone and seemed to doze off at points. "Lovely vacation, honey. Ju-wanna-nothah-beer?"
Back on solid ground I realized I was sunburnt from our short stay on the islands. We found a bike taxi back towards town, but it was slow and there was no protection from the sun on board. I was reduced to wearing a designed cloth craft I had bought on the island to hide from the sun.
Later that evening, still full from a late ceviche lunch, we went looking for a coffee shop. The idea was to play cards and sip coffee in the warmth of a cozy cafe. It was cold at that altitude. We found a great restaurant with a fire place and cable tv showing Christmas programs in spanish. There was loft area seating and we immediately went upstairs and planted ourselves over-looking the rest of the restaurant. The sight of the food being served was too much, and when we looked at the prices on the menu it was agreed we needed to order dinner. Besides, our super huge waitress didn't seem happy that she had to hike the stairs just to bring us coffee. We played cards, we drank coffee, we ate way too much good, cheap food, we watched xmas programs. And then we headed back to our hostal where, for the second night in a row, I didn't sleep at all. But I was only paying $4 for the room...
For pics of the time spent at Titicaca, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603664478790/
Sleepy
I couldn´t get a train ticket to Brazil, and the bus cost too much for 26 hours on an unpaved road. So I bought a plane ticket. But the plane left at 4am so I had to be at the airport at 2am.
Problem: couldn´t find my yellow fever vaccination card. And the airline peeps weren´t going to let me on the plane without it. Brazil leans on them hard to not allow anyone into the country without it. I had looked all through my bags for it before I went to the airport, only to find a photcopy of it. No idea what I was going to do, I was asking a manager what options I had. There weren´t many. And then I pulled out my phrase dictionary to see how to say something in Spanish to help my case, and there it was. *whew*
On the plane I went. And I arrived in Brazil (an hour ahead of Bolivia - two hours ahead of the US east coast) at 6:45am. No one seems to speak English here so far. And I don´t know a lick of Portugues. I am finding if I talk in Spanish it gets me by. It´s difficult. Maybe I just need to go to bed for a bit...
Problem: couldn´t find my yellow fever vaccination card. And the airline peeps weren´t going to let me on the plane without it. Brazil leans on them hard to not allow anyone into the country without it. I had looked all through my bags for it before I went to the airport, only to find a photcopy of it. No idea what I was going to do, I was asking a manager what options I had. There weren´t many. And then I pulled out my phrase dictionary to see how to say something in Spanish to help my case, and there it was. *whew*
On the plane I went. And I arrived in Brazil (an hour ahead of Bolivia - two hours ahead of the US east coast) at 6:45am. No one seems to speak English here so far. And I don´t know a lick of Portugues. I am finding if I talk in Spanish it gets me by. It´s difficult. Maybe I just need to go to bed for a bit...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
By Foot or By Hoof
The night after our hike down into Colca Canyon I slept like a rock, inspite of the rock hard mattress and the lumpy pillow. It was either the long walk down or the evening full of drinks, but either way I felt rested when the guide knocked on our cabin at 6:30am. My cabin mate, the bigger and goofier of the two Dutch guys, woke up and discovered the gum he has drunkenly set to the side of his pillow before going to sleep was now entangled in his hair. A short time later he had a small patch of hair missing where the Dutch girl had used a pocket knife to cut out the mid-night accident.
We all gathered in the terrace for a tasty pancake breakfast with fresh-squeezed oj & coffee and watched the sun turn the canyon multiple colors. We tried to make breakfast last as long as possible. No one was ready to start our hike up.
Okay, one person was ready: our guide. We put on our boots (and our dusty gold tennis shoes) and followed him out of our little oasis away from physical activity, up a startling steep start to the first half of our hike. It was a short hike, only 30 minutes, but we were all winded. The Dutch girl was having to stop every few minutes to rest; not a good sign of what was to come later in the day. But we tried to give her encouragement. She wasn`t buying it. The first half of the day was a hike to a real oasis in the center of the canyon where we would relax, eat, and swim. The second half of the day was what worried us. That is when we would hike straight up the canyon side.
But first, after our mini-trek, we stopped at a tiny village where we were greeted by a woman who brought us fresh fruit from a cactus. Here we rested for a bit, as our guide chatted with the old woman while simultaniously chasing the guinea pigs crawling around the floor of her home; dinner to be.
We eventually moved on, following a mostly level path along the inside of the canyon, a few dozen meters up from the river. This side of the canyon was much greener than the other side and our guide told us this was because of how the rain blew in. Clouds were blocked on the one side and the rain water then flowed over that side. And because this side was more lush, there were more villages to pass through. When I say more, I mean more than the zero on the opposite side. But the odd thing was these small villages were mostly empty. Our guide told us many of the people had moved into the (relatively) larger towns above the canyon and only came back for festivals. We saw a few sleeping dogs, a couple of mules, and the random person tending to their small plots of land. Our guide knew the name of each.
And then we saw the oasis. The beautiful, relaxing, complete with lunch and drinks, oasis. We practically jogged there, eager to jump in the natural pool waiting for us. As we stepped deeper back into the canyon, it hit me that the several dozen meters we just descended would have to be made up again later. But that was a worry for another time. After my long dip in the pool.
When we arrived, the guys immediately changed into our swim trunks and dove in. Eight minutes later we decided the water was too cold and opt´d to sit out in the warmer sun. We had three more hours to kill. Time for a nap. Later during lunch, the Dutch, who to this point had been talking mostly in English, chatted the entire time in Dutch. With just the four of us, this left 45 minutes for me to talk to myself in my head. sigh. Suddenly I was ready to start the steep ascent.
Fortunately so was our guide. He had gone missing for an hour and we all assumed it was for a booty call with the attractive guide leading another small group. He had been flirting with when we arrived at the oasis. He was now walking towards us with a large grin on his face. But the attractive guide wasn`t following him. A short, gangly dude was following him. The Dutch and I exchanged glances but said nothing. We just stood up and started walking towards the path.
The hike up was as tough as we expected it to be. Our guide told us it would take about 3.5 hours. I tried to comfort the Dutch girl by telling her our guides on the Inca trail would warn us of a long hike that really took much less time - to make us feel better when we finished. Our guide here was probably doing the same. We had the option of taking a mule up the canyon, and most of the people from the other group took this option. But the Dutch girl decided to attempt it on her own gold colored tennis shoe clad feet. And we cheered her on. Even as we stopped every 15 minutes so she could rest. At first, I didn`t mind the breaks. The climb was challenging, even more than the steep climb on the Inca trail. But as we continued to slowly make our way up the canyon, the routine breaks got old. It was getting harder and harder to get moving again after each break and I wanted to just power on. So did the Dutch guys. But we kept our mouths shut and cheered her on, giving her pats on the back and words of encouragement.
Until finally we realized we were several lengths ahead of her. And then we could no longer see her. But at this point we didn`t care. The guide was keeping pace with her. She wasn`t alone. And even though we were struggling with each step and panting hard, we agreed to keep moving. We quietly cursed the other group as they passed us on their mules, sweatless and grinning. We told ourselves we were getting more out of the trek by hiking instead of riding. We convinced ourselves of this. It was all we could do since it was too late to hire a mule.
And then the lead Dutch guy told us to look back. There we saw the Dutch girl, looking very much relieved, and sitting atop a donkey, gold tennis shoes bouncing on either side. She had called it quits about 20 minutes earlier, about 5 minutes before a local man came past with his donkey on the way to the village above. He took pity on her and offered the ride for free.
Fine. The three remaining trekkers would finish this hike. Without the help of a beast of burden. Forward we marched, chests rising and falling twice as far and as fast as normal. It started to rain. We kept moving. Two more people passed us on mules. We kept moving. And finally, four hours later, when we couldn`t even bare to look farther than a few steps in front of us for fear of seeing how much longer we had to go, we made it to the crest. There were no porters there clapping for us. Just a harder rain and some lightening. And our guide telling us we had about another 30 minute walk back to the hostel. At that height it was freezing. And the rain soaking us didn`t help. We were all quiet as we walked on.
By the time I reached the hostel I was shaking uncontrollably. I went straight to my room and put on several layers, even a knit hat. But I couldn`t get warm. I feared taking a shower thinking the water wouldn`t be warm enough. I just headed downstairs and sat at a table to wait for a warm dinner. Half an hour later the Dutch trio came down. They were clean, smiling, seemingly content. I asked if they tried the shower. They had, and it was gloriously warm. I finshed my third cup of hot tea and ran to my room where I took a thirty minute shower. Finally I was warm. I was happy. And I was pleased I had done the entire trek on my own.
The drinking games we planned the previous night, to congratulate ourselves after the hike, never materialized. Everyone was exhausted. And by 7:50pm we were all fast alseep.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
We all gathered in the terrace for a tasty pancake breakfast with fresh-squeezed oj & coffee and watched the sun turn the canyon multiple colors. We tried to make breakfast last as long as possible. No one was ready to start our hike up.
Okay, one person was ready: our guide. We put on our boots (and our dusty gold tennis shoes) and followed him out of our little oasis away from physical activity, up a startling steep start to the first half of our hike. It was a short hike, only 30 minutes, but we were all winded. The Dutch girl was having to stop every few minutes to rest; not a good sign of what was to come later in the day. But we tried to give her encouragement. She wasn`t buying it. The first half of the day was a hike to a real oasis in the center of the canyon where we would relax, eat, and swim. The second half of the day was what worried us. That is when we would hike straight up the canyon side.
But first, after our mini-trek, we stopped at a tiny village where we were greeted by a woman who brought us fresh fruit from a cactus. Here we rested for a bit, as our guide chatted with the old woman while simultaniously chasing the guinea pigs crawling around the floor of her home; dinner to be.
We eventually moved on, following a mostly level path along the inside of the canyon, a few dozen meters up from the river. This side of the canyon was much greener than the other side and our guide told us this was because of how the rain blew in. Clouds were blocked on the one side and the rain water then flowed over that side. And because this side was more lush, there were more villages to pass through. When I say more, I mean more than the zero on the opposite side. But the odd thing was these small villages were mostly empty. Our guide told us many of the people had moved into the (relatively) larger towns above the canyon and only came back for festivals. We saw a few sleeping dogs, a couple of mules, and the random person tending to their small plots of land. Our guide knew the name of each.
And then we saw the oasis. The beautiful, relaxing, complete with lunch and drinks, oasis. We practically jogged there, eager to jump in the natural pool waiting for us. As we stepped deeper back into the canyon, it hit me that the several dozen meters we just descended would have to be made up again later. But that was a worry for another time. After my long dip in the pool.
When we arrived, the guys immediately changed into our swim trunks and dove in. Eight minutes later we decided the water was too cold and opt´d to sit out in the warmer sun. We had three more hours to kill. Time for a nap. Later during lunch, the Dutch, who to this point had been talking mostly in English, chatted the entire time in Dutch. With just the four of us, this left 45 minutes for me to talk to myself in my head. sigh. Suddenly I was ready to start the steep ascent.
Fortunately so was our guide. He had gone missing for an hour and we all assumed it was for a booty call with the attractive guide leading another small group. He had been flirting with when we arrived at the oasis. He was now walking towards us with a large grin on his face. But the attractive guide wasn`t following him. A short, gangly dude was following him. The Dutch and I exchanged glances but said nothing. We just stood up and started walking towards the path.
The hike up was as tough as we expected it to be. Our guide told us it would take about 3.5 hours. I tried to comfort the Dutch girl by telling her our guides on the Inca trail would warn us of a long hike that really took much less time - to make us feel better when we finished. Our guide here was probably doing the same. We had the option of taking a mule up the canyon, and most of the people from the other group took this option. But the Dutch girl decided to attempt it on her own gold colored tennis shoe clad feet. And we cheered her on. Even as we stopped every 15 minutes so she could rest. At first, I didn`t mind the breaks. The climb was challenging, even more than the steep climb on the Inca trail. But as we continued to slowly make our way up the canyon, the routine breaks got old. It was getting harder and harder to get moving again after each break and I wanted to just power on. So did the Dutch guys. But we kept our mouths shut and cheered her on, giving her pats on the back and words of encouragement.
Until finally we realized we were several lengths ahead of her. And then we could no longer see her. But at this point we didn`t care. The guide was keeping pace with her. She wasn`t alone. And even though we were struggling with each step and panting hard, we agreed to keep moving. We quietly cursed the other group as they passed us on their mules, sweatless and grinning. We told ourselves we were getting more out of the trek by hiking instead of riding. We convinced ourselves of this. It was all we could do since it was too late to hire a mule.
And then the lead Dutch guy told us to look back. There we saw the Dutch girl, looking very much relieved, and sitting atop a donkey, gold tennis shoes bouncing on either side. She had called it quits about 20 minutes earlier, about 5 minutes before a local man came past with his donkey on the way to the village above. He took pity on her and offered the ride for free.
Fine. The three remaining trekkers would finish this hike. Without the help of a beast of burden. Forward we marched, chests rising and falling twice as far and as fast as normal. It started to rain. We kept moving. Two more people passed us on mules. We kept moving. And finally, four hours later, when we couldn`t even bare to look farther than a few steps in front of us for fear of seeing how much longer we had to go, we made it to the crest. There were no porters there clapping for us. Just a harder rain and some lightening. And our guide telling us we had about another 30 minute walk back to the hostel. At that height it was freezing. And the rain soaking us didn`t help. We were all quiet as we walked on.
By the time I reached the hostel I was shaking uncontrollably. I went straight to my room and put on several layers, even a knit hat. But I couldn`t get warm. I feared taking a shower thinking the water wouldn`t be warm enough. I just headed downstairs and sat at a table to wait for a warm dinner. Half an hour later the Dutch trio came down. They were clean, smiling, seemingly content. I asked if they tried the shower. They had, and it was gloriously warm. I finshed my third cup of hot tea and ran to my room where I took a thirty minute shower. Finally I was warm. I was happy. And I was pleased I had done the entire trek on my own.
The drinking games we planned the previous night, to congratulate ourselves after the hike, never materialized. Everyone was exhausted. And by 7:50pm we were all fast alseep.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
A Month Ago...
So I am still behind on my stories. I am going to attempt to get through New Years in the next two days. I`ll start with the trip into Colca Canyon:
Back in Arequipa I had finally gotten signed up for a trek into Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. It was Tuesday morning (December 18th for those of you keeping track) at 4:55 when my alarm went off. I was finally feeling better; the rest in Arequipa helped knock out the cold that was plaguing me for a week. I quickly took a shower and was out on the curb in front of my hostel by 5:20 to wait for my guide. He arrived 30 minutes later. Latino time.
Jose arrived in a cab and introduced himself while tossing my bag in the back. We arrived at the bus station 10 minutes later where we met the other trekkers on my tour: two guys and a girl from Holland. We had all opt`d for the cheaper tour which meant riding the public bus instead of in a private van. Save $25, get a bit of culture.
At 6am we squeezed into our down and dirty bus. The locals weren`t taking too kind to us after our guide kicked two old women out of our pre-paid seats. Most people pay on the bus. The gringos are the ones who usually pay in advance. We got several dirty looks throughout the ride. Despite the inhospitable reception, and the bumpy, unpaved road to our destination, the ride was interesting as we passed through lush landscapes and Mars-like terrain. We saw herds of alpacas (like llamas) roaming the grounds and tiny, worn villages dotting the route. And we saw snow! In December! We were that high up.
Our bus finally arrived in the tiny town of Cabanaconde. We grabbed our things and hiked through up an empty street, passed a collection of little stores selling candy bars and sodas, to our hostal. Although we were having lunch here, we weren`t sleeping at the hostel that night. After lunch we were starting our hike to and down into the canyon where we would spend the night in slightly less posh settings.
As we approached the rim of the canyon, I noticed for the first time the shoes the Dutch girl was wearing. Shiney, gold colored tennis shoes. As I would soon discover, she was not prepared for what this trek actually entailed. She thought we were doing a nice leisurely walk down a pleasant grassy path. Not so much.
The hike down was entertaining as the two Dutch guys cracked each other up by throwing things at each other and as one tried to out pace the other. This was occasionally interrupted by locals who were using the same path to move mules or cows up to the small town. At these times we were pressed against the cliffs avoiding having our toes crushed by the moving hooves. The views were brilliant and the trail down was relatively easy aside from a few missteps on loose rocks that had us (me) close to skipping a few levels of the trail.
Around 5pm we made it to the base of the canyon. Looking up we were all impressed with the height of the trail we had just decended. Looking down, the Dutch girl was upset by how dirty her shiney gold shoes were now. Our guide lead us to our camp for the night: a nice site with dingy stone cabins, but a great view from every angle. There was a mildly luke-warm shower if we wanted one. I voted for an extra layer of deodorant the next morning. And there was a cool little terrace with a thatched roof and a table for eating. This is where we spent the rest of the evening relaxing; first with a round of grande beers and travel stories. Then dinner (sans potatoes for me). Then two more rounds of grande beers. With card games. And finally a bottle of Cuban rum one of the Dutch guys brought. By 9:30 we were drunk and laughing at everything. I had just made my fourth trip to the bathroom, stumbling and tripping in the dark of the night, when I realized it would probably be best to call it quits now and turn in. The next day we we hiking back up the canyon. I did not want to be hungover for that.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
Back in Arequipa I had finally gotten signed up for a trek into Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. It was Tuesday morning (December 18th for those of you keeping track) at 4:55 when my alarm went off. I was finally feeling better; the rest in Arequipa helped knock out the cold that was plaguing me for a week. I quickly took a shower and was out on the curb in front of my hostel by 5:20 to wait for my guide. He arrived 30 minutes later. Latino time.
Jose arrived in a cab and introduced himself while tossing my bag in the back. We arrived at the bus station 10 minutes later where we met the other trekkers on my tour: two guys and a girl from Holland. We had all opt`d for the cheaper tour which meant riding the public bus instead of in a private van. Save $25, get a bit of culture.
At 6am we squeezed into our down and dirty bus. The locals weren`t taking too kind to us after our guide kicked two old women out of our pre-paid seats. Most people pay on the bus. The gringos are the ones who usually pay in advance. We got several dirty looks throughout the ride. Despite the inhospitable reception, and the bumpy, unpaved road to our destination, the ride was interesting as we passed through lush landscapes and Mars-like terrain. We saw herds of alpacas (like llamas) roaming the grounds and tiny, worn villages dotting the route. And we saw snow! In December! We were that high up.
Our bus finally arrived in the tiny town of Cabanaconde. We grabbed our things and hiked through up an empty street, passed a collection of little stores selling candy bars and sodas, to our hostal. Although we were having lunch here, we weren`t sleeping at the hostel that night. After lunch we were starting our hike to and down into the canyon where we would spend the night in slightly less posh settings.
As we approached the rim of the canyon, I noticed for the first time the shoes the Dutch girl was wearing. Shiney, gold colored tennis shoes. As I would soon discover, she was not prepared for what this trek actually entailed. She thought we were doing a nice leisurely walk down a pleasant grassy path. Not so much.
The hike down was entertaining as the two Dutch guys cracked each other up by throwing things at each other and as one tried to out pace the other. This was occasionally interrupted by locals who were using the same path to move mules or cows up to the small town. At these times we were pressed against the cliffs avoiding having our toes crushed by the moving hooves. The views were brilliant and the trail down was relatively easy aside from a few missteps on loose rocks that had us (me) close to skipping a few levels of the trail.
Around 5pm we made it to the base of the canyon. Looking up we were all impressed with the height of the trail we had just decended. Looking down, the Dutch girl was upset by how dirty her shiney gold shoes were now. Our guide lead us to our camp for the night: a nice site with dingy stone cabins, but a great view from every angle. There was a mildly luke-warm shower if we wanted one. I voted for an extra layer of deodorant the next morning. And there was a cool little terrace with a thatched roof and a table for eating. This is where we spent the rest of the evening relaxing; first with a round of grande beers and travel stories. Then dinner (sans potatoes for me). Then two more rounds of grande beers. With card games. And finally a bottle of Cuban rum one of the Dutch guys brought. By 9:30 we were drunk and laughing at everything. I had just made my fourth trip to the bathroom, stumbling and tripping in the dark of the night, when I realized it would probably be best to call it quits now and turn in. The next day we we hiking back up the canyon. I did not want to be hungover for that.
For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/
Forgive Me Readers For I Have Sinned
After three weeks of delicious home-cooked meals and typical Bolivian dishes, I faltered and had Burger King this morning. I was at the airport and starving and it was convenient. I feel like I let the entire country down by eating there.
It wasn`t good. I promise I will never do it again.
It wasn`t good. I promise I will never do it again.
Speed
Going down "the most dangerous road in the world" at god knows what speed on a bike, over loose rocks and sailing dangerously close to the edge of cliffs that fall hundreds of meters to the base, from a starting point of 4785 meters (about 14,000 feet) where it`s raining and snowing, is lots of fun. And a rush.
I survived it.
Now I am flying to Santa Cruz. I hope my flight is less dangerous.
I survived it.
Now I am flying to Santa Cruz. I hope my flight is less dangerous.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Dangerous?
Bolivia has a road that has been named the "world`s most dangerous road". I have no idea who named it. But apparently there are more deaths on this road than on any other road in the world.
Tomorrow I am going biking down it. I was supposed to go Saturday. But the group left at 7am and since I didn`t get home from a night out of boozing it up until 6am, I decided it best not to chance the steep cliffs with a hangover.
Wish me luck. Hoepfully I won`t need to use that emergency evacuation insurance I bought back in the States.
Tomorrow I am going biking down it. I was supposed to go Saturday. But the group left at 7am and since I didn`t get home from a night out of boozing it up until 6am, I decided it best not to chance the steep cliffs with a hangover.
Wish me luck. Hoepfully I won`t need to use that emergency evacuation insurance I bought back in the States.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Down and Up Again
When I met my coworker in La Paz we had lunch at his uncle`s place. While I was there I went to the bathroom and saw a scale. For curiousity`s sake, I stepped on. I had lost 8 pounds while traveling.
That was Christmas eve. Today we returned to his uncle`s place for lunch. I went up to the bathroom to step on the scale again. Three weeks with his family and I have gained 11 pounds.
That was Christmas eve. Today we returned to his uncle`s place for lunch. I went up to the bathroom to step on the scale again. Three weeks with his family and I have gained 11 pounds.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Taking in Arequipa
After sleeping for 12 hours straight I was feeling a bit better the following morning and decided to take in the sites of Arequipa. And check in with the tour agency about the trip to Colca Canyon. But first I needed a bit of nourishment. I walked to the local market and bought a big bottle of some yogurt drink. Then bought a banana and some small peaches from the women selling fruit near the plaza. For the next hour I chilled in the plaza, ate my breakfast, and watched the city go by.
Feeling well-nourished, it was time to see what Arequipa had to offer. First stop: Juantia, the Ice Princess. Over 500 years ago an Inca maiden was sacificed on the summit of Ampato mountian, most likely to appease the gods rocking the local volcanoes. The Incas did this with many children to appease gods who might kill them with volcanic eruptions, avalanches or earthquakes. Juanita was discovered by trekkers climbing the mountain, two weeks after she was shaken loose from her grave by a volcanic eruption. Almost perfectly mummified becaue of the ice, she is now housed in a frozen glass casing, along with many of the items she was burried with, in the Museo Santury in Arequipa. Although pictures were prohibited, the tour was vey interesting and gave a lot of insight to the practice of sacrifice and the reverence involved. The sacrificed children were raised to be offerings to the gods and were honored to do so. Though the journey to the top of the mountain and the bitter cold of it all probably didn´t reduce any of the anxiety the children felt, the blow to the head before the burrial probably did help reduce the anxiety...
Before seeing any more on the city I wanted to check in with the tour agency. They still had no other interests for the hike and suggested I come back at 3pm. I said I needed to leave by the next day and that if no one had signed up by then, I would need to check elsewhere. There was a recommened agency next door (but it was closed the previous day) and I was hoping no one came within that time so I could check there. But I told the agency I would check back at three.
Next I decided to visit Arequipa`s biggest tourist draw: the Monastario de Santa Catalina, a convent founded in 1579 by a wealthy widow for nuns chosen from the wealthiest Spanish families in Peru. It was opened to the public in 1970 in order to raise money. The place is huge - it takes up an entire city block and is like a city within a city. One could spend hours walking around the complex. I will leave all the details to be explained along with the pictures in the link below. Needless to say, it was a pretty amazing place and with relatively few tourists that day, a meditatively quiet way to spend an afternoon. I paid a bit extra for a private guide who filled me in on all the details.
It was getting late when I finally finished the tour and so I rushed over to the agency to see what news they had for me. Still no one. I told them thanks for trying and went next door. Within 10 minutes I was signed up for a 3 day tour of Colca Canyon leaving at 5:30 the next morning with three dutch backpackers. I needed to be in Puno in three days to sort out my visa requirements for Bolivia, and the agency said they could accommodate that. Basically by dropping me off at a police check point and making sure the police on duty flagged down a bus for me going the opposite direction (tours generally return to the city they depart from). I had no other choice and agreed to go along with that plan.
Tour booked, it was time find some food. I found an entire street of Chinese restaurants (Arequipa`s very own Chinatown) and went with my favorite, chicken and rice, for about a buck twenty. Always full after a chinese dish in South America, I went in search of snacks for the trip and then back to the main plaza to walk around. I noticed that Arequipa had a huge homeless population. It was the first time this made such an impression on me. People and children were begging every where. There were even some gringos walking around with a few homeless children selling small calendars to raise money to support shelter programs. I felt so moved by the number of homeless I couldn´t bring myself to tell them I had already bought a calendar and finished the day with three of them (office mates should expect gifts when I return).
Around 8pm I went back to the hostal to pack for the next day. I needed to get to bed early; my ride to Colca Canyon was picking me up bright and early.
For pictures of Arequipa and details of the Monastary, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603596236171/
Feeling well-nourished, it was time to see what Arequipa had to offer. First stop: Juantia, the Ice Princess. Over 500 years ago an Inca maiden was sacificed on the summit of Ampato mountian, most likely to appease the gods rocking the local volcanoes. The Incas did this with many children to appease gods who might kill them with volcanic eruptions, avalanches or earthquakes. Juanita was discovered by trekkers climbing the mountain, two weeks after she was shaken loose from her grave by a volcanic eruption. Almost perfectly mummified becaue of the ice, she is now housed in a frozen glass casing, along with many of the items she was burried with, in the Museo Santury in Arequipa. Although pictures were prohibited, the tour was vey interesting and gave a lot of insight to the practice of sacrifice and the reverence involved. The sacrificed children were raised to be offerings to the gods and were honored to do so. Though the journey to the top of the mountain and the bitter cold of it all probably didn´t reduce any of the anxiety the children felt, the blow to the head before the burrial probably did help reduce the anxiety...
Before seeing any more on the city I wanted to check in with the tour agency. They still had no other interests for the hike and suggested I come back at 3pm. I said I needed to leave by the next day and that if no one had signed up by then, I would need to check elsewhere. There was a recommened agency next door (but it was closed the previous day) and I was hoping no one came within that time so I could check there. But I told the agency I would check back at three.
Next I decided to visit Arequipa`s biggest tourist draw: the Monastario de Santa Catalina, a convent founded in 1579 by a wealthy widow for nuns chosen from the wealthiest Spanish families in Peru. It was opened to the public in 1970 in order to raise money. The place is huge - it takes up an entire city block and is like a city within a city. One could spend hours walking around the complex. I will leave all the details to be explained along with the pictures in the link below. Needless to say, it was a pretty amazing place and with relatively few tourists that day, a meditatively quiet way to spend an afternoon. I paid a bit extra for a private guide who filled me in on all the details.
It was getting late when I finally finished the tour and so I rushed over to the agency to see what news they had for me. Still no one. I told them thanks for trying and went next door. Within 10 minutes I was signed up for a 3 day tour of Colca Canyon leaving at 5:30 the next morning with three dutch backpackers. I needed to be in Puno in three days to sort out my visa requirements for Bolivia, and the agency said they could accommodate that. Basically by dropping me off at a police check point and making sure the police on duty flagged down a bus for me going the opposite direction (tours generally return to the city they depart from). I had no other choice and agreed to go along with that plan.
Tour booked, it was time find some food. I found an entire street of Chinese restaurants (Arequipa`s very own Chinatown) and went with my favorite, chicken and rice, for about a buck twenty. Always full after a chinese dish in South America, I went in search of snacks for the trip and then back to the main plaza to walk around. I noticed that Arequipa had a huge homeless population. It was the first time this made such an impression on me. People and children were begging every where. There were even some gringos walking around with a few homeless children selling small calendars to raise money to support shelter programs. I felt so moved by the number of homeless I couldn´t bring myself to tell them I had already bought a calendar and finished the day with three of them (office mates should expect gifts when I return).
Around 8pm I went back to the hostal to pack for the next day. I needed to get to bed early; my ride to Colca Canyon was picking me up bright and early.
For pictures of Arequipa and details of the Monastary, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603596236171/
Monday, January 7, 2008
Random Thoughts in Sucre
So far in every South American country I have visited cough drops are considered breath mints.
You can´t be modest and need to go to the bathroom in Bolivia. People relieve themselves every where.
I want to learn an obscure language like Swahili or Quechua so when I am in groups of backpackers from different countries who are all speaking to each other in languages I can`t understand I can then have a private conversation too.
I also want some one else who can speak that obscure language to show up when these conversations are going down.
I have yet to learn that higher altitude means sunburning quicker.
If I were stationed here as a Peace Corp volunteer, my first purchase with my meager stipen would be a toilet seat. Seriously, where are all the toilet seats here?
There is a sad disconnect between the mestisos (the mostly white people) and the indigenous people in South America.
You can´t be modest and need to go to the bathroom in Bolivia. People relieve themselves every where.
I want to learn an obscure language like Swahili or Quechua so when I am in groups of backpackers from different countries who are all speaking to each other in languages I can`t understand I can then have a private conversation too.
I also want some one else who can speak that obscure language to show up when these conversations are going down.
I have yet to learn that higher altitude means sunburning quicker.
If I were stationed here as a Peace Corp volunteer, my first purchase with my meager stipen would be a toilet seat. Seriously, where are all the toilet seats here?
There is a sad disconnect between the mestisos (the mostly white people) and the indigenous people in South America.
Taking It Easy In the White City
I was already starting to feel a bit under the weather before taking off for the Inca Trail. After four days of hiking my body was exhausted and it was letting me know. Between the exertion of the trail and the altitude I had been dealing with for over a week, I was ready for a break whether I wanted one or not. My next stop on Dan´s Adventure Trail was Arequipa, Peru´s 2nd largest city, surrounded by three volcanos. The city is the the best place to catch a trek to Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. But first I needed some R&R.
In Cusco I packed up my stuff, bid my travel buddy good luck on her treck to Machu Picchu, and went out in search of a taxi to catch my over-night bus to Arequipa. As soon as I hit the streets it was lights out. Literally. The power went out all over the city. It was 7pm and completely dark. But no one seemed to notice or care that the city was suddenly plunged into darkness. Cabs were still driving around and I flagged one down by practically tossing my bag in front of it. Once inside I told him I needed to go to the company office for my particular bus. Then I asked when he thought the lights might come back. He wasn´t sure. I asked if this happened often. Yes. Would it effect the busses? Probably not. Full-steam ahead then.
After sitting out in front of the bus company office for 15 minutes, in the dark in what had to be the sketchiest part of town, some one shown a flash light in my face. I was pretty sure they asked if I was going to Arequipa on their bus. I answered yes, and they motioned for me to follow them into an even darker gated area. There I saw my bus. Then the city`s lights came back on. And there I saw a waiting room with about 5 people who didn´t seem to notice the lights had gone out or come back on.
The bus ride was interesting. It was my first all-night bus trip so I picked a nicer bus company. I was on the second level (another first) and in the very back. A stewardess made a 10 minute announcement in spanish of which I understood almost nothing. When she finished I asked if she could repeat it in english. She said she instructed the passengers how to recline their seats and that bingo would start shortly. That took 10 minutes? We were going to play bingo?!
At 6:30am and after maybe a solid hour of sleep, we pulled into Arequipa`s bus terminal. It was the first bus terminal I had seen in Peru. I was feeling very sick and decided to grab a cab to a hostal immediately so I could lay down. It was early on a Sunday morning and the town was dead. We found the hostal I found in my Lonely Planet guide and I asked the clerk for a room. He said I couldn´t check in before 11am, but apparently I looked pretty bad because he offered up a 3 bed room that was ready then for the price of a 1 bed room. And there I slept for the next four hours.
I woke to my phone beeping. A text from my travel buddy. She was stuck in Aqua Calientes with no money and the only ATM in the city was broken. Machu Picchu would have to wait.
My cold was still hitting me hard but I decided to go out and get some errands done. I found a working ATM and got some money, mailed some postcards, and looked for a tour agency to sign up for a trek into Colca Canyon on Tuesday. I found an agency, but I was the only prospect they had all day and would have to wait to see if anyone else signed up. I told them I would come back later in the afternoon to check in. My stomach was growling something fierce so I went looking for the crepe restaurant Lonely Planet recommended. The menu was huge. And in Spanish. I ordered what I thought was a full breakfast with crepes, eggs, and sausage. I got a plate of sliced hotdogs.
After my disappointng breakfast I strolled around the city plaza taking in the sites and killing time hoping the tour agency would find more trekers. The plaza was packed with people. And it gave me plenty to watch, perched on my bench in the center.
Around 4pm I went back to the tour agency to see if there was any news. Still no one. They suggested I come back tomorrow morning as more people usually show up first thing. I told them I would see them at noon. There was nothing else open so I had no other options.
My head was pounding and I decided to go back to the hostal to rest. I flipped through my travel guide to see what all there was in the city to check out. Quite a bit it turns out. I jotted down a few of the highlights. Then my stomach growled. There was a ceviche restaurant a few blocks over and I had not yet tried any of Peru`s famed dish. So I cleaned myself up and eagerly went in search of dinner. It was closed - of course. I was feeling too weak to go looking for anything else. And so, when I noticed the fast food chicken place full of locals across the street, I elected that as the next best option. At about $1.80 for half a chicken and a salad bar that I decided wasn´t worth the risk, I ate fairly well. Enough to send me back to the hostal full and ready for more rest. The rest of Arequipa would have to wait until the next morning. If I felt better.
In Cusco I packed up my stuff, bid my travel buddy good luck on her treck to Machu Picchu, and went out in search of a taxi to catch my over-night bus to Arequipa. As soon as I hit the streets it was lights out. Literally. The power went out all over the city. It was 7pm and completely dark. But no one seemed to notice or care that the city was suddenly plunged into darkness. Cabs were still driving around and I flagged one down by practically tossing my bag in front of it. Once inside I told him I needed to go to the company office for my particular bus. Then I asked when he thought the lights might come back. He wasn´t sure. I asked if this happened often. Yes. Would it effect the busses? Probably not. Full-steam ahead then.
After sitting out in front of the bus company office for 15 minutes, in the dark in what had to be the sketchiest part of town, some one shown a flash light in my face. I was pretty sure they asked if I was going to Arequipa on their bus. I answered yes, and they motioned for me to follow them into an even darker gated area. There I saw my bus. Then the city`s lights came back on. And there I saw a waiting room with about 5 people who didn´t seem to notice the lights had gone out or come back on.
The bus ride was interesting. It was my first all-night bus trip so I picked a nicer bus company. I was on the second level (another first) and in the very back. A stewardess made a 10 minute announcement in spanish of which I understood almost nothing. When she finished I asked if she could repeat it in english. She said she instructed the passengers how to recline their seats and that bingo would start shortly. That took 10 minutes? We were going to play bingo?!
At 6:30am and after maybe a solid hour of sleep, we pulled into Arequipa`s bus terminal. It was the first bus terminal I had seen in Peru. I was feeling very sick and decided to grab a cab to a hostal immediately so I could lay down. It was early on a Sunday morning and the town was dead. We found the hostal I found in my Lonely Planet guide and I asked the clerk for a room. He said I couldn´t check in before 11am, but apparently I looked pretty bad because he offered up a 3 bed room that was ready then for the price of a 1 bed room. And there I slept for the next four hours.
I woke to my phone beeping. A text from my travel buddy. She was stuck in Aqua Calientes with no money and the only ATM in the city was broken. Machu Picchu would have to wait.
My cold was still hitting me hard but I decided to go out and get some errands done. I found a working ATM and got some money, mailed some postcards, and looked for a tour agency to sign up for a trek into Colca Canyon on Tuesday. I found an agency, but I was the only prospect they had all day and would have to wait to see if anyone else signed up. I told them I would come back later in the afternoon to check in. My stomach was growling something fierce so I went looking for the crepe restaurant Lonely Planet recommended. The menu was huge. And in Spanish. I ordered what I thought was a full breakfast with crepes, eggs, and sausage. I got a plate of sliced hotdogs.
After my disappointng breakfast I strolled around the city plaza taking in the sites and killing time hoping the tour agency would find more trekers. The plaza was packed with people. And it gave me plenty to watch, perched on my bench in the center.
Around 4pm I went back to the tour agency to see if there was any news. Still no one. They suggested I come back tomorrow morning as more people usually show up first thing. I told them I would see them at noon. There was nothing else open so I had no other options.
My head was pounding and I decided to go back to the hostal to rest. I flipped through my travel guide to see what all there was in the city to check out. Quite a bit it turns out. I jotted down a few of the highlights. Then my stomach growled. There was a ceviche restaurant a few blocks over and I had not yet tried any of Peru`s famed dish. So I cleaned myself up and eagerly went in search of dinner. It was closed - of course. I was feeling too weak to go looking for anything else. And so, when I noticed the fast food chicken place full of locals across the street, I elected that as the next best option. At about $1.80 for half a chicken and a salad bar that I decided wasn´t worth the risk, I ate fairly well. Enough to send me back to the hostal full and ready for more rest. The rest of Arequipa would have to wait until the next morning. If I felt better.
26 hours
Just arrived in Sucre after 26 hours of traveling in a Toyota Landrover and a large bus. whew.
The salt flats and deserts of Bolivia were eye candy. Worth all the hours on bumpy, unpaved roads and the meager rations. Pictures to come soon. For now, it´s time to chill. I am going to try and post stories and pics from Arequipa and Colca Canyon today as I chill. Tonight I plan to sleep for at least 12 hours. And on Wednesday morning it is back to La Paz for a few days.
I am debating heading north of La Paz for a jungle and wetlands tour (think anacondas, pink dolphins and piranhas) or take a long train to Brazil to do the wetlands there. Each has it´s pluses and minuses. Traveling is tough work.
The salt flats and deserts of Bolivia were eye candy. Worth all the hours on bumpy, unpaved roads and the meager rations. Pictures to come soon. For now, it´s time to chill. I am going to try and post stories and pics from Arequipa and Colca Canyon today as I chill. Tonight I plan to sleep for at least 12 hours. And on Wednesday morning it is back to La Paz for a few days.
I am debating heading north of La Paz for a jungle and wetlands tour (think anacondas, pink dolphins and piranhas) or take a long train to Brazil to do the wetlands there. Each has it´s pluses and minuses. Traveling is tough work.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Happy New Year´s
Do you remember it? Not sure I do. Well, parts of it, like polarod snap shots in my mind. Did not sleep at all new year´s eve night (or the following morning). When we got home, there was enough time to get ready to head out for my coworker`s grandfather`s birthday party. That lasted well into the night and involved a ridiculous amount of wine. A few hours of sleep that night and then up to get packed to leave for Potosi. I was on an all-night bus last night. The road traveled was not paved. In fact it was really bumpy. My coworker didn´t sleep at all. I think I managed to sleep off and on for about 2 hours. We are about to board another 7 hour bus for Uyuni. I will sleep there. Hopefully.
Hope everyone is having a great start to the new year. I think I am.
Hope everyone is having a great start to the new year. I think I am.
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