Dynamite, liquor and politics

So, y'all. Let me tell you something. Pardon my French, but Bolivia is fucking crazy.

Recent example: I hop on a 12 hour night bus from La Paz to Sucre. After sleeping for a few hours, I woke with a start around 4 am, realizing that the bus has stopped moving. Not thinking much of this, I drift in and out of sleep before waking two hours later to the sound of commotion. I remove my eye mask, peel back the curtains and look out the window.

The road is choked with buses, cars and trucks for as far as I can see. All are stationary. The only movement is a sea of people walking with their bags in one direction. Toward what, I have no idea. People start to get off my bus and join the exodus to this unknown destination. I realize that I am the only gringo here, and have no idea what is going on. And once everyone leaves the bus, I will be alone on an unknown road in the middle of nowhere.

Panic. It never helps in these types of situations, but this is precisely what my body tells me to do.

After taking some deep breaths, I scan the bus. I notice a group of about a dozen Chilean teenagers who I met briefly back in Rurre. In broken Spanish, I ask them what is happening. In broken English, they reply that the bridge up ahead is closed. We could either sit for hours (or days) until it is fixed, or walk to the next town over and find a new bus.

They were walking. Taking their presence as some kind of sign from a higher power, I strapped on my backpack and joined them.

The bridge was, in fact, not out. The real cause was a politically motivated roadblock, a common occurrence in Bolivia. Drunk, disgruntled workers from the local silver mines had blocked the road, and were hurling sticks of dynamite between taking shots of liquor. The rubble from the blasts was collecting in the road, making it impossible for vehicles to pass.

Joining in this journey to an unknown destination was surreal. The sun had just risen, and the temperature hovered around 30 degrees. Hundreds of people with everything from backpacks to baby carriages to bags of potatoes moved together as one against a backdrop of steep mountain peaks and piercing blue sky. Factor in the constant "BOOM!" from the dynamite blasts, and you have quite a scene.

My Chilean heroes

We walked for about a mile before finding a farmer who crammed all of us in the flatbed of his truck. Ten minutes and three Bolivianos later, we arrived in Potosi, where we caught a new bus to Sucre.

Although this was initially terrifying, I'm glad I got to experience it. It made me think about the political (in)stability of the country, and question why the minors were so upset.

Bolivia is the poorest country in South America. Bolivian miners have been exploited for generations, beginning with the Spanish, who forced them to work in the mines for next to nothing while adding the minerals they harvested to their own immense wealth.

Today their situation is not much better, with horrible working conditions (24 hour shifts, toxic fumes, silicosis) and very little pay (they only make what they harvest, which these days is not much). The average life expectancy for this profession is around 40, and over 800 children in Potosi alone work in the mines to support their families. A great documentary about this subject is "The Devil's Miner" (hint: be prepared to be depressed!)

After an almost 20 hour ordeal--the second bus blew out a tire--I arrived in Sucre in one piece. More to come...

Into the Jungle

The bus teters back and forth along an extremely narrow and winding road. To the right is a sheer, unforgiving rock face. To the left, a 1,000 foot drop into the river below. The only thing seperating the passengers of this bus from certain death is approximately 12 inches of unstable gravel road.

The bus driver--who based on our current speed only consumed cocaine during our lunch break--forces the bus into third gear as we tear down the road. At times he slams on the brakes, throws the bus into reverse, and corrects his approach into a curve.

A salesman in the front of the bus attempts to sell us a miracle drink that will, according to him, prevent prostate cancer. A teenager across the aisle blasts ¨Girls Just Want to Have Fun¨ from his mobile sterio. And I hold my breath and play Tetris to keep myself from completely losing my shit.

This, my friends, is bus travel in Bolivia.

But to be fair, this is not your average bus ride. The road connecting La Paz to Rurrenebeque is nicknamed ¨death road¨ due to the number of accidents that occur during the rainy season. During the dry season--which is right now--the road is relatively safe.

In other words, no, I have not completely lost my mind.

The vast majority of tourists pay around $100 to fly to our current desination, to bypass this grueling 18 hour journey. Only the most adventurous--or poorest--gringos take the bus.

The view leaving La Paz is absolutely spectacular. We first drive by 14,000 foot snow-capped mountains, passing vast moonscapes of multi-colored rock, dipping in and out of massive cloud banks. Slowly we start our decent into the jungle, carefully navigating through waterfalls and passing by miniscule towns along the way. During this process, the elevation drops over 3,000 meters. In a matter of hours the climate changes from bitterly cold with biting wind to the thick, humid warmth of the jungle.

Swimming in the jungle 

Rurrenebeque reminds me of a typical small village in southeast Asia. The city hums with the sound of motorbikes, which serve as the primary source of transportation. Bananas hang heavy from trees that flourish on the side of the road. Stray dogs and chickens roam in the streets freely. Leaning inside the doorways of bars, locals eye tourists curiously.


Rurre is famous for being the entrance point to Madid National Park, which boasts the most diverse ecosystem in the world. The rainforest canopy here is exquisite; thick and lush, alive with the sounds of birds and monkeys. While here we see pink dolphins, capybara, wild pigs, tarantulas, mackaws, and a plethora of very friendly monkeys (who stole our breakfast on one occasion). We swim in the river, search for anaconda, and fish for piranhas using little more than a chunk of meat and a string. Our tour guide shows us a variety of plant life, and identifies about 100 different trees that can be used as ¨natural Viagra¨. I think he has some sort of complex...

I caught a pirhana and ATE IT!

The down side to our six day jungle trip was two fold. One, you are required to take a tour to enter the jungle. I dislike tours, as I feel they are almost always boring and a waste of money (this one reaffirmed my belief). And two, the weather changed dramatically halfway through our trip. Did you know that it can get, like, really cold in the jungle? I'm talking 45 degrees and rainy. Well, this was news to me.  Luckily Johanna and I had each other to cuddle with, along with a combined 20 blankets we stole from our campsite.

So, you may be wondering if I took the ¨death road¨ back to La Paz?

Hell. No. 

Now I venture onward to the beautiful capitol city of Sucre, in eastern Bolivia. Stay tuned...

Jungle floor

Rurre at sunset

The magestic capybara, i.e. my new favorite animal

Friendly monkey

Traffic jam on the way back into town

Viva Bolivia

Forgive me, as I´ve gotten a bit off track with this blog lately. This is because 1) the internet in Bolivia is extremely slow, 2) computers are not exactly plentiful, and 3) I have been equal parts busy and lazy in recent days. So without further ado, here goes squeezing two weeks of my trip into one post...

I am happy to report that I have successfully made it to the great country of Bolivia. I met a very cool German girl named Johanna while in Cusco, and together we crossed the border to the lake city of Copacabana. We cruised into town just as the locals were performing their Sunday car blessing ritual, which consists of decorating their vehicles with flowers and trinkets, and then hosing them down with champagne. I personally like the concept, and think it should be introduced in the US:..

The picture of Lake Titicaca below was taken on a lookout above Copacabana. There is an extremely beautiful chapel on the top of the mountain (pictured left), where people from far and wide come to ask for miracles. There are several venders that sell toy versions of the things that people pray for- little cars, pots of money, toy houses- that you can purchase and leave at the alter. Another great concept, in my opinion.



Copacabana is known for Isla del Sol, an extremely small island where the Inca believe the sun god was born. There are no vehicles on the island, and only two walking paths that connect the island from north to south. One path contains Inca ruins, and the other is for locals. Unbeknownst to us, we took the locals route--and it turned out to be a great choice. Being able to witness farmers hearding alpaca, children playing, fisherman taking off for the day, and residents living their lives in such a remote town was a very cool experience. Not to mention that the view was incredible.

Isla del Sol

From Lake Titicaca, we traveled to the great city of La Paz. It is here that I finally got around to taking some Spanish classes. Johanna contacted Javier, a great teacher and awesome person, through Couchsurfing. He ended up inviting us to stay at his flat with his very cool international roomates. After being on the road for about a month, it was so nice to be in a real house (!) with a TV (!!) and best of all, hot showers (!!!)

While in La Paz, I experienced the biggest market of my life in El Alto, saw San Pedro prison (where prisoners pay for their cells and can come and go as they please), and experienced the witches market. It was there that I resisted the urge to buy some dried alpaca fetuses, which hang from almost every stall in the market. Why sell such a thing? Answer: to bury it in the ground to please the spirits before building a house. The larger the building, the bigger the offering. The tour guide said that they have heard of homeless people being buried alive as sacrifices...

Dried alpaca fetuses... yum

I was lucky enough to be in La Paz for the city´s 200 year anniversary, which we celebrated with a gaggle of Javier´s Bolivian friends. There were parades, music, fireworks, dancing in the streets, and of course lots of drinking. Think of the Fourth of July on steroids. People were drinking liquor out of the bottle, making out and sleeping on the sidewalks, and peeing everywhere. No porta potties plus thousands of drunk people equals a river of urine flowing through the streets. It was unlike anything I have ever witnessed. The night ended at 4 am at some strange underground street market where I ate one of the most delicious sandwiches of my life.

Leaving La Paz via a 17 hour, winding bus ride was a crazy experience that I will write about at a later date. Tomorrow I enter the jungle, where I will hike, boat, and swim with pink dolphins.

More to come!

Oh, the things you can pray for

La Paz Independance Day, 3 am

Sunday car blessing ritual in Copacabana

Taken at the La Paz independance day parade. Just in case you didn´t know, Bolivia doesn´t really like the US.

Beautiful street art in La Paz

The do´s and don'ts of Machu Picchu

Do assemble your crew. We started our trip with a fiery Argentinian, an adventurous Finnish girl, and yours truly. Along the way we collected two fun-loving Polish girls and a second Argentinian. Note: listening to Argentinians discuss politics can be a frightening experience, but wow are they incredible at bargaining!

Do walk the train tracks like a vagrant to Machu Picchu village. Taking this 2.5 hour hike will not only be mind-blowingly beautiful, but will save you about $100 that you would have spent taking the train.

Do not try to bribe the man at the gate to Manchu Picchu with 10 soles to let you in early. He will laugh heartily in your face, and you will feel quite silly.

Do hike Manchu Picchu Mountain. It will be a grueling two hour climb to the top, but the view will be well worth it. Note: your knees, calves and feet may not work the following day.

Do not pay for a tour guide at the ruins! Instead, just happen to follow a tour group as you walk along (note: be stealthy, as they will catch onto this pretty quickly). Making your own guesses about these big rocks and what they mean with your crew can be quite entertaining.

Do wear socks! Our poor Finnish girl found out that hiking without them can be quite painful. And asking strangers at the entrance of Manchu Picchu for an extra pair is quite odd. 

Do not, I repeat DO NOT rent a hostel room with a window overlooking the town square when any kind of party is going on! If you make this mistake, be prepared for the worst kind of repetative, synth-heavy Peruvian music you have ever heard, blared from a loudspeaker for 12 consecutive hours. Peruvians do not care that you are tired from hiking, that you have to wake up early, and that it is 2 am on a Tuesday (a WORK NIGHT!) Peruvians are the honey badgers of the southern hemisphere- they just don´t give a fuck.

Do soak your tired old ass in the hot springs after you come down from the ruins. Yes, the water looks like old bath water, and yes it smells like eggs. Just trust me.

Looking very proud at the top of Manchu Picchu Mountain

I won´t go into a lot of detail, but Manchu Picchu was an amazing experience. The Sacred Valley of the Incas in southern Peru is an extremely special place, and unlike anywhere I have ever been. I can only compare it to pictures I have seen of Tibet: towering mountains, mist rising from the valley, and vast amounts of lush, green foliage.

Three things will really stick with me from this journey:

One: walking the train tracks to Aguas Calientes, a tiny town in the valley directly below Machu Picchu. Call me crazy, but hiking along train tracks with a backpack makes you feel like a real badass. About 30 of us started the journey in the early afternoon, and arrived in the town at nightfall. The hike follows a beautiful river with amazing jungle scenery.

Two: making the hike from Aguas Calientes to the entrance of Machu Picchu. We started the journey at 4:30 am, when it was still dark. Witnessing the first bit of light starting to creep over the mountains in the Sacred Valley, and watching the mist settle over the cliffs in the distance, was an absolutely incredible sight that I will never forget.

Three: hiking Mt. Machu Picchu. I have done some hiking in my day, but wow. This one almost killed me. In total from our hostel in Aguas Calientes to the peak, we gained something like 2,000 meters. A must do.

And now, onward to Bolivia!

View from the top of Mt. Manchu Picchu 

The crew- minus an Argentinian, plus an Israeli- celebrating the 4th of July (note that I´m the only American)

The strike

I experienced my first, and hopefully last, moment of terror during this trip.

A strike and political rally began as I was making my way across the small tourist town of Cusco. I found myself stuck on a street between two intersections.


In the first, the street overflowed with marchers who were shouting angrily and setting off something that sounded like bombs. In the second, protesters had set a truck tire on fire, and were circling it while pumping their fists into the air. Police in full riot gear were standing on the sidewalks, watching nervously. 

People ran into buildings. Merchants slammed the gates to their shops closed. And I was trapped.

¨Well, shit,¨ I thought to myself. ¨I am fucked.¨

Everything I have read about international travel is to stay as far away from political demonstrations as humanly possible. If you find yourself in a protest, you are supposed to immediately find a safe place to hide.

After all, doesn´t everyone want to kill an American tourist from time to time?

I first ran into a printing shop, and then a much safer looking bank. After hiding in the back of the building, my inner-journalist got the best of me, and I found a window from where I could take pictures.

After about 20 minutes, the marchers dissipated. I asked the guard at the front of the bank if it was dangerous for me to leave the building. He nodded yes, and even rolled his eyes as if to say ¨this shit happens every day, white girl."

It turns out that these strikes do happen quite often. Also, it appears that the protesters share many of my own political beliefs. They want a higher standard of living and minimum wage for the working wo/man (the average annual income in Peru is under $10,000), less political corruption, an increase in basic social services, and a decrease in the large discrepancy between rich and poor. The bombs I heard were actually fireworks, and were a legal way of drawing attention to the protest. And from what the locals told me, the protesters are always respectful and have never been violent.

So, in retrospect, I probably should have joined them. Well... maybe not.

Onward to Machu Picchu! 

Cusco

A random conversation leads to an awesome night

I have found that backpacking solo has its advantages and disadvantages.

Plus: I do what I want, when I want. I pass the time as I see fit, and don’t feel guilty about spending a day reading in a park, stuffing myself with Peruvian pastries, or dancing until 4 am. My itinerary is completely open, and I can change my direction on a whim.

I must admit that not taking anyone else’s needs, thoughts or feelings into consideration is pretty awesome.

But perhaps the biggest benefit of solo travel is that you  meet so many people from all over the world. When you travel with a companion, you tend to nest a little with that person. Maybe you get a single room instead of sleeping in the dorm, or go out to dinner only with each other.

Not so with solo travel. Because you want some kind of socialization, you really put yourself out there. Personally, I try to talk to everyone. This has been easy, as people tend to notice solo travelers and will strike up random conversations with you.

Random street parade on a beautiful Sunday afternoon

I have met some awesome people in Cusco this way. At my first hostel I met Fernando and his wife Dörthe, and we shared great conversation and many games of pool. I also met Andrea and Luis Carlos, a young couple from Columbia who are both in med school. They saw me studying Spanish in our dorm and invited me out to walk around the city and put my studying to practice. Then they took me out to lunch and refused to let me pay for my food!

Point being, I am starting to really like this solo travel business.

I met up with some more couch surfers during my stay in Cusco. Our ad hoc group of six climbed out of the valley of Cusco to the mountains that surround the city on a warm afternoon. We meandered around Inca ruins, saw the beautiful statue of Christ the Redeemer, and explored ancient caves. A local musician at the top of the mountain even played some songs for us on his guitar.

Cusco, like Lima, is an awe-inspring city. The colonial architecture, immense churches and cobblestone streets make you feel like you have stepped back in time. And the street markets- good lord, the street markets! Merchants sling colorful llama hats, gloves, and sweaters to tourists. Locals come to grocery shop and chow down on fried trout, fresh juice, and the always popular cuy (guinea pig). Think of the street market as the Peruvian version of the US food truck, but with some serious sanitation issues.

Cusco in the winter is very similar to the Colorado mountains in the summer: dry, sunny and warm during the day, but cold at night (the temperature can dip down to the high 30s). The cold has given me a runny nose, and I looking forward to entering the warm and humid Peruvian jungle.

Manchu Picchu, here I come...

Plaza de Armas

The absolutely gorgeous city of Cusco, as seen from the surrounding mountains

 Street food

Statue of Christ the Redeemer overlooking the city

This part of the market was simply labeled ´´Innards´´

Enjoying the quintessental Peruvian meal- roasted chicken, french fries, salad, and coke. YUM.

My first llama sighting. I was overjoyed.

Journey to 3,500 meters above the sea

I am sitting in a double decker bus as it slowly meanders down the Pan-American highway on the southern coast of Peru. We have only scraped the surface of our grueling 21 hour journey to Cusco, although the bus smells like we have been traveling for at least two weeks.

The road--which is only two lanes wide in most spots--winds through beaches, corn fields, and some of the poorest rural communities I have ever seen. Colorful laundry dries on clothes lines mounted on the roofs of dilapidated shacks. Wild dogs run into the street and back out, lucky to not be one of the unfortunate ones lying dead in the gutter. Trash and chunks of discarded concrete lie everywhere, like piles of unmelted snow. All of this is against a backdrop of beautiful, rugged Pacific coastline. 

People go about their lives- they walk along the road, work, and shop. Others watch the passing cars from dimly lit bodegas and restaurants that dot the highway. Children play in empty, abandoned lots. Many people are dressed nicely, however, and the dichotomy between their clothes and the surrounding houses is strange. What makes the scene even stranger are the pervasive billboard ads for vacations, bus tours, and- of course- Coke and Pepsi.

I see these things and wonder why the residents of these towns do not rise up and block the road, grab a machete, and slaughter us rich tourists en mass. Why do they continue, day in and day out, to live this way? Do they want to act, but are just too tired? Or is life really not so bad in those dirt floor huts? 

Seeing all of this makes me feel helpless and guilty. I want to help these people. But do they want my help? Who is to say that my life is better than any of these people. And what could I do? I tell myself  that spending my money here helps, but this seems like an excuse. 

We are now beginning our climb from sea level to the mountain town of Cusco, with a total elevation gain of 11,300 feet.  I pray that my experience climbing 14ers will pay off in a clear head and no altitude sickness tomorrow....

UPDATE- Cruz del Sur tour bus hijacked by armed gunmen, $50K worth of items stolen. Same bus company, same route, same overnight time, and only 5 days after my trip. 
http://www.peruthisweek.com/news-tourists-assaulted-on-bus-to-cuzco-50000-stolen-100285

Lima

My travels began in Lima, the capitol city on the coast of Peru. The climate is cool, cloudy, and humid for six months out of the year- think Seattle in the fall or spring. It is kind of like living in a cloud- foggy and misty, especially in the afternoon. 

Despite the chilly winter weather, Lima is a beautiful city. Miraflores, the district where I stayed, is very green and has some amazing Spanish architecture. And the city is huge! Almost 9 million people and counting. This is apparent by the sound of Lima, which is non-stop honking and car alarms (I have officially memorized the eight-part car alarm that is so common here). 

Speaking of traffic- drivers here are absolutely insane. There are many four-way stops on busy roads, minus the stop signs. Drivers constantly play a game of chicken with each other. Add pedestrians into the mix and it becomes quite a site. 


The smell of Lima is car exhaust mixed with the most delicious roasted chicken you have ever smelled, with just a hint of the ocean. Strange, but true. 

I went on a tour of the historic district of Lima two times- the first during the day with my hostel, and the second at night with Juan Carlos, a very cool guy I met through my friend Brenna. We drank pisco sours in the oldest hotel in Lima, and walked through beautiful churches built in the 1600s that were lit up for Sunday evening mass. 

I met some cool people at my hostel, and we went salsa dancing in Barranco after drinking copious amounts of cerveza. I also met several local Couchsurfers, who gave me endless amounts of information about Peru (muchas gracias Eduardo, Oscar y Enzo!). On my last night in Lima I met a girl via a couchsurfer who lives in Denver, was an AmeriCorps VISTA, and once lived in Asheville- so ironic! We even know some of the same people. Another sign that I am on the right track...

I also met a girl randomly in Parque del Amor who is from San Fransisco originally, but now lives in Santiago, Chile by herself. We went to a cafe and had a great talk about what it means to be an independent woman. I told her that one of the reasons that I am doing this trip alone is to get away from being dependent on other people and things. I have been thinking about this a lot lately...

I am leaving out a lot, but I am tired. I will try to write as things are happening as opposed to after the fact from now on. Adios! 

Parque del Amor 

At a bar in Barrancos with friends from Dragonfly Hostel

Salsa night with couchsurfers 

   

Lima at night- so beautiful!

So cold, even the perros wear sweaters