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