How to make your stay in a third world south american country even more uncomfortable

All possibilities
Are landing at my feet
There's nothing I can see
But possibilities

All colours are changing in my eyes
Your hopes are all fading, that will never do
You're seeing the world through cynical eyes
I'm seeing the world through the eyes of somebody new

I am traveling through Bolivia right now and despite the somewhat negative title above (which is intended to make fun of myself, rather than Bolivia) I really like Bolivia thus far. I came south from Lake Titicaca to La Paz, where I met up with two friends I had made in Peru. Joshua and Cody are brother and sister and are taking a month to travel together around Peru, Bolivia and Argentina. I was a little jealous of them because of their spontaneity and because they seemed to be such good traveling companions. In contrast, I took forever to plan this trip and still can´t get anyone to come visit me. I also always wonder if I would have done something similar to this trip if I had not received this fellowship. Obviously lots of other people are traveling through their own means and I hope I would be one of them, but I can´t say with certainty that I would. Becoming complacent in life in the States is really easy, or so I have found. I am still on this trip, yet I find myself planning my next trips already -- this is a good thing, I think, as long as I follow through with it. Even though I am not yet half way through my trip, I still think a lot about what I am doing in the future and when I am going home. I worry a bit that I am not using this opportunity to go to more places, but then I also worry that if I don´t stay in a country long enough, I wont get an accurate impression of it. It is a catch 22.

Sorry, not sure where I was going with that. . .

Anyway, I met up with Cody and Joshua and we made plans to mountain bike down "The World´s Most Dangerous Road". So this began my streak of making traveling in Bolivia more uncomfortable and trying than it needs to be. From what I had read, I was already bracing myself for traveling in Bolivia to be quite difficult due to lack of tourist infrastructure, adequate hotels, sanitary food, working buses and roads and general hygiene; however, in actuality I have found Bolivia no more difficult or unpleasant than Ecuador or Peru. In general, I have found all three countries pleasant, and (gasp) not that difficult or frightening to travel in. So I suppose this is why I decided to challenge myself a little in Bolivia.

First challenge: Death Road. I met up with Cody and Joshua, who I had met while spending a night on Amantani Island on the Peru side of Lake Titicaca. We had a fabulously strange night dressing up in traditional clothing and dancing with our host families. The only person at the party from my family was a quite elderly woman who nonetheless insisted that I dance much more than I would have liked (had I had it my way, I would have not danced at all). Most interesting discovery of the night: beer foams over A LOT when you are at altitudes above 4000 meters. In La Paz, we arranged to bike the Death Road, a one lane dirty road cut into the side of a jungle covered cliff. We were told to bring sun screen and bug spray; what we actually needed was subzero weather gear. We started at some ridiculous altitude in the freezing fog and rain. After the first hour, all of us, including our guides, were back in the van, too cold to ride -- with the exception of a crazy Frenchman, who rode the entire way. It was perhaps the coldest I have ever been in my life, and that is coming from someone who snowboards, scuba dives in the Puget Sound and exercises racehorses in the snow. I thought I was going to vomit, but couldn´t decide whether this was from the severe pain in my thawing hands or from the high altitude. Perhaps both. We continued once we reached the actual Death Road, farther down the road and farther down in altitude as well. We all survived and got very dirty and wet. My advice to anyone following in my footsteps: bring snowboarding gear.

Second Challenge: Salar de Uyuni. I left La Paz and headed south toward Uyuni to see the Salar de Uyuni -- the world´s largest salt flat. I splurged on perhaps the nicest bus I have seen thus far this trip but did not enjoy the 12 hour ride much because we traveled down the roughest "road" I have seen to date. It consisted mostly of a stone path through fields with multiple river crossings -- straight through, no bridges allowed. Once in Uyuni, I was greeted by a ghost town, only with living people. The town was all one color -- tan. The streets were ridiculously wide and the buildings very small, giving the whole town very strange, empty-seeming proportions. I left shortly in a Toyota Landcruiser that had seen better days, but was still in much better shape than many of the other SUVs being used as tour vehicles. I quickly figured out that, though most vehicles had the typical mix of European tourists, my vehicle held only people from La Paz, expect the driver (presumably from Uyuni) and me. I was briefly terrified by the prospect of spending countless hours over the next three days surround solely by Bolivianos; however, as usual, my preconceptions were totally wrong -- I had a great time and was warmly welcomed. One of the women had lived in the States, so she and I had a couple of conversations in English, during which I got to ask all my burning questions about the coca culture in Bolivia. This, however, would make the blog way, way too long, so maybe I will cover my thoughts on the Bolivia-US-Coca-Cocaine saga in another blog. So this was challenging why, you may ask? Well, mostly it was easy, as it was just a lot of driving to some of the most incredible landscapes I have ever seen. I know where Salvador Dali got his inspiration, seriously. The only very unpleasant parts were that the last morning we got up and in the car at 5am in order to make it back to Uyuni at a reasonable hour and once again, it was painfully cold. I hate being cold. My future travel plans will now revolve solely around traveling to places that are always between 55 and 70 (I hate being hot too). The second problem? One of the families had a very cute 5 year old who was very sick due to either the car rides and/or the altitude; therefore the truck consisted of me, the driver, 5 more adults, one small child and bowls of vomit. Not pleasant. At least our driver was not a drunk, unlike the driver of one poor couple I met; thank goodness for small miracles.

Third Challenge: Potosi Mines. Immediately after returning to Uyuni from the salt flat, I boarded a bus for Potosi. For some reason, all buses leave at 7pm, leaving you no time to eat upon returning to Uyuni and before boarding the bus, and also causing you to arrive in Potosi sometime between 12am and 2am (or 5am depending on how many flat tires you get). Luckily, I ran into a kid I had met in Cusco and convinced him to let me join his group in searching for a hotel when we arrived in Potosi. The next day we went to visit the Potosi mines. The mines have been operating since colonial times and still operate today, harvesting silver and zinc. The mines were perhaps the most thought provoking thing I have seen since beginning my travels. I hesitate to call them a human rights abuse, as workers are not technically forced to be there; however, they are forced to be there in a way because the salary at almost all other jobs is very, very poor and pales in comparison to the miners salary. That said, one miner dies every day in the mines, most often caused by alcohol-related accidents, since many miners drink heavily while working. Otherwise, miners die within 10 years of entering the mines from silica pneumonia. We met a boy working in the mines hauling wheelbarrows of rock and mineral outside to where the women separate the valuable minerals from the invaluable rock. Not only did he haul a wheelbarrow, that was a challenge for me to lift, for 10 hours a day, but he is only 10, which means he will likely die of a respiratory illness by the age of 20. One interesting coca fact: coca was seen as "from the devil" by the Spanish colonials until they realized that it increased the output of the indigenous people working in the mines, after which it was official supported by the Vatican.

After this whirlwind tour of the south of Bolivia, I needed a break, some warmth and rest, so I headed to beautiful Sucre. I took advantage of a hot (ok, warm and slightly weak) shower and put on some clean and comfortable clothes. I finally untied my tennis shoes from the outside of my bag -- they had been hanging there for 5 or 6 days; ever since I had ruined them riding the mountain bike through rivers. I successfully rescued the insides with shoe powder I bought in La Paz, but the outsides were still covered in mud. I put them on anyway and went out to explore the town. One commonality between many of the cities in Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia is the presence of shoe shine boys around the center of each town. There are slight difference between the shoe shine boys of each town; for example, in La Paz they wear ´80s style sky masks and baseball hats pulled low over their eyes, so it appears that they intend to mug you rather than shine your shoes. I have become used to being approached by these boys, who will shine anything you walk on, including chacos, so I tend to say "no gracias" without paying much attention to them. This time however, two small boys followed me and would not leave me alone. Then I began to understand what they were saying. Basically, they were telling me how dirty my shoes were. I looked down and saw the still present mud from the bike ride and consented to a shoe shine. I paid the boys 10 bolivianos -- 10 times more than they asked, but still only $1.25. Now I have black Asics with a military shine!

I had a wonderful, relaxing time in Sucre resting in a 3 star hotel, for $15 a night and hanging out with a new group of friends. I had originally intended to stay in Sucre for only one night, then head on to Santa Cruz, then on to an animal refuge; however, I was having unspecified anxieties about this plan. Not only was I concerned about time constraints, but also about committing to an organization I knew very little about. Then it finally dawned on me to consult one of the veterinarians I worked with while in Argentina a year and a half ago. Just before I was supposed to leave Sucre, my vet friend emailed me telling me not to waste my time. I felt so relieved to be able to base my decision on good advice. It was also great to find myself suddenly with extra, unplanned time.

Since then, I have been trying to live day to day a little more, not planning so much, which can be difficult for me. I ended up staying in Sucre for four nights with a group of friends from Canada, England and Israel. We kept ourselves pretty busy, seeing a huge set of fossilized dinosaur foot prints, finding the best viewpoint in the city, eating incredibly cheap but good food in the local market, hiking to a set of waterfalls to go swimming and visiting a Sunday market. Now I am in Santa Cruz, again, finding myself here longer than originally planned. I stayed, in part, to meet with some people who work for the Wildlife Conservation Society. They work in the Kaa-Iya de Gran Chaco National Park helping to manage the park and the surrounding indigenous societies. I got to browse their library and learned a lot about this project as well as other similar projects around the world. Unfortunately it does not look like I will make it to the park, as, unlike easily accessible North American Parks, this park has no tourist infrastructure and is quite difficult to reach, let alone navigate inside. Now I am headed out to an organic farm and hope to see Amboro National Park. After that it is on to Brazil. I am feeling the itch to change countries again, though I am having some trouble wading through all the possible travel plans for Brazil. Possibilities are great, but also overwhelming.

Southern Peru

I have dreams of orca whales and owls
But I wake up in fear
You will never be my
You will never be my dear
Will never be my dear, dear friend
Dear dear friend, dear dear friend...

I made it to Lima with refreshingly few problems, after my heinous bus rides in the north of Peru. I had a front row seat in the top of a big tour bus to Lima; however, the scenery up to Lima is pretty desert like and therefore gets a little monotonous. I got into Lima just as it was getting dark, which I never like to do, but seem to do often. Once again, I was not at any recognizable main bus terminal, so I decided to trust my friend Jorge, who I met in Huaraz and assume that I was relatively close to the neighborhood where my host family lived. I was a little apprehensive about the whole situation because I had been told by several people that the neighborhood where I was staying was a notoriously bad neighborhood. I decided I was going to go for it anyway. I argued with no less than 5 cab drivers hounding me to ride with them and eventually got one to agree to take me to my host house for 7 soles -- only 2 more than Jorge said it should cost. Good enough, I decided.

I made it easily to my hosts house where I was greeted by Fresia, a 70-something widow who lives with her daughter in a large house. I had a private room off the back courtyard. Fresia was quite animated and very interesting. She and I are part of an international home-stay program called SERVAS. Look it up and join as a host or traveler; I highly recommend it. Fresia was very accommodating and helpful -- she had her grandson drive me around the next day to complete some of the errands I needed to run, called another SERVAS friend at the Brazilian embassy when I had difficulty obtaining my Brazilian visa and invited over other SERVAS hosts to meet me during my second night. I spent most of the visit with the other SERVAS members listening to very rapid Spanish covering anything and everything from food to politics and trying to stay awake as they gave me multiple glasses of red wine. Yes, Fresia the 70 year old lasted longer than I did. Throughout my stay with Fresia, I never got tired of the look of horror on other peoples faces when I told them I was staying in La Victoria. The part of the neighborhood I was in was not so bad and I had absolutely no problem.

For the next 4 or 5 days, I was lucky enough to get to stay with my new friend Jorge, who I met in Huaraz. Ironically, he has a roommate from Seattle who was gone for the week, so I got my own room again. He also lives in what I would consider the best neighborhood in Lima, Barranco. Unfortunately I do not have pictures as that was the time I was between cameras. If you go to Lima, make sure to visit Barranco, just don't tell all the other tourists. Making a local friend in Lima is by far the best way to get to know the city -- Jorge spent the better part of my stay helping my with my Brazilian visa issues, helping me find an excellent replacement camera, showing me around the usual tourist sites and showing me where to find the best food, coffee and pisco sours in Lima. We even saw a (U.S.) movie, which was a nice break from my usual traveling routine. It is perhaps most astounding to find oneself in Lima, Peru after walking out of a movie theater. For a moment I forgot I wasn't in Seattle.

While Lima was quite a bit different from the towns I had visited in the north, I recognized some of the same characteristics I mentioned about the north. Namely, the income gap that is apparent between individuals, towns and neighborhoods. In Lima, or specifically on the outskirts of Lima, neighborhoods appeared very run down, with shack-type housing that is stereotypical of the foreign perception of Andean countries; however many of the neighborhoods in central Lima were actually very, very nice (i.e. Barranco). Miraflores is the main tourist neighborhood. I spent more time there than I would have liked because the Brazilian embassy was located there. It is so touristy, you really feel you are back in the United States (there are even several Starbucks, oh the horror, the horror) so I really had no reason to want to be there.

The song I quoted above relates to the number of places I have been, how quickly I felt that I moved through Peru, the number of people I have met and become friends with and Lima and Peru in general. I have been thinking a lot about all the people I have met and how I come and go so quickly through their lives, and they through mine. I think we all have intentions of keeping in touch, though it often doesn´t happen. While traveling, we travelers are pretty frank about all of this. I have spent whole days with people and none of us has thought to introduce ourselves by name or ask the others´names. This doesn´t bother me in some ways, but does in others. In contrast, some people I have kept in touch with (thus far) and I hope it continues. Namely, Jorge from Lima and Silvana, a girl who also lives in Lima who I met through my friend Fred, have been extremely kind in keeping in touch with me and making sure my travels are going well. Maybe it is a Peruvian characteristic.

After Lima, I flew to Cusco. Jorge pointed out that taking a 30 hour bus ride straight to Cusco was idiotic when I could get a 1 hour flight for only slightly more money. It was a nice break from my recent bad luck with buses. Cusco and Aguas Calientes (the town closest to Machu Picchu) are perhaps the most touristy places I have been, though not in a displeasing way. Cusco is convienent and a pretty pleasant town. Aguas Calientes raises prices quite a bit because this town is really the only place to stay to access Machu Picchu. Machu Picchu, the Meca of western backpackers traveling in South America, was as amazing as I expected it to be, perhaps as much because of its beautiful surrounding as for the structures themselves. I think my most memorable part of the trip, however, was traveling alone through the Sacred Valley before arriving at Aguas Calientes. I enjoy spending time alone, away from other tourists and guides more. The three towns I passed through, Pisaq, Urubamba and Ollantaytambo, all had their unique charms. Plus I got to do some hiking on uncrowded trails to interesting ruins you do not get to see if hiking the (in)famous "Inca trail". I stayed with another SERVAS host in Urubamba. Jorge or "Yoyo" was extremely hospitable and had a great, though basic house in Urubamba. He speaks fluent English and French and was a great source of information about local politics. He told me about the political influence that radio personalities often have among the communities of Peru. I had seen this portrayed in a strange Peruvian movie, Pantaleón y Las Visitadoras, I saw a few months ago, so it was quite interesting to realize that this was based on some truth.

About the time I got to Cusco, I was still running into lots of street kids and begging mothers with children. What strikes me most as I walk around is seeing the homeless (or at least very poor) children and mothers. In the States, it is easier to become somewhat jaded toward the homeless as they are often middle-aged to older men; therefore, I think it is easier to feel that they are at least somewhat responsible for their condition (though I know that this is not always the case). So now I find myself handing out money indiscriminately and buying things that I don´t need. My ankles are going to be totally weighed down by bracelets within a couple of weeks. Begging is an interesting conundrum because these people really do need money each day to live; however, some argue that handing out money is counterproductive because it encourages a continuation of begging rather than a drive to find entrepreneurial ways out of poverty. So maybe I should continue buying bracelets and quit handing out money? I really have no idea.

On a lighter note, I went rafting in Cusco and it was awesome! The guys that run the company want me to move to Cusco so they can teach me to kayak and then I can work as a safety kayaker, pulling tourists out of the water. Seems kind of Catcher In the Rye - esque to me, saving hopeless, helpless tourists. Unfortunately I think I fractured my foot while rafting. It doesn´t hurt too much as long as I keep it laced up tightly in a shoe or boot. I figure I couldn't really do much about it in the States anyway, so I am not worried.