We arrived back from our trip, refreshed by the volcanic hotsprings dip we took that morning and found ourselves in the tireless Jeep - I still wonder where the gas tank was filled up - for the last 5 hours of the trip bumping and swerving our way through the deserts of southern Bolivia and we rode and bumped and occasionally hit our heads ...with aching arses and bitter faces at being woken up at 4am and not able to sleep during the ride back to Uyuni, we arrived at around 6pm.
After collecting the rest of our luggage we asked the dueña about a ride to Tupiza... the town where we could hitch a ride to Villazon... the pueblo where we would find our tickets to Argentina... The woman promptly stated that the only thing to Tupiza from Uyuni was a Jeep... ANOTHER JEEP. That was no big deal. We had dealt with Jeeps before. NOTE: With us on the Salar trip was an Argentine family - a man a woman and a boy of 8 or so - and they were not to be messed with. After some arguments about prices and the "real" schedule of the micros (buses) we found that it would be in our interest to take the Jeep.
We purchased the tickets for the Jeep and rode - swerving, bumping, and hitting our heads occasionally - for 2 hours, during some of which time we were in fact driving through a dry river bed and not a road. We arrived in a small town where the driver pointed to a place for us to eat dinner - by this time it is 9:30pm and dark - and walked briskly away. After finding out the recommended spot was closed we found a place that looked like it might serve food and sat down. We asked what was on the menu and the man said apologetically that there was only chicken on that night's menu. We naturally ordered the chicken, which was not nearly as questionable as I thought it might be.
We were all anxious to go - the sooner we leave the sooner we can get out of that Jeep. We walked briskly back to the Jeep and took our places and the Jeep roared to -seemingly- healthy life and drove a whopping three blocks before it no longer "went." After some tinkering, the Jeep did begin to "go" again and we thought we were pretty much on our way. Only three hours to go and we can get on a comfy train to Villazon..... ahh, dreams.
We were in the middle of the mountainous region twisting and swerving our way around holes, bumps and the canyon to our left when the Jeep ceases to "go" again. Doubt begins to set in when the Jeep decided it wanted to only "go" in 20 minute increments. Eventually, maybe the fifth time of tinkering and asking for our flashlight to do so, the Jeep was "going" but now it was 11pm, the canyon to think about and our lives, and the Jeep's headlights were no longer working. The fiesty Argentine father started yelling and saying it was ridiculous to drive like this and of all things, suggested we stay there until daybreak.
STAY WHERE? I thought.
We gathered all our warm clothes, blankets, sleeping bags, etc from the roof of the Jeep and really truely had to spend the night in a Jeep with five near-strangers in the middle of Bolivian no-where in the mountains. For the next 7 hours we slept piled in a Jeep, bundled in whatever was warm and miserably P.O.ed at the driver who did not have our money to give it back (we'd paid the dueña) for the exceptionally poor service we were given.
Now it's just a competition to see how many modes of transportation we can take in the shortest amount of time. We took the Jeep from Uyuni to Tupiza, the Train from Tupiza to Villazon, and we are now waiting for the bus from Villazon to our next destination where we hope to find a place that will allow us to ride horseback to the next.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
the last few days...
It's been a few days... we've been busy.
First, there has to be considerable mention of the Oruro Carnaval. This party literally never stops! We arrived at arround 3pm and had only just found the only hostel with an available room - we in fact had reservations, but they decided to give us the "matrimonial" room - a room with barely enough space for one person and her luggage let alone two girls who had completed the shopping spree of their life in La Paz. The bed was the size of my grandma's breakfast table and the lock on the door was broken... but we were promised it would be fixed that afternoon (it was never fixed during our stay there).
We immediately found a pizza place and had a leisurely lupper (not lunch, but not supper) and when we stepped out the door of Bravo's Pizza I was greeted by the Carnaval of Oruro with a big "SPLAT!" down the front of my shirt...... a waterballoon. Oooohhhh, that was why some people were wearing plastic rain ponchos on a sunny afternoon... Two girls standing outside the door with me did not fare well either. The blonde got the worst of it: foamed in the face and then shot mercilessly with a supersoaker gun. This was only the beginning. The battle had now begun. After I got hit again with a water balloon I chased the culprit down the street and stole another's plastic shopping bag of filled balloons.
I went immediately to purchase my own pack of balloons and my own water gun and wearing the traditional Carnaval mask we went to war. And lost. I was at one point very proud of my exceptional aim when I was attacked by a little girl and her father with the foam cans and every cavity was filled - nose, mouth and ears. I couldn't hear the jeering and laughter but after the sixth balloon hit me in the back of the knee, I buckled and went down - I was sprawled on the pavement like a wounded soldier yelling for the backup that never came - thanks Mel.
It continued. Everything continued and spilled over into the next day even during the parade (that went from 8am until 4am the next day)... When it was still warm enough the water balloons and guns and foam were flung across the street and into the scaffolded bleechers hitting anything and anyone... even the little old ladies sitting in front of us. I have to say, the parade and costumes were beyond incredible. I will let the photos speak for themselves because they are too detailed and ornate to describe in one blog.
_______________________________
From Oruro we decided to book it downward and take the Uyuni Salt Lake tour. It was a three-day safari-like tour through the "Salar" and then to Laguna after laguna....after laguna. We saw a lot of landscape because the cool part was that because of the terrain the tours are given per a mid-80s 4X4 Jeep-like vehicle and it is really a matter of luck whether the trip really lasts three days since there is usually a 70% chance of a broken axle or broken motor, gasket, filter, pipe or wire - luck turned out good for us and it was only the tire - a mere half-hour later we were on our way again.
Interestingly enough, as cleansing as Machu Picchu was, I think this trip was especially different because I felt my awareness heighten and also my sensitivity to things happening around me. We had two "guides," really just a driver and a cook and the driver would occasionally tell us what we were looking at be it a lagoon, volcano, rocktrees, or flamingos. I was forced - by fate of my tiny tushy - in the front seat with these amazing people. From other Bolivians I understood their attitudes as complete and utter indifference to tourists unless that tourist had a boliviano in their pocket. This trip afforded a look at the people of quite a mysterious culture. I still can pinpoint it, but the way they interacted with each other - and not often with the foreigners - made me very curious. The cook, Señora we called her, always smiled and while everyone else looked like they'd been run over by the Jeep, she managed to remain so beautiful. The smile on our driver was rare, but since I was lucky enough to sit in the front seat with them, I was able to count 7 of them on the whole three-day trip. When he did smile I just about fell in love right there... but not quite. Such cultural distance and so much that I would love to know about and at some points during the trip - usually when Yuni laughed - I wanted so badly to be a part of it.
First, there has to be considerable mention of the Oruro Carnaval. This party literally never stops! We arrived at arround 3pm and had only just found the only hostel with an available room - we in fact had reservations, but they decided to give us the "matrimonial" room - a room with barely enough space for one person and her luggage let alone two girls who had completed the shopping spree of their life in La Paz. The bed was the size of my grandma's breakfast table and the lock on the door was broken... but we were promised it would be fixed that afternoon (it was never fixed during our stay there).
We immediately found a pizza place and had a leisurely lupper (not lunch, but not supper) and when we stepped out the door of Bravo's Pizza I was greeted by the Carnaval of Oruro with a big "SPLAT!" down the front of my shirt...... a waterballoon. Oooohhhh, that was why some people were wearing plastic rain ponchos on a sunny afternoon... Two girls standing outside the door with me did not fare well either. The blonde got the worst of it: foamed in the face and then shot mercilessly with a supersoaker gun. This was only the beginning. The battle had now begun. After I got hit again with a water balloon I chased the culprit down the street and stole another's plastic shopping bag of filled balloons.
I went immediately to purchase my own pack of balloons and my own water gun and wearing the traditional Carnaval mask we went to war. And lost. I was at one point very proud of my exceptional aim when I was attacked by a little girl and her father with the foam cans and every cavity was filled - nose, mouth and ears. I couldn't hear the jeering and laughter but after the sixth balloon hit me in the back of the knee, I buckled and went down - I was sprawled on the pavement like a wounded soldier yelling for the backup that never came - thanks Mel.
It continued. Everything continued and spilled over into the next day even during the parade (that went from 8am until 4am the next day)... When it was still warm enough the water balloons and guns and foam were flung across the street and into the scaffolded bleechers hitting anything and anyone... even the little old ladies sitting in front of us. I have to say, the parade and costumes were beyond incredible. I will let the photos speak for themselves because they are too detailed and ornate to describe in one blog.
_______________________________
From Oruro we decided to book it downward and take the Uyuni Salt Lake tour. It was a three-day safari-like tour through the "Salar" and then to Laguna after laguna....after laguna. We saw a lot of landscape because the cool part was that because of the terrain the tours are given per a mid-80s 4X4 Jeep-like vehicle and it is really a matter of luck whether the trip really lasts three days since there is usually a 70% chance of a broken axle or broken motor, gasket, filter, pipe or wire - luck turned out good for us and it was only the tire - a mere half-hour later we were on our way again.
Interestingly enough, as cleansing as Machu Picchu was, I think this trip was especially different because I felt my awareness heighten and also my sensitivity to things happening around me. We had two "guides," really just a driver and a cook and the driver would occasionally tell us what we were looking at be it a lagoon, volcano, rocktrees, or flamingos. I was forced - by fate of my tiny tushy - in the front seat with these amazing people. From other Bolivians I understood their attitudes as complete and utter indifference to tourists unless that tourist had a boliviano in their pocket. This trip afforded a look at the people of quite a mysterious culture. I still can pinpoint it, but the way they interacted with each other - and not often with the foreigners - made me very curious. The cook, Señora we called her, always smiled and while everyone else looked like they'd been run over by the Jeep, she managed to remain so beautiful. The smile on our driver was rare, but since I was lucky enough to sit in the front seat with them, I was able to count 7 of them on the whole three-day trip. When he did smile I just about fell in love right there... but not quite. Such cultural distance and so much that I would love to know about and at some points during the trip - usually when Yuni laughed - I wanted so badly to be a part of it.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
meeting people
As I sit here uploading five million fotos for all those who have been requesting them so fervently, I begin to ponder the phenomenon of meeting people.
One idea that I have always struggled with is the entity of the human soul. Everyone knows from baby-hood that they are one person and that they are different from every other. It is easy to run across one soul and get away completely unscathed, but there are moments in life when an encounter with another person is so strong and mutually affecting that there is no way to get away without regretting the good-byes. The more this occurs, I've found that it becomes more and more difficult to look forward to encounters with new and different people. It remains easy to build the respective bridges and form new alliances with those around me, but when I am highly aware of an impending good-bye, my heart likes to withdraw from the experience of connecting with these people.
I think that God made us specifically capable of saying good-bye and also of meeting new people, otherwise it wouldn't come so naturally - by naturally I mean that it happens no matter where you live or who you are... it is a constant phenomenon that will continue likely until the day we die.
The greatest part is choosing those who are willing enough to give it a go until that very day. I feel that there are people I encounter that I would love to know forever, and others that I wish I had never met. To be sure, there are people that I would love to continue knowing but will not have that chance especially under the circumstances in which I find myself now.
Mel met someone. She is one of the wisest girls I know, though sometimes a little goofy... She encountered another soul on this here planet and decided that with the willingness of her friend to continue knowing each other, they would begin a journey that might lead toward either of the two paths I mentioned above. The joy and pain of finding out which it will be is the story we call life.
One idea that I have always struggled with is the entity of the human soul. Everyone knows from baby-hood that they are one person and that they are different from every other. It is easy to run across one soul and get away completely unscathed, but there are moments in life when an encounter with another person is so strong and mutually affecting that there is no way to get away without regretting the good-byes. The more this occurs, I've found that it becomes more and more difficult to look forward to encounters with new and different people. It remains easy to build the respective bridges and form new alliances with those around me, but when I am highly aware of an impending good-bye, my heart likes to withdraw from the experience of connecting with these people.
I think that God made us specifically capable of saying good-bye and also of meeting new people, otherwise it wouldn't come so naturally - by naturally I mean that it happens no matter where you live or who you are... it is a constant phenomenon that will continue likely until the day we die.
The greatest part is choosing those who are willing enough to give it a go until that very day. I feel that there are people I encounter that I would love to know forever, and others that I wish I had never met. To be sure, there are people that I would love to continue knowing but will not have that chance especially under the circumstances in which I find myself now.
Mel met someone. She is one of the wisest girls I know, though sometimes a little goofy... She encountered another soul on this here planet and decided that with the willingness of her friend to continue knowing each other, they would begin a journey that might lead toward either of the two paths I mentioned above. The joy and pain of finding out which it will be is the story we call life.
puke, witches, juice and bombs ...
It's been an eventful past few days. I've never felt sicker in my life and the funny thing is, I risked eating the food from the stands in the outdoor markets and never felt healthier. I ate avocado, tomato and egg sandwiches for breakfast, big juicy beef and veggie sandwiches and sausages at night, I ate every empanada, salteña, dulce or postre they had on the stand... nothing. As soon as I ate at a real" restaurant and at the time even felt a little better about eating there since there was likely much better hygiene in this woman's establishement --- I was bedridden for the rest of the night - that was when I wasn't in the bathroom hovering over the toilet for - ahem - one reason or another.
Mmmm pizza...
_______
On a brighter note, we visited the dark side of La Paz (the name of the city means "Peace") in the witches' market the other day. Unknowingly we had stumbled upon it the day before but had simply thought La Paz was normally on crack and sold the fetuses of llamas for the fun of it... When we finally realized that the place we had been was in fact the witches market, and because of all the strange potions, herbs, incense, bottles of blood or wine, and big baskets of crusty llama fetuses I couldn't help myself... I asked one of the storekeepers what the deal was with all the weirdocity.
The explanation was too simple. "Well," he said. "It's for offerings to Pachamama (mother earth) because she is the one who can bring health, wealth, luck and happieness to the homes of the Paceñas who offer these objects to her." So in fact, one would purchase these perfumes, potions and a fetus (for luck to the weary traveller) and burn them all in a big decorated pile amidst a prayer to Pachamama for their future wellbeing.
You would think that from the state of things here in La Paz that they would take the hint that it might not be working ??? Other than feeling overwhelmed by the ignorance of these people it was otherwise fascinating.
Mmmm llama fetus...
________
Aside from all other experiences we've had so far in La Paz, I would have to say the one that brings to mind the most rainbows and sunshine and happieness is the SMOOTHIES. These are in fact the simplest idea on the face of the planet, yet they also happen to be one of the healthiest and most deliciousest loveliest little big drink ever. One banana and a bunch of milk, throw it all in a blender for two minutes and Voilá! instant breakfast-slash-treat. They sell them practically by the pound here and even though they are only about 2 bolivianos a piece, we have very likely spent more than U.S. $10 on them.
Mmmm smoothies (they call them "jugos" here)...
________
Interesting news, I'm sure you've heard it by now. Coal miners in Bolivia are on strike and they are blowing off dynamite in the streets of La Paz. ... no worries. It only disrupts my sleep maybe twice or three times a night. At first I thought it was the normal gunshots because we were naturally in a big city, so I was able to relax about it a bit. Then I heard the word "dynamite" and decided I should steer clear of the center of town... which happens to be where our hostel is located...
Mmmm dynamite... ?
Saturday, February 10, 2007
the great escape
Well, the Cool-streeters ended up being a pretty darn fabulous group of folks. We did end up at Wyki that night and stayed out dancing to Manu Chau and other latino-hippie bands until the place closed. Of course because of our grand presence anywhere we go, we were able to meet friends of friends of the Cool-Streeters and with our swift ways and conniving minds we secured a camping trip with a group of hippie-boys with an overload of tents. One of our greatest feats the first day in Copacabana was trying to find a tent so that we could camp in the mountains of Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun). No one rents, no one sells, no one has extras.... We had given up and then we ran into this wonderful group of hippies - I mean the dirty kind that don´t shave or bathe for reeeally long periods of time - who were happy to allow us to use one of their tents. Consequently, there were 8 of us and 4 tents. I think God´s hand was in that because of our serious and chronic desire to camp on that Island.
We woke up the next day for a pow-wow with one of the hairy-hippies (don´t worry mom, they were just kids trying to be cool by being dirty) and decided on a time to meet in front of the boat that would take us to the Island. We shopped and bartered in the mercado for some fresh fruit, veggies, cheese and bread - the food here is DELiCiOUS - and met them for our newly realized excursion.
That night camping with complete strangers was another one of those unforgettable moments in life where I will look back and say to myself, "what idiots, but what fun!"
After trying not to offend the boys who had no camping skills and could not build a fire to save their lives, we danced and did Tai Chi and sang around this fire that went from huge and warming to tiny and flickering at any given moment throughout the night. Some of the boys were musicians and others were talented singers of very traditional - you guessed it - Argentine songs. All in all, it was a fantastic evening to spend just before a fantastic day.
The purpose of crossing and camping on this Island in the middle of Lake Titicaca was to swim in this magestic and mystical body. We woke up on the Bolivian island looking across the nearly-glass smooth water to the shores and mountains of Peru on the distant horizon. After a breakfast of bread, butter and palta (avocado), we packed a few things to head for the northern shore of the Island where we would find the tiny beach for the purpose of bathing in the clear cold waters of the Titicaca.
The 4 hour walk was probably the most spiritually cleansing for me. It was fun to be travelling with such a laid-back and fun group, but many times I found myself walking this ancient trail by myself and on either side of me was a beautiful mountain view or down below - waaaaay down below - were the rocky shores of the island and on the steep slope would occasionally be a few lazy sheep munching on their daytime meal - which, after seeing so many sheep I think that is all they do: eat.
One of the purposes of travelling to the Island of the Sun is because there are Inca ruins there. This is the same ancient culture that thought the sun itself was born out of the island. I have to say that if I thought MY dad was ever a cheap-skate, I take it back. We arrived at the checkpoint where we were supposed to pay for the tickets - 10 whopping bolivianos - which works out to around roughly U.S. $1.25. We were sitting around and these kids were very handy in talking the "price" down to 2 bolivianos. Of course, we did not get to see the ruins because really the 2 bolivianos from each of us were lining the pockets of the checkpoint manager instead of the historical park. Instead we arrived (entirely too late to swim in the freezing water) in a teeny tiny little pueblo just before dark and because the group we were travelling with were so economically conscious we allowed them to find our hostel for that evening. Of the three there were to choose from they found number four. Mel had called it when we were waiting: "knowing them they´re probably bargaining to stay in someone´s living room." It wasn´t quite a livingroom, but it was really only a room with one window and one door, wooden floors and a slew of half-sized homemade cushions and one tiny bed in the corner. This also was a night to remember! 8 kids playing Chancho Va (argentine card game) until 1am and then sprawling all over the hostel floor-slash-cushions and sometimes cuddling with someone you never thought you would EVER cuddle with because it becomes WICKED cold at night on the Island and we had in fact expected to return to the camp on the other side of the island before nightfall - bad planning and scheduling on our part - so naturally our warm clothes were inside of a warm tent next to a would-be warm fire 3 hours away on foot and the boats stopped running to the other side after dark.
Loooong story short, we got really sick of the boys after a while and had to ruuuun to escape them. They were hippie-slow as it was, but they had become attached to us and wanted to spend the day together... in a frenzy we slapped our swimsuits on to accomplish the above-mentioned mission. After 4 1/2 minutes of mission-accomplishing we slapped our pants on and were - unfortunately - momentarily discovered on the beach... after a few words of farewell we rushed off the beach and back onto the trail that would lead us to the safety of our belongings and the boat back home - away from hippidom (by "home" I mean Copacabana).
_________________________________________
That is the Island story.
We woke up the next day for a pow-wow with one of the hairy-hippies (don´t worry mom, they were just kids trying to be cool by being dirty) and decided on a time to meet in front of the boat that would take us to the Island. We shopped and bartered in the mercado for some fresh fruit, veggies, cheese and bread - the food here is DELiCiOUS - and met them for our newly realized excursion.
That night camping with complete strangers was another one of those unforgettable moments in life where I will look back and say to myself, "what idiots, but what fun!"
After trying not to offend the boys who had no camping skills and could not build a fire to save their lives, we danced and did Tai Chi and sang around this fire that went from huge and warming to tiny and flickering at any given moment throughout the night. Some of the boys were musicians and others were talented singers of very traditional - you guessed it - Argentine songs. All in all, it was a fantastic evening to spend just before a fantastic day.
The purpose of crossing and camping on this Island in the middle of Lake Titicaca was to swim in this magestic and mystical body. We woke up on the Bolivian island looking across the nearly-glass smooth water to the shores and mountains of Peru on the distant horizon. After a breakfast of bread, butter and palta (avocado), we packed a few things to head for the northern shore of the Island where we would find the tiny beach for the purpose of bathing in the clear cold waters of the Titicaca.
The 4 hour walk was probably the most spiritually cleansing for me. It was fun to be travelling with such a laid-back and fun group, but many times I found myself walking this ancient trail by myself and on either side of me was a beautiful mountain view or down below - waaaaay down below - were the rocky shores of the island and on the steep slope would occasionally be a few lazy sheep munching on their daytime meal - which, after seeing so many sheep I think that is all they do: eat.
One of the purposes of travelling to the Island of the Sun is because there are Inca ruins there. This is the same ancient culture that thought the sun itself was born out of the island. I have to say that if I thought MY dad was ever a cheap-skate, I take it back. We arrived at the checkpoint where we were supposed to pay for the tickets - 10 whopping bolivianos - which works out to around roughly U.S. $1.25. We were sitting around and these kids were very handy in talking the "price" down to 2 bolivianos. Of course, we did not get to see the ruins because really the 2 bolivianos from each of us were lining the pockets of the checkpoint manager instead of the historical park. Instead we arrived (entirely too late to swim in the freezing water) in a teeny tiny little pueblo just before dark and because the group we were travelling with were so economically conscious we allowed them to find our hostel for that evening. Of the three there were to choose from they found number four. Mel had called it when we were waiting: "knowing them they´re probably bargaining to stay in someone´s living room." It wasn´t quite a livingroom, but it was really only a room with one window and one door, wooden floors and a slew of half-sized homemade cushions and one tiny bed in the corner. This also was a night to remember! 8 kids playing Chancho Va (argentine card game) until 1am and then sprawling all over the hostel floor-slash-cushions and sometimes cuddling with someone you never thought you would EVER cuddle with because it becomes WICKED cold at night on the Island and we had in fact expected to return to the camp on the other side of the island before nightfall - bad planning and scheduling on our part - so naturally our warm clothes were inside of a warm tent next to a would-be warm fire 3 hours away on foot and the boats stopped running to the other side after dark.
Loooong story short, we got really sick of the boys after a while and had to ruuuun to escape them. They were hippie-slow as it was, but they had become attached to us and wanted to spend the day together... in a frenzy we slapped our swimsuits on to accomplish the above-mentioned mission. After 4 1/2 minutes of mission-accomplishing we slapped our pants on and were - unfortunately - momentarily discovered on the beach... after a few words of farewell we rushed off the beach and back onto the trail that would lead us to the safety of our belongings and the boat back home - away from hippidom (by "home" I mean Copacabana).
_________________________________________
That is the Island story.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Rapists and Cool Street
This story is not for the faint of heart. There will be angry and vulgar language used and if your children or other innocent eyes are near, please wait to read this entry for their sakes.
As promised we did leave Cuzco (with a bang I might add) and because Mel and I are both occasionally, bueno - RARELY - idiots we were due our idiotic action of the month. We were to take the luxury train and after examining our budgets decided that it would be more economically friendly to take the bus as we had normally been doing. Very near our hostel (called Huiñariy, only $4 a night! - a recommendation to anyone who travels there) we found a travel agency and decided that we should buy our bus tickets since the plan was to leave the next day and night was closing in on us. In our tizzy we said, "sure, 100 soles will be fine, take our money --- and rape us." This is the feeling that I have right now and it is not a pretty one. As I thought about how incredible the mistake had been and how I´m sure the woman at the travel agency feels like the head gang member prideful of a recent - violent - rape of two innocent young girls. When I realized what had happened we were near the border of Peru and Bolivia and ran into some Porteñas who told us they had paid only 15 soles for their bus tickets - for those not-so-currency-savvy folks thats the difference between U.S. $35 and U.S. $5. Our wallets were raped severely and are having a difficult time coming out and telling an adult or authority about the incident for the pure humiliation of it all.
The best part is, I had been carefully budgeting our trip to Bolivia and had even calculated that the entire trip to our final destination should have been at most U.S. $12 and if we paid more that something should be wrong. So, "why in the name of Titicaca would I do such a ridiculously un-smart thing?" you might be wondering......... me too. I think in my country they call them Brainfarts and this happened to be a particularily gascious evening.
________________________
So, with an empty wallet in one hand and one solitary warm 1-sol empanada in the other hand , we crossed the border into Bolivia only to find that the city of our destination does not have a cash machine.... Oh, joy. Luckily, we were smart enough to bring our handy dandy American Express Traveller´s Checks. A nice man told us that we should be able to change the checks for 7.50 bolivianos. The woman behind the counter at the money exchange looked at me crazy when I gave her a crazy look because she offered to buy my check for 7 bolivianos to the dollar. Because I was angry and felt the humiliation of my last raping, I decided that now was the time to DEFEND! I put on my bitchy-face and told the woman point-blank that she could not have my check because someone offered me more and they were simply unable to change it for me until later ... so if she didn´t give me my 7.50 I would simply wait for the dueña to return and change it elsewhere. After arguing continually over the agreed price of my dollars, and the woman changing it from less to more to less, I won. I WIN! Unluckily, the exchange for a green dollar is very near 8 bolivianos and we have no other cash source until we get to the City... Another fine day for raping the tourists, isn´t it? ... My anus hurts.
__________________________________
On a brighter note, we ran into a girl that we met in Cuzco who happens to be travelling alone. She is a bright one with a clever mind for description. When we arrived, the main street was filled with what I would describe as hippies... anyway, they all have long scraggly hair and shaggy clothes and happen to be young, good-looking folks with flare for ignoring their customers. Oh, yes. These are the nice people who are selling the most unique and incredible goods from hasheesh pipes carved from seeds or bones to wireworked jewelry that would blow the mind of any craftsman.
Our new friend, from Seattle, mentioned this area of town and also openly told us that she was intimidated by these people ... I believe her exact words were, "I´m intimidated by Cool Street. The people there are too cool and none of them even talk to you..."
We proceeded down this alleged Cool Street and encountered Chileans, Australians, Bolivians, and Argentines selling goods on this street and in fact, when I or Mel directed a sentece toward them it was followed by lively conversation and invitaions to go for a drink or to a cafe with live music later on in the evening. Due to many obstacles we faced - searching for a place to rent a tent, internet, food, the hill, the hostel, etc. - we walked up and down Cool Street approximately 7 to 8 times in 2 hours. We are now officially members of Cool Street and will be going out tonight with many of our fellow Cool Streeters to a place called Wyki.
As promised we did leave Cuzco (with a bang I might add) and because Mel and I are both occasionally, bueno - RARELY - idiots we were due our idiotic action of the month. We were to take the luxury train and after examining our budgets decided that it would be more economically friendly to take the bus as we had normally been doing. Very near our hostel (called Huiñariy, only $4 a night! - a recommendation to anyone who travels there) we found a travel agency and decided that we should buy our bus tickets since the plan was to leave the next day and night was closing in on us. In our tizzy we said, "sure, 100 soles will be fine, take our money --- and rape us." This is the feeling that I have right now and it is not a pretty one. As I thought about how incredible the mistake had been and how I´m sure the woman at the travel agency feels like the head gang member prideful of a recent - violent - rape of two innocent young girls. When I realized what had happened we were near the border of Peru and Bolivia and ran into some Porteñas who told us they had paid only 15 soles for their bus tickets - for those not-so-currency-savvy folks thats the difference between U.S. $35 and U.S. $5. Our wallets were raped severely and are having a difficult time coming out and telling an adult or authority about the incident for the pure humiliation of it all.
The best part is, I had been carefully budgeting our trip to Bolivia and had even calculated that the entire trip to our final destination should have been at most U.S. $12 and if we paid more that something should be wrong. So, "why in the name of Titicaca would I do such a ridiculously un-smart thing?" you might be wondering......... me too. I think in my country they call them Brainfarts and this happened to be a particularily gascious evening.
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So, with an empty wallet in one hand and one solitary warm 1-sol empanada in the other hand , we crossed the border into Bolivia only to find that the city of our destination does not have a cash machine.... Oh, joy. Luckily, we were smart enough to bring our handy dandy American Express Traveller´s Checks. A nice man told us that we should be able to change the checks for 7.50 bolivianos. The woman behind the counter at the money exchange looked at me crazy when I gave her a crazy look because she offered to buy my check for 7 bolivianos to the dollar. Because I was angry and felt the humiliation of my last raping, I decided that now was the time to DEFEND! I put on my bitchy-face and told the woman point-blank that she could not have my check because someone offered me more and they were simply unable to change it for me until later ... so if she didn´t give me my 7.50 I would simply wait for the dueña to return and change it elsewhere. After arguing continually over the agreed price of my dollars, and the woman changing it from less to more to less, I won. I WIN! Unluckily, the exchange for a green dollar is very near 8 bolivianos and we have no other cash source until we get to the City... Another fine day for raping the tourists, isn´t it? ... My anus hurts.
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On a brighter note, we ran into a girl that we met in Cuzco who happens to be travelling alone. She is a bright one with a clever mind for description. When we arrived, the main street was filled with what I would describe as hippies... anyway, they all have long scraggly hair and shaggy clothes and happen to be young, good-looking folks with flare for ignoring their customers. Oh, yes. These are the nice people who are selling the most unique and incredible goods from hasheesh pipes carved from seeds or bones to wireworked jewelry that would blow the mind of any craftsman.
Our new friend, from Seattle, mentioned this area of town and also openly told us that she was intimidated by these people ... I believe her exact words were, "I´m intimidated by Cool Street. The people there are too cool and none of them even talk to you..."
We proceeded down this alleged Cool Street and encountered Chileans, Australians, Bolivians, and Argentines selling goods on this street and in fact, when I or Mel directed a sentece toward them it was followed by lively conversation and invitaions to go for a drink or to a cafe with live music later on in the evening. Due to many obstacles we faced - searching for a place to rent a tent, internet, food, the hill, the hostel, etc. - we walked up and down Cool Street approximately 7 to 8 times in 2 hours. We are now officially members of Cool Street and will be going out tonight with many of our fellow Cool Streeters to a place called Wyki.
Monday, February 5, 2007
One more dream realized
We arrived home from our Inca Trail trip. 4 days and 3 nights travelling on foot through the jungle of Peru, making our way down an ancient path to the great and mysterious - some say mystical - Machu Picchu. Our guides informed us that this stone cobbled trail is only one small section of a trail that stretched throughout the whole of the Inca empire from Ecuador all the way down to Argentina. This trail was mostly destroyed by the colonizers as a tactic to break up the strength and unity of this great race. As it turns out, it was a very successful tactic.
We began the first day on what our guides called a "camino tranquilo" - a relaxed walk - through the jungle. This day turned out to be a giant wake up call concerning my general physical state. As I was walking down this plano (flat) path I was huffing and heaving as though I had already climbed up the mountain of 4500 meters scheduled for the next day. With 6 kilos on my back and no experience hiking through a jungle, I'd say the day went pretty well.
I discovered that the trail is littered with Inca ruins that were not originally discovered by the Spaniards during colonization, so in contrast to the structures found in Cuzco, we were able to see entire buildings, cities, and even streets that these ancient people had built and lived in such and incredibly long time ago. It is indescribable the experience of simply touching a stone you know was placed in the wall by powerful and faithful hands thousands of years ago. Each day rewarded us with a new discovery of a village or a fort or a temple or - like Machu Picchu - an entire sacred city full of mystery and all I could think was: "if only walls could talk."
One thing that was extremely lucky for us was the weather. Regrettably, we were only able to schedule this life-list dream-come-true during the rainy season of the region. It rained every night, though thankfully not until we had all gone to our tents. The days while climbing or descending these great mountains were cloudy and cool... resulting in the perfect level of comfort aside from being dirty, sweaty, and every muscle aching with every following stair. Oh, the stairs.... Mel had a dream the first night about our major ascent to the highest peak on the trail and described it as the never-ending stairway to heaven only with stairs that were so huge that it took all her strength just to step up. She collapsed within the first few attempted steps. Not surprisingly, this was much like some of the stairways we encountered... though thankfully they did eventually end.
The destination was the highlight of the feat. We woke up at 4am the last day and rushed through the pouring rain to "La Puerta del Sol" - the sun gate. The lucky few who had made it to the sun gate in time for the sunrise were able to see their first glimpse of Machu Picchu clinging to the ridge of one of the many enormous mountains surrounding the place. Unfortunately because of the time of year, we saw nothing but black mass through the thickest fog I had ever seen ... Mel said she caught a better glimpse as she had arrived 5 or 10 minutes before I did (I had an incident falling down the side of the stupid mountain, but was promptly saved by the presence of a tiny little tree). I was saved and pulled up by a new friend I had met on the trail as the guide sort of gaped on as though he were watching T.V. There were better guides than he on the trip, but I was lucky enough to fall down a mountain while they were attending to those farther behind.
We did reach Machu Picchu and the weather was kind enough to even allow sunshine through the clouds in order for us to practice our Tai Chi more comfortably... We met the most beautifully eccentric Mexican woman on the trip and every time we acheived some great feat we would relax with a round of Tai Chi which she taught most willingly to anyone who wanted to learn. We were then left to explore this huge abandoned city and again another indescribable experience. I opted to walk the streets without shoes and accompanied the Mexican woman and another very sweet Chilean girl. There is something incredible about these ruins and something - yes - mystical about their being only so recently discovered. We climbed to the house on the highest point of the city to take photos and seeing the whole thing from that point was overwhelming.
We left the place and quite honestly, even after such a difficult journey and so much stress from the trials... I left with an eerie sense of equilibrium - as the Mexican woman described it perfectly.
We began the first day on what our guides called a "camino tranquilo" - a relaxed walk - through the jungle. This day turned out to be a giant wake up call concerning my general physical state. As I was walking down this plano (flat) path I was huffing and heaving as though I had already climbed up the mountain of 4500 meters scheduled for the next day. With 6 kilos on my back and no experience hiking through a jungle, I'd say the day went pretty well.
I discovered that the trail is littered with Inca ruins that were not originally discovered by the Spaniards during colonization, so in contrast to the structures found in Cuzco, we were able to see entire buildings, cities, and even streets that these ancient people had built and lived in such and incredibly long time ago. It is indescribable the experience of simply touching a stone you know was placed in the wall by powerful and faithful hands thousands of years ago. Each day rewarded us with a new discovery of a village or a fort or a temple or - like Machu Picchu - an entire sacred city full of mystery and all I could think was: "if only walls could talk."
One thing that was extremely lucky for us was the weather. Regrettably, we were only able to schedule this life-list dream-come-true during the rainy season of the region. It rained every night, though thankfully not until we had all gone to our tents. The days while climbing or descending these great mountains were cloudy and cool... resulting in the perfect level of comfort aside from being dirty, sweaty, and every muscle aching with every following stair. Oh, the stairs.... Mel had a dream the first night about our major ascent to the highest peak on the trail and described it as the never-ending stairway to heaven only with stairs that were so huge that it took all her strength just to step up. She collapsed within the first few attempted steps. Not surprisingly, this was much like some of the stairways we encountered... though thankfully they did eventually end.
The destination was the highlight of the feat. We woke up at 4am the last day and rushed through the pouring rain to "La Puerta del Sol" - the sun gate. The lucky few who had made it to the sun gate in time for the sunrise were able to see their first glimpse of Machu Picchu clinging to the ridge of one of the many enormous mountains surrounding the place. Unfortunately because of the time of year, we saw nothing but black mass through the thickest fog I had ever seen ... Mel said she caught a better glimpse as she had arrived 5 or 10 minutes before I did (I had an incident falling down the side of the stupid mountain, but was promptly saved by the presence of a tiny little tree). I was saved and pulled up by a new friend I had met on the trail as the guide sort of gaped on as though he were watching T.V. There were better guides than he on the trip, but I was lucky enough to fall down a mountain while they were attending to those farther behind.
We did reach Machu Picchu and the weather was kind enough to even allow sunshine through the clouds in order for us to practice our Tai Chi more comfortably... We met the most beautifully eccentric Mexican woman on the trip and every time we acheived some great feat we would relax with a round of Tai Chi which she taught most willingly to anyone who wanted to learn. We were then left to explore this huge abandoned city and again another indescribable experience. I opted to walk the streets without shoes and accompanied the Mexican woman and another very sweet Chilean girl. There is something incredible about these ruins and something - yes - mystical about their being only so recently discovered. We climbed to the house on the highest point of the city to take photos and seeing the whole thing from that point was overwhelming.
We left the place and quite honestly, even after such a difficult journey and so much stress from the trials... I left with an eerie sense of equilibrium - as the Mexican woman described it perfectly.
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