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Published: April 20th 2006
Yahoo! My new credit card and camera have arrived and, one month from arriving in Bolivia (and one day... I will be fined on my way out for over-staying my visa!), I can finally head up to Peru, a little behind schedule (if there ever was one!). Many thanks to my housemates at Gravity, especially Graham, who let me use their place in La Paz as a base during my travels in Bolivia - I'm gonna miss you guys!
The Choro Trail
The first glimpse I had of him was of a little ancient man, back bent over double, clutching a precious book beneath his arm. He scurried out through the cast iron door and up past where I was sitting, seemingly oblivious to my Japanese greeting so that I wondered if he still spoke the language after all these years. He placed the book on the table and opened it to a page where he indicated I write my name, country of origin and so on. This was the legendary 'El Japones', a 78 year old Japanese man who had arrived by boat through Africa to the Yungas 50 years ago! Nowadays, he is somewhat of a celebrety
for those trekking the Choro Trail, an ancient Inca trail extending for 60km along what used to be the major food route between La Paz and the lowlands.
Instead of hanging around in La Paz until my new credit card and passeport arrived, I decided to join my Israeli friends, Yoni, Guy, Adi and Avital on a three day trek from La Cumbre to Chairo, from where you can catch a bus to Coroico and return to La Paz via the 'World's Most Dangerous Road'. We passed the Gravity buses on the way up as all five of us huddled into a taxi which took us the one hour ride to the start of the treck for 120Bs (about 20AUD), after being stopped at the drug checkpoint as we headed into coca country.
Starting at around 4600m, we rugged up against the cold, barren, cloud-covered landscape, passing inca ruins and, as the landscape slowly changed following the river down into fertile valleys, we passed many tiny villages with the children emerging, hands outstretched, to ask for sweets, bread or money (often with a parent lingering nearby). The first night we camped by a large wooden suspension bridge, separating
two villages. Straw-roofed structures were set up especially for the campers, and we tried out the tents we had hired in La Paz - the two guys squeezing in one, and we three girls sleeping head to toe to fit in the other!
The next day the scenery became even more spectacular as we weaved our way over the ridges and down through the tributaries, passing a myriad of waterfalls which complemented the gorgeous scenery from the ridgetops out over the valley. The seond night we camped by one such waterfall and I had a lovely cold morning dip. The Spanish/German couple who were also walking the trail made it a bit further to a small camping site, nestled among the banana trees on a ridgetop overlooking the valley.
The third day we were to pass the house of 'El Japones'. I had seen this point marked on the map the first day in the refuge, and my friends, who had obtained a printed description of the walk in Israeli from the web, informed me that, as the name suggests, a Japanese man does indeed live there. I was quite excited that I would be able to communicate
with him in Japanese, and was intrigued as to what sort of man he would be - an eccentric Japanese man who had decided to stay, with very little means, in the middle of the Bolivian mountains; or a rich Japanese man who had built a luxurious house with a gorgeous outlook over the valley, in amongst the poverty of the other houses dotted around... I went on ahead of my friends so that I would have a chance to chat with the man. As I turned the last corner, I glimpsed sight of a magnificent garden on the following ridgetop. My curiosity heightened. A Bolivian woman's voice from behind mud brick walls in a little house 'en route' confirmed his house was indeed fifteen minutes away. When I arrived, a lady indicated a place for me to rest, tried to sell me some of her wares, and proceded to knock on the gate of 'Mr Tamiji Hanamura', who emerged some time later.
After I had noted my details in his book, he flicked through to the back pages where he had carefully traced a map of each country, and indicated my hometown, Brisbane, on a map of Australia,
as well as showing me all the other towns he had marked in. When my Israeli friends came, he did the same, and even showed us a book of Hebrew and German words - each making up around 40% of his visitors, with the other 20% from other nationalities.
He showed me the route he had taken 50 years ago by boat to arrive in Bolivia, and laughed at the fact that then, planes were far too expensive, but now, boats are much more expensive than planes! He told me he had never returned, although 5 years ago a reporter came with photos of his 80 something year old brothers and sisters, and, so the bus driver in Chairo later told me, offered to take him back to Japan. He apparently refused, saying he wished to die in Bolivia. He lives alone in his tiny mud brick house with a lavish garden made up of a pine tree and red maples he brought from Japan, overlooking the gorgeous valley.
I told him the places I had visited in Japan (realising how long ago it was, and how much I have forgotten!), and he brought out a book of
Japan, and of Hakuba, reminiscing over the way it was 50 years ago when there was no tunnel connecting Hokkaido to Honshuu, no bridge connecting Honshuu to Shikoku, no highrise buildings, no Tokyo Tower... I could imagine why, at 78 years, he would have preferred not to return.
We parted from Hanamura-san, not before I took an address where I could send something for him upon my return, and continued down a winding path to the town of Chairo. I had a total of 12Bs left to my name, so when a driver asked an exhorbitant amount to take us all to Coroico, I stubbornly started walking! Thankfully, about 15mins later, the same bus drove past with my friends in - they had managed to bargain the price down to 12Bs each!! We then hopped into a bus in Coroico (after I again bumped into my Gravity friends who had finished their bikeride for the day), and, much to the fear of my friends, headed up the 'World's Most Dangerous Road', this time driving. They were somewhat consoled to hear that most of the accidents happen to the trucks driving down who are obliged to pass on the outside
at a spot in the road wide enough for two vehicles to pass. It was nonetheless a hair-raising experience!
The Pilgrimage
The morning following our return from the Choro Trail, I was chatting with Graciella, the cleaner at the Gravity house, who told me of a Pilgrimage many people undertake from La Paz to arrive at Copacabana, on the shores of Lake Titicaca, for Good Friday, leaving that night or Thursday morning. My packages were supposed to arrive on Thursday, however given the unreliability of the Bolivian postal system, I was not expecting them to arrive on time, and had planned to make a trip to Lake Titicaca and Isla del Sol, to hopefully return the following week to find my packages waiting for me. What better way than to walk (memories of my 100km walk in Japan floated back to haunt me... this walk was closer to 140kms!!)! If only I could find someone to join me!
I headed into town to meet my Israeli friends and Adi and I decided we would catch a bus most of the way and walk the last 6hours from the lake crossing at Tiquina. When I got back to
Choro Trail
Abi and I playing our instrumentsthe house, however, I found Eric, one of the housemates, was leaving that night to do the pilgrimage with a few other foreign volunteers living in Bolivia and a Bolivian family (about 14 all together)... BINGO! I left a message with my friend to apologise to Adi (so sorry Adi!!!!) - I just couldn't refuse such an adventure... despite having just returned from the Choro three day trek the evening before, and really just wanting to stay home and sleep!
I grabbed some stuff together and we headed off an hour later to meet our co-walkers, and catch a bus to 'El Alto' - at the top of La Paz from where the Pilgrimage was to start around 10pm. The first few hours were a nightmare. Before we stopped at the first tent - many of which were set up at intervals along the road selling hot tea and soup to the weary pilgrims - I didn't think I'd even make the first 10kms! But a hot coca tea (it really does work!) and a rest later, and I was up and walking, trying to fend of the bitter cold as I had not bought alpaca beanies, gloves and
legwarmers from the children swarming around us at the beginning of the walk.
Chatting to the girls accompanying us on the trek, Eric, and the Bolivian guys (who had a great sense of humour) kept me going that night until the sun rose over the mountain tops popping up over the Altiplano, with the full moon still visible on the opposite horizon. I was starting to think I had made the right choice! I just got in a toilet break 'behind the wall' (with pilgrims also walking past the other side of the wall!) before the sun rose, the dark giving me a little privacy! Then we continued. We had branched off the main road to a dirt road which, I was told, was a shortcut, and we followed this road for the next 6 or so hours. I even got a short ride on the back of a bicycle for 5Bs - the locals from the villages we passed make the most of the Pilgrimage, selling various wares (including wittled walking sticks) and ingenious transport methods along the way.
At lunchtime, we all flopped exhausted into a tent with mattresses (boiling under the sun) to have some
Choro Trail
A cold morning shower! lunch and some well-earned R&R for an hour or so. It was about 2 in the afternoon, and from this point, many pilgrims catch a bus around the bend to break the journey a little. Our Bolivian friends, however, were feeling a little the worse for wear, and wanted to catch a bus all the way to Tiquino (the lake crossing from where it is another 6 - I later found out 10 - hours walking to Copacabana). My foreign friends were determined not to take the easy way out, and, after some contemplation, I decided to join them and continue walking.
The going only got worse! The bend was notorious for rain, and rain it did. Not only had our Bolivian group deserted us (or had we deserted them?), but there seemed to be a lot less pilgrims on the road at this stretch. We kept walking, and I sensed our break time was diminishing... One in our group had ghastly blisters, but she continued. I was marvelling that my knee was still alright ( I had had problems on the last 100km walk I did in Japan). I spoke too soon though, and as night approached, I
decided I needed to stop as my leg was playing up. After our dinner stop, we walked for another couple of hours to a Red Cross point (this one was a military base, rather than just a tent), and a nurse came to look at my leg. After a very brief look, she suggested an anti-inflammatory injection (20Bs = about $3). I was a bit wary, but she pulled the needle out of a sealed plastic packet, and I thought it would give me a good sleep at least.
I drifted off in the sterile room in my U-shaped bed, and was abruptly awoken at about 7am by two soldiers asking how I felt. Drowsily I hopped out of bed and said ok, packed up my stuff and walked out. The guards on the gate asked where I was going and when I told them I would look for a place to rest, they kindly said it was no problem if I wished to stay there resting. An offer too good to refuse. I hopped back into bed, and slept soundly till midday - I discovered I'd conveniently missed a downpour of rain that morning. I headed out and
flagged down about the 6th bus that passed (all the others were full) for Copacabana - they had a spare space on the box next to the driver for me to squeeze in!!
The bus stopped at Tiquino, where busses were backed back all the way up the hill (on my return the place was deserted!). We hopped out of the bus and walked down past all the stores selling regional dishes, and when I got to the shore and tried to get back on the bus, I discovered that passengers had to cross on a little motor boat, while the vehicles crossed about 6 at a time on a boat which resembled a big wooden platform, with men pushing it away from the shore with big poles!!!
Luckily Eric had booked accommodation at Copacabana - the city was teeming with people arriving to celebrate Good Friday - and I arrived at about 4pm. Eric arrived shortly after, having walked the whole way with only 1 hour's sleep the night before; one of the girls arrived just after, having caught the bus from Tiquino; and the other two arrived at 10pm, also having walked the whole way... hats
off! I headed to the candlelit procession (my pants and shoes are still covered in wax in testament!), beginning and ending at the town's famous cathedral, housing an image of the Virgin of Candelaria, Bolivia's patron saint.
Isla del Sol and Isla de la Luna
The next morning we all parted ways and I took a ferry to Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun). Inca legend has it that the sun emerged from a sacred stone on this island, the site of Inca creation. Our guide also told us there was a tunnel going all the way to Cuzco which was used in the time of the Incas - the entrance is now covered by a stone. The boat dropped us at the northern end of the island where we walked (yes, again!) 45mins to the ruins, and then about 3 hours to the southern end of the island. The views over Lake Titicaca were gorgeous!
I befriended a group of Bolivians and had an interesting discussion with a student of politics. He reiterated that the main problem in Bolivia is the 40% illiteracy rate, and the lack of education. Schools teach in Spanish, and some
children only speak the native Aymara or Quechua, therefore they leave school and work on their parent's farms. The farms are not owned by the workers, but still by landowners. Most Bolivians I've spoken to (Latin Americans as a matter of fact) are dissillusioned with their country. It is hoped that Evo Morales, the new indigenous president, will make a difference. He has already fulfilled his promise to cut his salary in half to US$1800 per month, channelling the savings into increasing the number of teachers and doctors. He is said to be to the indigenous Bolivians what Mandela is to the black South Africans. Let us see what his presidency brings!
I walked down the steep trail to the boat launch, farewelled my friends, and enquired about boats to Isla de la Luna, where the family of Graciella (the house cleaner at Gravity) lives. I was determined to visit them and bring tidings of their daughter. Isla de la Luna (Island of the Moon) also has Inca ruins, where young maidens are said to have danced to the moon. It is much smaller, however, with only about 40 inhabitants, and very few boats go there. I was told to come back the following day, but when I mentioned Graciella, I was told her extended family also lived on Isla del Sol, and I was directed to 'Ricardo's House' (up the hill again!). It turned out to be a delightful hostel, mexican-style decor, and is even mentioned in the 'splurge' box of my Lonely Planet guide! They showed me to a lovely room overlooking the lake, with the Andes as a backdrop... I was overawed at the luxury (mind you, my 'shower' consisted of a tub with cold water from a tap - I braved it the second day!)! I met some lovely people there and we had a good chat that evening in the common room.
The next morning I left bright and early in the pouring rain to Isla de la Luna - a big motor boat just for me for 100Bs (about $18)!!! 1 hour and a few Aymaran phases later (her parents speak very little Spanish - the boat driver translated for me), the boat driver took me right up to Graciella's parent's house! They invited me in to their little mud brick kitchen, just large enough to fit the five of us in (her parents, brother, the boat driver who was also a relative and I). The smoke from the open stove made my eyes water as Graciella's mother cooked us a lovely fish with rice and potatoes, and continued stoking the fire while her father went to get photos of Graciella and her family. It was lovely to be welcomed into such a traditional home, and amazing to see the way they live. While I went for a walk to the ruins (and the end of the island which was only about 20mins away), her mother prepared a bag of produce - potatoes and beans - for me to take back for Graciella. Her aunt and uncle later added to this - luckily my backpack was only half full!
Half a dozen boys accompanied me on the boat ride back. They normally row over to Isla del Sol to attend school during the week, so they took advantage of the motor boat!
I decided to stay another night on Isla del Sol as I wanted to see the Easter festival I was told would take place. I followed one of Graciella's cousins to a football pitch (with one of the best view's around!) where people were arriving with crates of beer and bunches of corn stalks on their backs. The men sat in a line drinking beer, and serving drinks to the women all sitting in a huddle opposite. There was a group of men playing traditional instruments - quena flutes and the drum - and the women (and some men) all got up and danced around with the corn on their back, twirling around and brushing a stalk of corn from side to side. This dance heralds the upcoming harvest. My little guide in his open sandals and I were freezing in the bitterly cold wind, and I followed his nimble steps back to the hostel as the sun quickly disappeared.
Monday I returned by boat to Copacabana, and then by bus to La Paz... A well earned rest and I'm ready for Peru!!
(I also have a camera again! All the photos I am attaching here are kind donations from travelling companions... I wish I had more!!)
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Amande
non-member comment
Cool :)
Je suis contente de lire que ton histoire de carte de crédit et d'appareil photo s'est arrangée. Quelles aventures encore tu viens de nous raconter! J'espère que ton genou va mieux! Gros bisous, bon courage ma belle :)