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Published: February 23rd 2007
The days are just packed. Once I got to La Paz, I had a whirlwind of a week. Two weekends ago saw me exploring more of La Paz, but by Monday I was ready to see the surrounding area. My trip on Monday took me to La Calle de la Muerte (in English it's called The Death Road or The Road of Death, but to me the latter sounds a lot more sinister so that is what I will use). The Road of Death is a little north of La Paz and is the main route to get to the beautiful town of Coroico. It is called the Road of Death because it has been determined that it is the most dangerous road in the world. It´s an extremely narrow gravel road that goes along the ridge of a valley. It's just wide enough for one car to pass through, so if any car approaches in the opposing direction, you know there will be problems. There are tight, hairpin turns, and any carelessness leads to certain death. In the few decades that the road has existed, over 1000 people have literally plummeted to their deaths (this number seems to vary though).
The worst accident happened a couple decades ago, when a bus carrying 100 passengers plunged off the ridge.
Realizing that such a road was hazardous (finally!), an international organization donated $120 million to build a new road that was wider and paved. This act was a blessing for locals, as the route to Coroico and further north is important for the sale of goods. The new road has only been open for 2 months, so now no more cars go on the Road of Death. Luckily for me, the popular bike tours on the Road still continue.
I had no idea what to expect, but I was ready for some serious adventure. There was a group of 6 riders and 2 guides on the trip. After a long bus ride from La Paz, and another hour on the bike, we finally reached the Road of Death. Luckily the bikes were half-decent and had shocks, because this was the bumpiest ride I'd ever been on. By the end of the day, I was surprised that my body wasn't still shaking uncontrollably and that all my teeth were still intact. The ride started out harmless enough, as the morning was
foggy and we could see nothing of the valley below-probably a good thing. It may be hard to imagine from the pictures, but the road really is only wide enough for a small bus to fit through, so even on a bike it can get pretty hairy. While I didn't have any close calls, the road was downhill almost the whole way, so it was really easy to wipe out or fall to your doom, no joke. Luckily I like to be in control of where I'm going so I didn't let myself go crazy, unlike some of the other riders. Although we had 4 flat tires (including one myself) and 2 falls, no one got seriously hurt. When it was over we got to relax in the town of Coroico and go for a swim at a local hotel. Everyone got a t-shirt proclaiming they had survived the World's Most Dangerous Road. I always used to laugh at those kinds of shirts (¨I survived Mount Washington!¨) and thought they were ridiculous, but not this time. Without trying to sound too melodramatic, it's probably one of the only ¨I survived¨ shirts in the world that has some merit to it.
I really did escape death, something which many others (including bikers) had not. It was definitely one of the craziest things I have ever done, and a certain kayaking friend of mine, no stranger to death-defying stunts, would be proud.
The next day, Tuesday, I wanted to keep right on going and set off on El Choro Trek, a 3 day hike near La Paz. I couldn't find any agency that had a group going, so I was forced to pay a little extra to go just by myself with a guide. It ended up working out. My guide, Silberio, was a chipper fellow who knew the local language (Aymara) and many of the people we met on route. We started off at 4,750m (15, 583 feet) but by the end of the trek in Coroico (the same town where I ended the Road of Death trip) we were at about 2000m (6,561 feet). The first day was only a 4 hour hike, but the rain and fog made it pretty tough. As you can see from the first picture of Silberio, we had zero visiblity at the beginning. As the fog cleared up, the rain came, and I
cursed a lot as I slipped along the trail's rocky path. The first night we camped in the community of Callapampa, where we were able to cook our food with a local family. They had two small children, and at first I was a little annoyed when I noticed that Silberio was giving them and the rest of the family some of our food. I snapped out of it pretty quickly though, realizing that I was just being selfish. These people had nothing, and there I was, complaining. When it came time for the main course (that being spaghetti with meat sauce) I gladly gave my seconds to the little kids. They needed it much more than I did.
Day 2 was a long and tiring 9 hour hike. We descended about 2000m that day, and I could feel it in my bones for a couple days after. It didn't help that I was still sore from the Road of Death. Day 2 brought more rain and more cursing from me. Most of the trail was made up entirely of rocks and because of the rain I was slipping all over the place (including, I'll admit, a few falls).
When we got to the next campsite at about 5pm, I could barely walk.
And then there was Silberio. Silberio was a really funny guy, good-humored. His English was so-so, and he was glad that I could speak Spanish with him; most of those he guided couldn't. He also liked that there was just the two of us so that I could teach him English more easily. By the end of the trip he had learned many phrases (including the all-important ¨Are you hurt?¨ and ¨Can you walk?¨), even some that I was not too proud of teaching him. But he asked, so I obliged. He soon began to put some of the words together to create phrases that even made me cringe (I would repeat said phrases, but I am writing for the kids. No can do). I laughed with him the whole way though, making him feel at ease.
Day 3 was a short 2 hour hike to the next town, from where we caught a truck to the main road. From there, a nice guy in an SUV offered to drive us back to La Paz for a small fee. For the way back (as
Another view
Some of the lines you see in the background make up the Road of DeathI did coming back from the Road of Death) we took the newly built highway, and I have to say that it is probably the nicest road in all of Bolivia, being only 2 months old. There are no potholes-yet.
I came back Thursday afternoon exhausted, but I didn't have much time to relax. I had to get ready to head to Oruro on Friday for El Carnaval, probably the biggest party in Bolivia all year. I was really lucky that I happened to be in Bolivia at the same time. It's an annual festival with thousands of dancers in elaborate costumes making their way through the streets of Oruro, a nondescript town 3 hours south of La Paz. After being in Oruro for the weekend, I realized that besides the annual Carnaval, the town had little to offer.
I went as part of a tour that my Bolivian friend Ana had told me about. They provided transportation, lodging and food. We got there late Friday night and went to our lodging, which was actually at the local high school. The classrooms had been converted into large dorms, with several mattresses on the floor. In La Paz the
My crazy guide Silberio
We started off at 4750m, and as you can see it was incredibly foggy agency had told me to bring a sleeping bag, but not owning one and knowing I wouldn't be returning to La Paz, I decided to rough it. Even in the closed classroom, it was pretty cold, but I managed. The next day we rose bright and early to head for the Carnaval. Everyone had their own assigned seat in the bleachers, but by the end of the day even that got chaotic. I was in the second row, so I had a great view of the dancers, but also a great chance of getting wet. A big part of Carnaval is foam (here it´s like Silly String in a can), water balloons and water guns. Almost everyone sane wears a poncho, as otherwise you get totally soaked. By mid-morning, the water balloon war had started and balloons were flying left and right across the dancers´ heads to the bleachers on the other side. At first I didn't get too into it, but when I started getting pelted too, that was it. This was war! Kids walked around the stands selling bags of 10 water balloons for only 1 boliviano (about 10 cents US) and I quickly got as many as
I could. The worst offenders on the other side were those at the top of the bleachers, and they had obviously studied their tactics well, knowing the high ground was the best ground. I and those around me attacked them as best we could. This included ambushes, where we got buckets of balloons, hopped the fence and ran to the other side, guns blazing. Sometimes the police told us to stay back, but they didn't seem to car too much. What shocked me the most though was that people even threw balloons and sprayed foam at police, who tried to not even flinch. I knew right away that if this happened in the US, those people would get arrested. My friend Ana told me that the Bolivian police were simply apathetic, about this and other things (i.e. people run red lights all the time), and throwing balloons at them was partly a showing of their frustration for that.
By the afternoon, I was soaked, and everyone around me was getting drunker. It was all in good fun though, and needless to say I had an absolute blast. I realized that I often payed more attention to the bleachers on
the other side, scanning the crowd for any incoming balloons, rather than watching the dancers themselves. The dancers had beautiful costumes, and many rivaled those of the Mummer´s Parade in Philadelphia. Truthfully though, the US has nothing like El Carnaval. There's constant music and everyone is enjoying themselves, save for the older adults telling all the younguns to stop throwing balloons so they can enjoy El Carnaval in peace - and dry. Although the dancers continued until 2AM, I decided to call it a night earlier than that after a long and exhausting day.
The next day was more of the same, although not less impressive. The dancers made their way through the streets again in the early morning and continued until mid-afternoon. The water balloon fights continued, but this time around I decided to lay low. And anyways, I was sitting next to my friend Ana, who told me she would have no problems kicking me out if I suddenly got the evil eye to start wreaking havoc on our ¨enemies¨ on the other side. In total, I'm not sure how many people came to Oruro for El Carnaval, but one number I heard was 300,000 people. Chaos
indeed.
In the afternoon the other few hundred people from my tour headed back to La Paz, while I decided to continue on to Cochabamba, east of La Paz and Oruro. I was ready for some relaxing in Cochabamba after an exhausting week...The Road of Death, El Choro Trek and El Carnaval, all in less than a week. Cochabamba brought more relaxation than I expected, as on Monday and Tuesday most stores and restaurants were closed due to holidays (this coming weekend El Carnaval comes to Cochabamba too, but on a far smaller scale than Oruro). The soaking continued here, as people walked around the city armed with balloons. Older and wiser from my experiences in Oruro, I kept my guard up, except one time. I was walking down a street when I saw a truck coming towards me, with at least 5 or 6 guys up on top. I knew what they had planned for me, but I had my raincoat on so I wasn't too worried. ¨Eh, what's a few balloons,¨ I thought. But I wasn't prepared. Just before the truck was right next to me, one guy picked up a huge bucket of water and dumped
it all over me. He didn't miss. Even when I saw him pick up the bucket, it was too late. There was no doorway or storefront that I could escape to. All I could do was laugh with them and other pedestrians on the street as the truck sped away.
The next day wasn't much better, as I woke up feeling awful and lay in bed with a fever (among other things) all day, although things are better now. So it goes. I didn't leave Cochabamba until Thursday, which was much longer than I had expected to stay. I didn't really like much about Cochabamba at all, even when things returned to normal on Wednesday and everything was open again. It's one of those feelings that I just can't describe. Not even the city's one tourist attraction, the Archaeological Museum, was open. The city had two things in its favor though. One was one of the best meals I've had on my entire trip, and the other was the city market, La Cancha. I love South America's markets, even if I never buy anything. I just love the chaos, the people, the smells and the sights. This market might
be the biggest and craziest one I have seen yet. When I first got to it it seemed easy-going enough, as there were several streets filled with stands selling all kinds of merchandise. When I found the enclosed part of the market though, that was a different world. It was an endless labyrinth of aisles and stalls. One aisle I walked down took at least 20 minutes to reach from end to end. 20minutes! And that was only one small section. Along the way I found everything from bootleg soccer jerseys to yarn to bras to toilet seat covers. Basically, anything you could ever want. Or need.
There's one more thing about Bolivians that I haven't mentioned yet. In one of my previous entries I talked about how I thought that all Peruvians must listen to Jay-Z because they are all hustlers. Bolivians must listen to a lot of Jay-Z too (or, more aptly, Cash Money Millionaires etc.), but for different reasons. So many here, especially women (and especially older women) are blinged-out. Bling Bling seems to be their unspoken mantra. Most have grilles covered in gold, others in silver. The most surprising is to witness an indigenous woman
The calm before the storm?
The main plaza in Oruro on Friday night, the night before El Carnaval began. As you can see, it was a madhouse of drunken revelry. Luckily I was able to take in everything away from the chaos flash you a smile to reveal a row of gold teeth. If Jay-Z, Cash Money Millionaires, Lil Wayne or any of those guys knew about this, I'm sure they would be proud. Make that
very proud.
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