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Published: March 8th 2007
La Paz
Bolivia is one of the poorest countries in South America.It´s amazing what a line drawn in the sand can do the conditions of the people living on either side of it. When we crossed from clean, freshly paved Thailand into dusty and muddy potholed Cambodia, the change was dramatic. Crossing from Argentina to Bolivia was almost as equally dramatic. When we stepped off the bus in the Argentinian border town of La Quiaca, it was clear we were about to enter a new world. For the first time in a long time, we were approached by child beggars. Most of the people squatting on the sidewalks waiting for buses were indigenous- women in big skirts, tiny hats, and layered tops (a shawl over a cardigan over a blouse over God knows how many other layers) with gigantic bright bundles on their backs filled with babies or wares. A bit of Bolivia had leaked over the border, and it immediately reminded me of India and bits of Asia. Appropriately, an enterprising young boy approached us at the crossing and ¨helped¨us through the processes of crossing, exchanging money and finding the bus station, all for a few bolivianos, of course. At the bus station we were mauled by a dozen or so
La Paz
City on a hill. people, desperately trying to get us to buy tickets from their company. I had flashbacks of the Indian rickshaw drivers. The Bolivian border town of Villazon was tiny but full of life. Again, as in India and Asia, everyone had something to sell. My precious street market economy with its sliding prices was back. I checked out the markets (including a random monkey dressed in fluorescent clothing perched on top of a bird cage) while Kate read and journaled.
Finally, it was time for our 23-hour bus ride to La Paz. While waiting in line to board the bus, we realized everyone except us was carrying large, thick blankets. We asked if the bus got cold, and magically, minutes after we were told it did, a lady with fleece blankets appeared at our side, and we purchased a snazzy tiger fleece blanket. Once on the $5 bus, we realized it did not have a toilet. We dealt with toilet-less buses a lot during the first few months of our trip, often on long rides, but Kate didn´t know if she (or her bladder) could handle it at this point in the trip. We were happy to see the windows
Kate and Lady
The first of many stealth photos to follow. opened, and hopeful there might be a movie and/or heat. As we drove out of Villazon, a man borded the bus and proceeded to sing Bolivian anthems off-key. The entertainment options were looking grim. The bus rolled on, and we got glimpses of Bolivian life. Lots of small villages with mud houses and lots of shepherds in the fields. Occasionally, someone would ask to be let off the bus, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. No houses in sight, often on the side of a cliff. The night grew dark, the bus grew cold, and Kate and I snuggled under the newly purchased blanket. The bus lacked shock absorption, Bolivian roads are quite bumpy, and apparently babies don´t like being shaken (Kate was concerned about shaken baby syndrome, but all the kids looked alive in the morning), so it was a loud evening pierced with the frequent cries of babes. One father sacrificed his seat so his kids could each sleep spread out, which meant he slept in the aisle right by Kate´s feet, often snuggling up with them. She dug this. Because of the noise, cold, and bumpiness, I thought I only slept in 20 minute intervals. Apparently, I
was wrong because Kate informed me the next morning that I somehow slept through the 40-minute drama of the bus getting stuck in a ditch and eventually dug out, as well as many near-death plunges over cliffs. Glad I´m a deep sleeper. Due to the extreme cold between 5 AM and 7 AM, I was awake when we picked up a busload of stranded passengers whose bus had a flat tire. They seemed a bit grumpy, but once they settled into seats, they were peaceful for a bit. In the afternoon, a man jumped on the bus and began reciting dialogues of some sort. Kate and I feigned sleep, and somehow, in between the time we closed and then opened our eyes, the performer disappeared, a bus employee appeared, and a fight broke out among the flat tire crew and the employee. It got fairly rowdy, and I was convinced fists would start flying. However, after a brief stop on the side of the road to hash things out, the flat tire crew seemed to get their way and settled into their seats once again. Once peace had been given a chance, the driver turned on the radio. Full blast.
Kate and I were sitting directly under the speakers, so our earplugs were employed, though they did little to dull the volume. After a night of excitement, also including multiple pees on the side of the flat road with nothing to hide behind as you squatted (we understood why the indigenous skirts were so practical), we arrived in La Paz.
La Paz is a city of markets with lots of specialized areas. There´s the witch market (where they sell llama fetuses and bird skeletons), the yarn area, the toilet ´hood, etc. Kate and I wandered a bit while waiting for a restaurant to open, ate, then rushed home to score first dibs on the hostel TV. Yes, we watch TV sometimes, and yes, we were excited to find the Joan and Melissa Rivers Oscar Fashion Review. Just as we were really getting into it, an Australian chick and an English dude arrived. They made it clear they did not approve of our selection by making loud comments to each other, but Kate and I chose to ignore them. Finally, they started chatting with us, and the TV was ignored. They revealed they had been out partying for 24 hours.
I was amazed. The girl kept dropping Spanish phrases at random and seemed like something might be wrong with her, but I assumed she was tired. The boy made stupid statements about America, and Kate and I proved him wrong. We also had a conversation that went along these lines with him:
Him: You´ve been to Saigon? You must have gone to Heart of Darkness, right? It´s the biggest club there.
Us: Um, no.
Him: Well, you said you went to Byron Bay. You MUST have gone to the Cheeky Monkey. You HAVE to go there while in Byron. Wasn´t it great?
Us: Uh, huh huh. No. We had wine with dinner that night and went to bed after we finished.
He thought we were lame, but he liked us enough to make us promise to meet him and his crew (including the weird Australian chick) for a night of partying the next day at 9 PM. We agreed, though I was afraid of hanging with this strange crew. It wasn´t until we were back in the room that Kate explained they had been doing lines of coke all day, thus explaining their ability to stay up so long and
the girl´s strange state. Of course. We were in Bolivia. Cocaine central. Duh.
The next morning we set out in search of the bus station, so we could buy our tickets onward to Copacabana. It was raining, and because La Paz is set in a hill, our walk was more like a climb. Uphill and over, uphill and over. Training for Machu Picchu. We asked directions several times, but the first lady who helped us led us astray, and finding our way back to the correct path proved quite difficult. Many people did not understand where we needed to go or know where the station was, and the rain continued to soak our city map. Finally, as Kate was about to give up and flag a taxi, loitering soldiers pointed out the bus station, which was right across from where we had randomly wandered. After lunch, we decided to treat ourselves to a double feature at the movie theater. The movie ticket (Deja Vu and Rocky VI), individual popcorn and chocolate totalled $2.50 each. Amazing. Because it was supposed to be our big night of partying, Kate and I split a pizza and wine, then decided dessert and tea
were necessary. However, by the time our bellies were full and we´d picked up our laundry, it was 9:05, and the party crew was nowhere to be found. I rejoiced inside.
We woke early the next morning for our bus to Copacabana. Kate asked to take photos of several indigenous people while we waited for the bus, but she was rejected each time. One lady with an adorable baby almost let her take a picture, but then her mother or grandmother told Kate no, the camera is the devil´s machine. We decided to take photos on the sly and had a decent amount of success. The bus ride was fine, except Kate and I both had to pee 15 minutes into it. After 2 or 3 hours, Kate told the bus driver her need was urgent, and he said we´d stop in 5 minutes. When we finally reached a town, Kate and I ran off the bus, absorbing the words ¨rapido¨as they were screamed by the bus driver. We tried to be rapido, but as Kate exited the bathroom she spotted the bus pulling away from land and onto a ferry, about to float to the other side of
Kate and the Lake
She´s excited. It´s clear and pretty. Lake Titikaka. I did not hear Kate scream that it was leaving, so I started running 10 seconds after her when I was able to see it on my own. Kate reached the ferry as it was pulling away and was able to jump across the gap between land and boat. I was not as lucky. Men standing nearby said something to me about boarding a small boat and pointed toward one, but I didn´t want to lose Kate or the bus. Another man pointed to a docked ferry, and I realized I could climb aboard and jump from that one to our ferry. After a failed initial attempt that almost resulted in me falling in the water, I made it onto the ferry in the nick of time. It was like an action movie. However, the bus driver wouldn´t let us onto the bus, and we soon realized the other passengers had disembarked and boarded tiny boats for the crossing. Oops. Once on the other side of the lake, we were amazed when instead of opening the door for us, the bus driver drove away, into the little town and seeminly up a hill and out of town. Again,
Kate and I chased after the bus, screaming for it to stop. Eventually, it did stop in the middle of the plaza to pick up the other passengers, and Kate and I hopped on, breathless and emotionally drained.
An old man greeted us at the bus in Copacabana and talked Kate into staying at his hostel. It turned out that he turned the water off as he pleased and boarded up the place when he liked, but it was $2, so I was happy. Our guide book mentioned a blessing of cars in front of the cathedral daily at 2:30, so we decided to investigate. Indeed, there were 2 cars, decorated in flowers and bright plastics, just itching for a blessing. Eventually, a nun emerged from the temped, equipped with a bucket of holy water and a plastic flower. She liberally sprinkled both the exterior and interior of the car with the water and anointed the owners and family members present. Once the blessing was over, the owners set off fireworks, popped open a few beers, poured beer, flower petals and confetti on the car, and started taking shots of the beer. It was a fiesta, and one of
the car owners decided to include us. He was cute and explained that he has the car blessed each year to protect him while driving in the mountains. We had a photo shoot and then moved inside the beautiful cathedral. We next stopped in a cafe for hot chocolate. It was more like chocolate pudding, and it was amazing. We melted into our mugs. After that treat, Kate and I tried to climb the big hill in town (Cerro Calvario) for a view of the lake at sunset, but it proved quite difficult, so we gave up and instead spent the time we would have been climbing watching a soccer (football) game in a pub until the sun started to set. Copacabana reminded me of Pushkar, India and Kate of Vang Viang. Tourist-focused, lots of hippie-ish dudes and babes, stall after stall of Bolivian fashion. We attended a sort of open mike night at a restaurant, and Kate swooned over the Argentinian guitarist´s style of playing. We woke the next morning, did a bit more shopping (end of the trip! cheapest place we´ve been in a while!) then stepped onto our way nicer bus bound for Peru. The border crossing
this time around wasn´t as shocking, and the drive was pleasant. Kate sat in the aisle seat, and I sat near the window. We had two different bus experiences. While Kate was wowed by the adorable children on the bus, and the snack lady who climbed aboard in a tiny town, carrying a complete (cooked) animal carcass in her bundle and preparing custom-made sandwiches as desired, I was wowed by the Peruvian landscape- seemingly endless fields of green with mountains in the distance. Clouds reflected in the water. Lightning striking as the sun set. Lovely.
We slept in warm beds in a hostel with a beautiful courtyard, and in the morning (this morning) Sarah arrived from Washington, DC. Tomorrow is the start of our hike to Machu Picchu. I am frightened, mostly about my ankle, which is on its way to being healed but not quite there. Hopefully, Sarah will not suffer from altitude sickness (Kate and I have been living the high life for a week or so now), and I will not be sent back to town for an amputation.
Though La Paz wasn´t the prettiest of cities, Bolivia is a beautiful place, untouched by globalization,
and we´d love to return to explore more in the future.
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Emmett
non-member comment
Second Blog Comment Ever
I sent something to Nathaniel (Kate knows my nephew) and he never wrote back!! Anyway, I read your blog and was very impressed. Kate, if you are reading this, I will try to talk to my pals at Columbia and see what might be open there. They have a well-endowed "Peace Institute" which would be right up you alley..... Emmett