Final thoughts and filler on Bolivia

So its been an interesting last few days in Bolivia, not the least of which was getting extremely sick the other day. I´d finished my cipro, but thankfully Ben had some for me to take, nervous about buying it here after hearing about all the counterfeit drugs from other travellers.


We had initially intended to hit the jungle and Amazon, but were stymied in our attempt by rain conditions that apparently prevented our flight. (yes, apparently it rains in the rain forest, making it somehow impossible to get there). We spent seven hours at the military airport, which was maybe our mistake- choosing to hitch a ride with the Bolivian air force. They gave us no information from seven AM when we were supposed to take off until 2PM when they told us to come back tomorrow. (I suppose everything when you fly with the military is on a need to know basis) And for those who say third world flying is dangerous, frankly I´d rather take a VERY experienced pilot who has probably flown drug interdiction (or more likely drug running) missions in and out of the lawless and rainy parts of the country every day in an ancient soviet plane for years than an American trained pilot who flies between St. Louis and Chicago three days a week!) The result being that piranha fishing, anaconda and croc hunting, and pink river dolphin swimming will have to be saved for another trip.) The next day the flight seemed to be cancelled again, though it was unclear as the airport had also been blockaded and occupied by angry demonstrators. No one was very friendly about refunding our money.


Onward to Lake Titicaca we went again, this time a beautiful day on which to see the Isla Del Sol. Again, this is the place where the Incans believed the Sun was born (and the next island over, Isla Luna where the moon was born). We ferried up to the north end of the island where there is a small museum and also a mysterious underwater temple which you cant really see, and began hiking from north to south. Passed the sacred titi -karka (puma rock) from which the whole lake takes its name, a stone table where some folks were incongruously picnicking on a table that once saw animal and human sacrifice, and on up and down the old incan road. We arrived at a labyrinth sun temple, where we rested a while, playing in the ruins and watching the clouds burn off over the mountains across the lake and to the north.

And yet in spite of all the difficulties, I will really miss Bolivia. We were heading out from Puno and I was just sitting on the bus watching the Cordillera Real mountains grow more distant as we drove. I looked out from the bus across villages and yellow llama fields where the deep blue of Titicaca began, the line of blue and its meeting point with the pale blue cloudless sky broken by the jagged white peaks. I literally got teary as they vanished around a bend for the last time. I´ve never seen mountains so powerful and majestic in their permanence and majesty. Its easy to understand why the Incans worshipped them as gods.

Some things I shall miss and remember, and some better left behind...
I´ll miss the complete enagement of the populace in their activism for rights of the poor and indiginous people and their ability to peacefully shut down the country and government, elect the first indiginous leader in the Americas, a former coca grower and union leader.
I´ll miss the indigenous traditions displayed out of ethnic pride, rather than for the benefit of tourists. A country with a 30% indigenous population that retains their culture, larges in size but second only to Guatemala in percentage. (though Rigoberta Menchu is running for president there).
I´ll miss the 100% fake hard rock cafe in La Paz, presumably the worlds highest (and only?) fake hard rock cafe complete with ecstacy addled Israeli backpackers, and slightly off (lemon flavored) brownie sundaes.
I´ll miss the only place where people wear legwarmers out of necessity for the subzero temperatures and not out of fashion irony.
I´ll miss the Bolivian spanish, where they do not roll their r´s, instead making a zz sounds which works great for me as my failure to roll my r"s is the achilles heel of my spanish. I´ll also miss the charming way they add "ito" to seemingly every single noun here, a dimimnutive equivalent to the english "y"or "ie", (or french ette), as in "I will bring you the checky for your platey of food and muggy of coffee for you two youngstersies now."

We also got a great straightedge razor shave at an old fashioned barber, complete with a view of girlie pictures of Miss Bolivia taped to the mirror. Felt mucho mas macho after that.

I´ll miss the political grafitti- including some of my faves-

Vive la huelga nacional indefinida!
(long live the indefinite national strike)
Vive la huelga de hambre! Salvemos la democracia! Salvemos la constituyente!
Cemento = muerte, arboles = vida
(Cement = Dath, Trees = Life)
Vive la dictadura de la proletariat!
Izquierda Insugente!
(insurgent left!)


And newly appearing on gringo alley the day after a large protest-
Fuck tourismo = capitalismo = imperialismo

Other things I´ll miss less-
The massive inequities, racism and exploitation that continues in spite of all the activism.
The freezing cold, though it does kill the bedbugs in a way that the Peruvian hostels have not.
The constant delays to everything, the beurocracies, etc.
The undelivered promises of hot showers and heated hotel rooms.
The sleepless nights after food poisoning.

Nightly dogs fighting.

The constant sound of either squealing brakes or gunning 30 year old engines going very up or very down the streets of La Paz.

Trying to ditch the ubiquitous counterfeit currency.

The origin of the Eclectic shower disease.

Horror stories from other travellers of drunk busdrivers pouring water over their heads to sober up on the drives, getting stranded in the middle of frozen deserts, or strangle muggings at midnight on the streets of La Paz.

And I'm just not sure what to make of the most memorable TV commercial I've ever seen. A woman wearing nothing but a thong crawling around on al fours for 25 seconds, followed by a five second splash for a bathroom tile brand. Seems like they take the sex sells mantra of advertising pretty literally here.

Menos Caca..

Titicaca was angry today, I literally had a few minutes in which thought I was going to die. But let me back up... We made it to puno, on the lake without trouble- thought that the roadblocks by striking miners would keep us (see pictures), but they gave us a break. The lake town of puno was fairly unimpressive, and our hotel was right over the loud street and bedbugs kept us up all night. We got ourselves booked on an island tour the next day, to see the floating islands of uros, and the stationary island of Taquile.

The first were the floating islands where Aymara speaking indians moved hundred of years ago to escape first the incas, then to escape the spanish they moved further out. They are essentially huge rafts woven of woven reeds kinda like the movie waterworld. Sounds amazing, I know, but I dont think I´m too jaded here to say that with many tourists, and one horrible family that kept grabbing the kids and taking pictures with them and even just marching right the families´ reed huts it was a little exploitive feeling. I just wanted to scream ¨They´re not dolls!!¨ if I had spoken Hebrew. The indians all were selling artisan crafts and such, and even put on a song and dance that really felt a bit like a shuck and jive routine. The whole thing left me feeling a little icky, even though it was fascinating to see.

We then headed further out into lake Titicaca to see the next island, Taquile, which also is mostly Aymara speaking, a little spanish and no english. The two hour boatride was beautiful on the way out, a little rain and clouds, and we could see the snow capped peaks of bolivia coming into view over the water. The immense sky and ever changing clouds made the water change from dark black to bright white to shadfes of blue and green in between, with the water texture changing from perfectly flat to whitecapped,m and of course the hills and mountains rising in the distance, when you could even see land. We arrived at the island, essentially a mini mountain and hiked way up these ancient incan paved roads, through grassy terracesa with grazing sheep, and men and women all wearing traditional bright clothing that was sort of half spanish half indian. We had lunch and the usual guide explanations about the local food and the symbolism of the traditional clothing and other cultural traditions, changed slighlty with the arrival of the spanish, and little again thereafter.


We ambled around a little, then back down the trails to the docks as a storm was hitting, rare for this time of year. We arrive just in time to see the waves crashing two boats into each other, shattering the windshield and side windows on our boat. Too dangerous to board on that side of the island, our guide sent us back up over mountain to go to the other port, as fast as possilbe to leave by 4 when we could get navigation help. We hiked over, getting an even better view of the island and lake, down through terraces and old archways that felt almost mediterranean and onto our boat. We were forced to leave five of the party behind in order to leave by 4 o clock, and took on a few people who were trying to get off the island. Halfway through the boat journey the storms kicked up again, blacking out the sky and suddenly lightning and thunder, with lightning coming terrifyingly close to the boat. All I could think of was remembering to never be out on open water in a storm, especially in a tiny metal boat. Next thing I know we start hearing a staccato ratatat (not the band), and realize that it is hailing, a few inches accumulating on the bow and stern of our boat as a Colombian woman exclaimed "es una locura!" Bear in mind the lack of windshield and broken windows, no lights on the boat, and I´m not a big worrier, but am literally imagining a story buried in the back of a newpspaper about a boat sinking in lake titicaca, a few american aboard and presumed drowned-electrocuted. Does anyone have my name in town, how would my family and loves find out. Thank god the lightning cleared up, and at leat we made it into port even if it took six hours. Had mediocre pizza for dinner at the creatively named machu pizza and straight to bed.


This morning into Bolivia easily, in spite of having to bribe the busdriver to let me get my backpack out from under the bus to get my passpòrt. Seems its fairly common, he even gave me change for my bribe! Bolivia greeted us with more snow and sleet at the crossing, but we are safely here and I write this after a six hour power outage, during which we played scrabble and backgamman at a cozy cafe. The place was run by a colombian woman who had a giant poster of Pablo Escobar, and was lecturing her staff about left wing activism, globalization great to see politics so passionate somewhere. The rest of the town of Copacabana was charming, an amzing cathedral of moorsih design, bright white with colored tiles and somewhat incongruous in the snowy mountains of Bolivia. Inside the church a stunning solid gold and silver altar, the better to really wow the natives I suppose the Spanish were thinking, and outside they were blessing peoples cars with flowers and incence. Titicaca is for prettier on this side, great views of Isla Del Sol, birthplace of the sun in Incan legend, and a landscape that reminds me oddly of Montana. Tomorrow onto La Paz, highest capital in the world...


Pics of Taquile, roadblocks, titicaca