Hoy Dia No, Mañana Vamos a Ver

The return to Peru made us a little nervous, having heard of contiuning unrest there. Some Canadians we encountered ealier had been politely asked off their bus at a roadblock at 2AM and had to walk a mile to the other side. Demonstrators have been occupying train stations, blocking highways and trains, taking police hostage and even blockading the Machhu Pichu train and pelting it with rocks. Thankfully, either national unity due to Peruvian Independence Day or ´pacification´ efforts by the army have slowed things down. Although as our bus driver said ¨Hoy Dia No, Mañana Vamos a Ver. (Today no, tomorrow we will see). Of course the first thing we saw coming out of the bus station in Puno as we waited for our taxi was a convoy of jeeps full of Uzi toting soldiers and missile mounted armored vehicles coming out of the station. And plenty of AK toting soldiers walking around the city, where many of the roadblocks have been.


Puno was again dingy and gringoey, but we only had to stay one night with the bedbugs and get up for the train to Cusco and the Sacred Valley the next morning. The Peruvian people were preparing for independence day and all celebrating Machu Pichu´s addition to the NEW seven wonders of the world list. The train ride was incedible, albeit long. The train itself, even backpacker class was nicer than any other developing country train I´ve been on, and actually far cleaner and more comfortable than Amtrak. The views ranged from high altiplano Llama villages to snow capped mountains as we entered the sacred valley. We were following an ever widening river as we wound through more patchwork fields of quinua and maiz growing terraced villages.



Finally arrived in Cusco, packed with both Peruvian and foreign tourists, with nary a room in the inn. We tried multiple hotels, all shockingly expensive before settling on one overpriced hotel and overpriced dinner. A shock to come from backpackery bolivia to here and suddenly find gringos and tourists and tourist prices) everywhere.


Slept well though, and got up for a hike to Sacsayhuaman, an incan fortress or temple (its as yet unclear) above the city. We actually snuck in and learned for free, shocked at the ticket price. Some impenetrable fortress! Though the ticket price was probably worth it, we saw amazingly crafted masonry, ten multi-ton foot blocks seamlessly held together building the zig-zag walls of the structure overlooking the city and mountains in the distance. The blocks of stone were so bubbly and round and perfectly placed, it almost looked like a foam blocks on a movie set, but the stone was definitely real.

Cusco itself was once the capital of the Incan empire, and its amazing to learn how close the Incans were to defeating the Spanish. Only because they had been weakened by their own civil war a few years before the arrival of the Spanish were they and their leaders (including Tupac Amaru) defeated. The city still stands on Incan foundations and laid out on a more Incan that spanish system of small streets and alleyways. Its also so steep that most of the sidewalks are actually staircases, not so easy in this altitude, but actually not bad for us as we had come DOWN from the Bolivian altiplano on the train to get into the mountains here. Its a city of baroque Spanish colonial architecture, not brightly painted like the colonial cities of Mexico or Central America, but white with tile roofs. Most interestingly, many Spanish buildings appear to grow out of original incan foundations, gigantic cut rock walls with spanish architecture superimposed atop. Curious, unique and beautiful to the eye, it is certainly symbolic on a number of levels. Interestingly, every so often earthquakes bring the spanish architecture tumbling down around its forever unshakeable incan foundations which are ever undamaged. Typically, the Spanish built viceroy mansions atop the palaces of Incan kings and Churches over sacred temples. One particularly egregious example of this Spanish behavior was the Incan Sun Temple, holiest place in the Incan empire with walls made of four inch thick solid gold and a garden and menagerie of gold sculptures. Pizarro took the Incan king hostage and had the whole place melted down and shipped to Spain within a month, building a monastary on its Incan foundation. Still shocking to learn again as we wandered around about the more crimes of cruelty against humanity that Spanish colonialism perpetuated. And how they set the blueprint for the rest of the European colonial project to begin in earnest around the world, which, though more subtle was still full of shocking cruelty and exploitation. And the current American system of puppet imperialism is hardly better. But enough of politics.

Wandered around the market for a while, buying some provisions for our next trek. The market herbalist- witch doctor selling coca leaves was also trying to push ayahuasca (hallucinagenic herb) and san pedro cactus (a peyote - like cactus) on us. We politely declined these classic beat and hippie drugs even at the price of mere pennies. Did enjoy a lunch of some delicious ceviche before returning to the central plaza.

And tomorrow we are off again, this time to Choquequirao. A recently uncovered ruin that is understood to be the sister city to Machu Pichu. As of now, there is now way to get there without taking a four day trek in the mountains, though the road will inevitably come. As of now though, only a few thousand visitors a year make it, compared to MP´s millions. Should be very cool. So until Thursday kids!


(pics- Train to Cusco, Plaza De Armas Cusco (and by the way, no thats not the gay pride flag, its the Quechua flag which is the EXACT same rainbow flag and is weirdly flying everywhere in peru)m Sacsayhuaman during Quechua New Years, Back streets of Cusco- note incan stonework foundation and cobblestone below spanish building )

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.

We're Number 1!

Congratulations Wesleyan...
gawker.com/news/kids-today/the-most-annoying-liberal-arts-school-in-the-us-282425.php
And I really like that Eclectic gets a shout out...

El Choro

It was such a strange day in La Paz, absolutely no one on the streets, no cars, no people, nothing was open. Only in the morning when people were gathering on streetcorners with their flags and banners for the march up to El Alto were people around, and then they marched off and it was quiet. Protests are mainly about the possibility of moving the capital- the rich whites in the south are in favor, the poor and indigenous of La Paz and elsewhere are against. (apparently the march drew 2 million people) Its pretty depressing to be in the worlds greatest democracy and have such an uninvolved populace. We´d probably vote for the new capital on a reality show. We did eat at a good Arab place that was open, I suppose they didnt care whether the capital stayed in La Paz or moved. (and if anyone has a good mujadara recipe, please send it to me) I can´t imagine Americans taking to the streets the way the people here do for anything. But anyway, we began our Choro Trek the next day.

The Choro Trek travels for three days from the high mountains above la paz down to the sweaty jungle region of the Yungas, and even better than that, is almost entirely downhill. Oh yeah, and was paved with smooth stones 1000 years ago by the incans. (and in many spots in better shape than the streets in downtown boston) It even retains some original stone and wood bridges over the rivers flowing eastward toward the Amazon from the Andes. The trail begins on an extremely steep and rocky mountain pass, where we began to head down passing caravans of llamas and alpacas heading upward, driven by locals in bright colored weavings, and some of the only people I´ve ever seen wearing legwarmers justifiably. It had a real Lord of the Rings epic feel on the way down, with a bit of Herzog´s Aguirre Wrath of God thrown in. We made it down the steep part, passing the stone remains of an incan waystation, and headed into more grassy green pasture land with old stone houses with thatched roofs and walls penning in sheep and alpacas. We decended into a clouds, or fog anyway, and it felt like we could have been in scotland were it not for the occasional glimpse of enormous mountains through fog breaks.

Took a brief stop in our guides town, an Aymara village in the valley which has probably changed little in the last 1000 years. They still raise alpacas, grow quinua and potatos, and make chuno (freeze dried potatos), and still speak Aymara. Guzman and alejandro, the two brothers in their 50´s who were our guides greeted everyone we encountered with winusakari, an aymara greeting.

By the end of the first day we had descended enough to be wearing t shirts, the vegetation had become tropical and lush, and if the temperature didnt tell us we were in the jungle, the mosquitos did. We made camp in a little stone village of about five houses, a few hours of electricity and in a lovely setting next to the river. No running water per se, but they ingenious had run an extremely long hose from higher up the river waterfall to provide a flow of water in the town. Food was good, tents and sleeping bags we rented a bit short and clearly made for for the height of the average Bolivian. The stars were incredible, could make out the scorpio constellation perfectly, exciting to see a real southern hemisphere constellation. Slept well overall to the sounds of villagers chatting away in Aymara and the wild sounds of the jungle birds and other creatures.

Arose the next day to hike through more jungle, past calla lillies and giant yellow flowers, wild strawberries and tropical butterfly meadows. We wound around some extremely high ridgelines with views back over snowy peaks and ahead toward deeper jungle and hundred foot cascading waterfalls. It looked a lot like how I imagine Colombia, (which I suppose is how Colombia looks in Hollywood movies). You could smell the heady funky smell of jungle rot, and the temperatures were a welcome relief from the coldness of La Paz and the Altiplano. The few towns we passed had almost nothing save for a few banana trees, and a couple shacks looking rather precariously perched on the jungly cliffsides. On the third day we stopped at the Japanese house, three days´ hike from anywhere a tiny little 70 year old Japanese man lived whose hunchback was almost a complete 90 degrees. He had an incredible view and wonderful gardens there, but I couldnt help but wonder why he had decided this spot in Bolivia to move to some 40 years ago. South America was once infamous for its hiding Nazis, and I wondered a bit about this fellow as well.

Finally we arrived to chairo, where we bathed in the freezing river and headed back toward to La Paz in a car that broke down repeatedly. An amazing trek overall, and I´d recommend our guides who grew up in the valley and know all its twists and turns and characters as well.

Attempted to fly to the Amazon bright and early this morning 600 , only to be told around 130 that our flight was cancelled. Couldnt even get a cab to our hotel because of more demonstrations so had to walk. Oh well, here now post nap and feeling halfway human again. With any luck we´ll make the Amazon tomorrow.

Salar De Uyuni - La Sede No Se Mueve - Thoughts on Travel

So the salt flats were pretty incredible. The Salar de Uyuni is the worlds largest salt flat, stretching 12,000 square kilometers and 500 meters deep of pure salt. (yeah, you do the math on your time). Its a desert of salt at about 11,000 ft, and just pure blinding white that almost looks like snow. Its pretty much unbroken, except for mountains in the far distance and the occasional -island-.

Basically, the whole area used to be a lake that collected rain from the andes, which are extremely rich in minerals. Eventually the Andes grew, the lake dried up and the salt was left. (Although our guide explained the incan legend in spanish which I think I mostly understood- the mountain huayna potosi in La Paz is a very sacred mountain or apus, the Incans believed the mountains were gods. (easy to understand when you see them) Anyway, Huayna Potosi was married to the mountain seen in the pictures and they had a baby, in spite of the long distance relationship, the baby was the isla pescado (also pictured). But the baby was far away from the mother, so she flooded the plain with her milk, hence the white salt.

When you approach the Salar, it looks like a distant white ocean, as you get closer there is practically a line where the salt starts and the earth ends. We splurged to stay at a salt hotel, made completely out of blocks of salt, for the last night since it was alleged to be warm and have hot showers which it did. It was the most expensive place we stayed (10$), but definitely worth it AND passed the taste test for legitimacy. The sunset over the pure white was incredible, as was the sunset as we headed out into the whiteness the next morning. Watched the sunrise, pastel colors washing over the white salt and then drove across the plain to the Isla Pescado, what used to be a coral island in the ancient lake that no longer exists. You can still see the coral in the rock, which is now growing with cactuses. It was a great place to stop for breakfast and try to warm up, as well as taking some ridiculous pictures with the white background. (forthcoming).

Stopped at a salt mining factory, not a surprising destination in this location, and browsed all sorts of random trinkets carved from salt- llamas, dice, ashtrays, etc before heading into the town of Uyuni to await our night bus. Bus ride seemed interminable again, 12 hr nightbus over dusty dirt roads, and though they promised us heat I watcdhed the condensation on the window next to me slowly turn to ice between spells of fitful sleep. Arrived in La Paz this morning to find the city entirely on strike to protest the congress{s plan to move the capital from La Paz to Sucre, a wealthier, more spanish city in the center of the country. Well, the people arent having it and NOTHING was open all morning so that everyone (2 million according to the paper) could march and chant Vive Bolivia, Vive La Paz, La Sede No Se Mueve!!! and march up to El Alto. They also blockaded all roads in and out of sucre with boulders, the train too and apparently La Paz may be next. We ll be trekking for the next three days down an ancient incan road from the mountains into the Yungas jungle area, so hopefully no one will be stopping us.

I spent a bunch of time on the trip thinking about what it means to travel. I sat and watched this one volcano in Chile, Ollague smoking across another national border, and started getting philosophical. What is this travel thing, my interest in it and all of our interests in it. Am I just a voyeur at best, or at worst a colonialist with a backpack on? Instead of stripmining the country for silver as the spanish did, or oil as my countrymen have, (or cheap factory labor now) am I just searching for some sort of cultural authenticity and experience to walk away with? Well, yes, I concluded, but is that necessarily a bad thing?

I suppose its also the constant paradox of travel, searching for authenticity and experience, and then ending up so often just bumping into other travellers, even in places like Bolivia, El Salvador and Laos or wherever else I think will be off the beaten track. (lesson- if lonely planet writes the guidebook- the gringos and banana pancakes will come) Still, I do feel like the backpacking gringo trail thing, (which now exists everywhere!) is probably better than well established tourist packages and corporate travel companies in Europe and the US. For one thing, I eat at local restaurants and hire local guides when I need to from local companies who presumably keep the money in country. Its hardly like an international hotel chain in cancun is taking 95% of the money back to wall street and paying the locals pennies. Still, I am paying the locals very little in a sense, taking advantage of how inexpensive travelling here and other such places is. But I{m also helping people make some money, I try to support businesses run by enterprising women and minority groups within the countries who might otherwise have few options, though in truth I often will go for whoever seems to be both inexpensive and honest. Still, I never treat these countries or the people like they exist for my benefit as a neocolonial corporate travel business would. Nor am I arrogant enough to assume that I am always of a benefit to them, I attempt treat the people and cultures I encounter as if they exist for themselves, in spite of the fact that my interactions with people will never be objective. I also make an effort to learn about the local culture, learn some language and talk to the locals about their countries and cultures.

And still I get sick of the backpacker reverse snobbery, everyone trying to prove their cred by talking about how little they paid for this or that, when all of the euros, aussies and canadians (met no americans yet) could easily afford way more. And everyone is searching for adventure and experience, while we claim to love the freedom and antimaterialism of backpacker travel, we have become materialists for experience. Sure, I like to think how much I buy most of my clothes and things secondhand to opt out of the market somehow, and that I maybe dont want that much stuff, but Ive become a materialist for experiences- adventures travelling, spiritual experiences with meditating or whatever. And isnt desire just that- doesnt it lead to suffering the same way? Sitting in the absolutely beautiful salt flats and thinking about sitting in the absolutely beautiful sacred valley and machu picchu next week. Is that really much different than some broker type sitting in a new car or house and thinking about getting a fancier car or house next? Well, I might like to think so, but doubts are creeping in...

Enough of my philosophizing for now. In the end though, travel has opened my eyes enormously to other cultures, (both of the countries I visit and the Euros I meet) my own culture, and myself, even if it is never as pure an experience as we might wish it to be.

Bolivia: Southwest Circuit I

The dirt road busride to Tupiza from Potosi seemed endless, though we did make it through the days dust with a norweigian couple and a whole lot of Bolivians as the land around us grew drier by the mile. Had some tasty food on the way, Api, which is a sweet and cinnamony corn beverage, kind of like a hot liquid corn pudding that really warms you up in the morning. Also some tasty fried thing which I ate while chatting with a local engineer who was asking me how he could get an american work visa. Ate at some street stalls ina little aymara village where the bus stopped, grilled animal parts that were reasonable enough and then in the dusty heat I spotted a man squeezing fresh orange juice. Just the thing to quench my thirst in the dry desert. I watched him pluck a glass from his bucket, and did think twice about the filthy water and drank anyway. It was delicious, though I definitely regretted it come 6am the next morning. But I took my antibiotics and such, and was feeling mostly better by the time we began our southwest circuit tour.

We signed up for a four day tour from Tupiza, apparently less travelled than the tours that go from Uyuni, which are rumored 12 deep convoys of gringo packed land cruisers pulling up at every sight of interest. And thankfully, we were pretty much just alone on our route with the three french canadians in our 4x4. Leaving Tupiza we headed into the dry mountains winding past scenery that looked a lot like the american southwest- Arches, Canyonlands or Monument Valley national parks. Crazy red rock formations, black ridges and golden gray mesas speckled with some scrub brush cactuses. The wildlife were mostly vicuñas galloping past a camelid like llamas or alpacas but more graceful and deerlike, as well as wild. Their wool was allegedly worth more than gold to the ancient incans. We saw ostriches and a condor, even saw it landing and taking off with llama flesh in its beak as it flapped its 9ft wings and soared away.

The southwest like landscape must have felt homey to old Butch and Sundance, as we saked our driver to take us to San Vicente, the mining camp where they died. San Vicente did not appear to have changed much since Butch and Sundance relieved the mine owners of their 90,000$ payroll. A tiny mining encampent in the desert mountains, with just a sign seen below:

Real off-road driving (not to mention on-dirt-road and even piste driving) I would like to point out for the record is extremely different from how things appear in SUV commercials. It is extraordinrily uncomfortable and slow, like 5-10mph, even on -roads-. We were even in a toyota land cruiser, not super new, but the vehicle that 9 out of 10 afghan warlords agree is the most rugged, and I'm not about to argue with them, and STILL were moving extremely slowly. These roads (and mountains, and dry river beds, and frozen rivers, and boulders) really were the proper use of such vehicles, but I'll save the rest of my SUV political comments for another day.

We were really completely off the grid-if you think about 16 hours worth of busses from La Paz, (a city that only one international airline flies into) then three days by jeep. Our driver could neither radio nor cell phone to anywhere, and I felt a pang when I considered the French people I heard about whos jeep broke down and they had to sleep in it overnight, or the woman who fell off a mountain our guide pointed out and died. The villages we saw and stopped in were picture perfect , complete with stone houses, and mud brick churches where we'd practice our spanish and game playing with local children. Most dont have electricity, and if they do it is from a few solar panels. In fact, I kept thinking about how the villages and the region could probably benefit enormously from solar or wind power, but still am not sure if benefit is the right word. They would certainly change is undeniable, benefit is questionable, and someone else would certainly get rich off of the wind and sun in the high altiplano.

We stayed in such towns, in such stone houses where the temperatures were astonshingly cold. Colder even than the summit of Misti, and only a few hours of electricity that powered a bare bulb or two. In fact, it was rather like camping inside, huddled under sleeping bags and three wool blankets it was still freezing. We took our breakfast and dinner inside but of course fully bundled, gloves and all.

Next day we drove through more plains and mountains, the red rocks receding into the distance and giving way to bare mountains and some of the most desolate landscape I've ever seen. Almost no signs of life except for wandering llamas, their shepherds miles away. How I'd imagine parts of Afghanistan, or even Antartica, though that could have been the cold also. The altitude was 15000 feet, higher than even the gran teton in wyoming, and we were just driving across deserts. I was actually feeling fairly altitude sick, having never been this high up before except fro climbing a mountain a few weeks back. Stopped in a weird old ghost town as the sun rose, the town having been snowed in years before causing many of the children and animals to die, with the survivors moving to lower elevation and abandoning the town wholesale. Strange to wander through crumbling churches and an old plaza, overgrown with weeds and just a few rabbits and llamas wandering about in the eerie light of dawn. Would have been an amazing place to camp out or spend more time if it werent so damn freezing.

Onward we motored up and down hills, through the desert and past frozen lakes until about noontime when we reached a hot springs in the middle of the desert. The day was warmer, and we decided to give it a show. Oh my GOD were they wonderful and warm and cleansing and refreshing and relaxing and everything hot springs should be. And with a phenomenol view over mountains and another frozen lake to boot! My soroche, (altitude sickness) was mostly cured by the healing waters, with some help from our drivers coca leaves. We somehow dragged ourselves out and onward. We stopped at some strange frozen mineral lakes, one a bright caribbean green with waves seemingly frozen in place and underneath a perfect snow capped cone shaped volcano. Another was bright red, the Laguna Colorado, and even bore the incongruous sight of bright pink flamingos walking around on the ice. Yeah, like John Waters Baltimore pride plastic lawn pink flamingos! More desolate lifeless desert mountains, looking more like nevada than the more dramatic parts of the southwst. We did make a late interesting stop at some geysers, bubbling with mud and steam and hissing like the sound of jet engines.

Stayed in another bunker-like stone building for the night, less cold than the previous, but still watched my breath as I read my book with gloves on. Met some brits who were climbing 6 6000meter peaks in 6 days for charity, a highly admirable feat on multiple levels. They had started a charity called challenge bolivia and raised 10,000 pounds for school supplies for a few villages. I was deeply impressed at their effort, and if anyone is up for such a similar charity task, let me know and lets think about making it happen!

Day three was more desert, the desierto de dali, a supposedly surreal landscape, which was pretty interesting and stopped at some other bizarre rock formations, including the arbol de piedra, or stone tree. Back into more redrock formation and finally to our salt hotel on the very edge of the salt flats. Yes, a hotel made entirely our of salt, (and passed the taste test) save for the showers (hot! and existent! unlike our last few nights!) Dinner by candlelight, save for a brief hour or two of electricity and an amazing sunset over the salt flats. Which will be my next entry and probably mostly a photo essay. That is, if the strikes dont get in the way. Apparently the people of Bolivia are also restless, and roadblocks have now shut down entry and exit from Sucre, the other large city entirely. Negotiations are underway to keep La Paz open. Heres hoping that they are still negotiating when our bus tries to get to La Paz at 7am tomorrow!!!

photos: San Vicente- sign explanatory, arbol de piedra, me at ghost town, flamingos in laguna colorado, laguna verde)

(for the record, let me make clear that many photos are from the internet until I return and upload my own. I am not that good or bad a photographer)

El Misti

One of the highlights of this trip (and my life) that I´ve not yet described was climbing El Misti, an 18000 ft mountain on the outskirts of Arequipa. (thats three Mt. Washingtons, or 3.5 Denvers)

We found a decent guide (but not porters!) in town, and headed out early in the morning for a long day of hiking. Our companions were pretty good folks, a brit, a french couple and a dutch guy who all had less mountaineering experience than either ben or myself, which was quite reassuring. We drove through town, up past the smoldering dump and to the highest point our 4x4 would go before finalizing our packing and hitting the road. Bens rented pack was falling apart, but our trusty guide managed to sew it up with dental floss and it actually held. The intial hike took us up about to 14000 ft, where the air became noticeably thinner even as the view became more amazing. Arequipa was spread out below us, canyons and rivers flowing into the city and beyond, and we could see ourselves growing increasingly paralell to other snow capped ranges and even barely make out a volcano (ampato?) lazily smoking in the distance. We made it to camp just before sunset, which seemed to light up the whole of southern peru in light golden and pink shades. Dinner was a meager chicken soup, but warm and delicious enough to feel filling and we attempted to sleep in spite of it being only 6pm.

Slept a bit, and woke up at 1am to our guide offering us a breakfast of coca mate tea and some bread and cheese. (summiting montains needs to be done in the morning to avoid being trapped mountaintop in afternoon storms) The stars were magnificent, the milky way was clear and bright, and all the millions of southern hemisphere constellations both comforting and confusing in their unfamiliarity. Arequipa lay sleeping below us, surprisingly large and spread out over the valley, the lights twinkling and bright yet so distant from our perch on the mountain. The climbing was even slower going when we hit the trail at 130 or 2, climbing over boulders was one thing, but the sand and volcanic ash was even worse. One step forward and a half step sliding back in the sand, but the air was almost impossible to breathe. We were hiking by headlamp light only, though it was possible to see by the stars. My lungs ached with each breath, and every ten steps we needed to rest for a few. Oh, did I mention the wind and the freezing cold negative degree temperatures? Thank god I had borrowed some gloves, not to mention wearing three jackets and two layers of long underwear. My mouth and throat were completely dry from the altitude and dryness, and drinking water was a chore given its frozen state and the fact thta it required removing gloves and such. Our guide of course, was practically jogging up the thing, carrying a transister radio to tune in local stations and listen to the big Copa de Americas soccer games.

We pushed on, approaching the snow at the top and the french woman had to turn back. The sun arose at 630 or so, lighting our path and creating an astonishing sunrise but hardly warming us. Because it was still behind the mountain, the sun created an enormous mountain shaped shadow stretching behind us and over arequipa. Every time we looked up the summit seemed the same distance. Our breaks grew more frequent, heads were pounding with altitude sickness, each step seemed like it would wind us. Finally we somehow reached the saddle below the summit, and rested for a while as we attempted to catch our breath. The summit was another forty five minutes, and only the french guy and I were able to have the random luck of not being burdened with altitude poisining. The feeling of summiting though was incredible, and adrenaline got me through the last half an hour. Ten o´clock in the morning and we were 18000 ft above the world, yet standing on it. I somehow expected I would feel like I would in an airplane, but it really was completely different and absolutely exhilerating. I shook hands with the frenchman, and lamented the fact that my camera was still in our hotel. Still, there was something nice about having it only as a memory. I did ask the frenchman about his mountaineering experience, and he said he had never been in the mountains before (and did I mention that he smoked the whole way up?). The downward trek was far faster, getting to base camp in about an hour and a half I literally laid down on a pile of rocks and fell asleep. I woke up about forty five minutes later, still out of breath from the altitude but absolutely feeling incredible. Chatted with the guide on the remaining hike, which was mostly just sliding down sand and volcanic ash. He was a pretty interesting guy, used to be a miner and now leads gringos up and down enormous mountains 3 or 4 times a week. Insane that such a triumphant day for me is essentially another day at the office for him!

Back to Arequipa for an enormous steak dinner and slept the sleep of the just.