Sucre, Bolivia (Dec 12-14)

I arrived in Sucre at the ungodly hour of 6am on December 12th, only to be greeted by the preternaturally peppy Mike, owner, manager, and one-person staff of Gringo's Rincon hostel. Obviously, the prior claimant of what would soon be my bed still slumbered peacefully, so I settled myself in the kitchen. There I met Nick who told me of his plan to motorcycle down to Patagonia then back up to Alaska with two of his buddies on the bikes they had recently bought. Unfortunately, the wait for all of the appropriate documentation had stranded them in Sucre for three weeks, explaining the presence of the three motorcycles parked in the courtyard of the hostel. ;)



After a while, we became bored with the cocina, and headed up to the terrace above, the loveliest spot in one of the most beautiful hostels in which I have yet stayed. There I discovered that the internet problems that plagued me La Paz were not specific to that city, but rather endemic to all of Bolivia. Several hours later, after settling in and meeting a few more people like Peter, Guy, and Sanjay from London, Claire from Australia, and Nick's two motorcyclist buddies, I headed out with the first four to check out the view of the city from it's best lookout point at Mirador. (Which makes sense, seeing as how Mirador means "lookout".


Mirador did, in fact, afford lovely views of "the white city", known as the most beautiful in Bolivia, a claim which, at least based on my limited experience, seems very much in keeping with the truth.


We stopped at Mirador cafe and had some excellent fresh juices, this being one of my favorite indulgences in South America. Literally, you can get fresh juice anywhere. In every city I have been to, vendors sit on street corners, ready to wring the juice from oranges and grapefruits, to be drunk standing curbside, and nearly every restaurant offers juices mixed with either water or milk. My personal favorite: Pina con leche sin azucar. Pineapple blended with milk without added sugar. That last part is essential. Given the chance, most South Americans will add enough sugar to any meal or beverage to force one into early-onset diabetes.


Anyway, the five of us then hiked it up to the hill above Mirador to see "the Jesus" at the top. No idea if the statue has another name. Despite having been largely acclimatized to the altitude for a full three weeks at this point and being at a much lower altitude than in La Paz, even this small hike still kinda kicked my ass. The view from the top was pretty but half-obscured by the trees. And we discovered, upon trying to get into what we thought was a chapel at the base, that actually a family was squatting in there.


When I noticed my skin getting crispy, we began our descent, only to be barricaded by a pack of dogs chasing some wild pigs, making the most god-awful ruckus you've ever heard. None of us had gotten rabies shots, so we hung back for a while before going the rest of the way.


That night, half of the hostel crowd headed to a tourist restaurant, while another group of us chose a mostly-locals steakhouse. And despite having never seen a steakhouse with white plastic chairs, I was glad of our choice. The wine was cheap but tasty, my bife chorizo hit the spot, there was a crazy-strange yet rather good buffet of sides, and besides, Guy, who went with the other group, got a horrific case of food-poisoning. After the meal, we returned to the hostel terrace and finished the evening over wine and choco-wafers.


The next day, I decided to make the most of a rainy day, and I stayed in bed reading until 1pm. It was glorious. Peter called me a punk for not coming out to the black market, but I couldn't have been happier. I reveled in my free time, only showering in the afternoon and then making it a luxuriously long one, after which, I gave myself a pedicure. Finally, I hauled myself out to the main market. I loved it there. Rows and rows of stalls, selling everything from flowers and fruits to household supplies and electronics to fresh meats, cheeses, and breads. I admit, I leapt back upon encountering a cut of beef that was basically just a cow's nose with what little meat is behind it, but I really hadn't been expecting it!


Later that night, about 12 of us went out for dinner at a beautiful traditional restaurant where I had one of the best meals of my trip so far: medallions of pejerrey, a Bolivian freshwater fish, in a lemon wine sauce with stuffed tomatoes. Honestly, my mouth is watering just remembering it.

The next day, I went exploring on my own, mostly just wandering around the city. I had a mediocre lunch at a place Julia had recommended, but I'm still not sure if it was actually the right place. The best part about it was a very talented saxophone player wandering in uninvited and playing almost an entire set of some of my favorite jazz standards like "Nature Boy." It was the first time I had chosen to tip someone who came up to me while I was eating in a restaurant in Bolivia, a fairly common occurrence. But usually its a kid who just yells "Give me money!" in Spanish.








At the end of the day, I arranged my travel plans to Uyuni for the next day with Guy and someone else from the hostel who were headed the same way and called it an early night.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Sucre, Bolivia

La Paz (Dec 7-11)

Our first full day in La Paz, James and I literally ran into at least 6 other people that at least one of us had met previously in our travels, including his friend from Colombia, Julia, who came with us on our sojourn through the city that afternoon. After having spent the entire morning lazing about, we finally set out for the main plaza at 2pm... and found it covered in pigeons and pigeon shit. Otherwise, it was lovely.


We grabbed some empanadas from a street vendor and decided to aim for a lookout we'd heard about for sunset. In the meantime, we headed for the witch's market, which would have been nearly identical to every other tourist market in Peru and Bolivia, were it not got the petrified llama fetuses for sale at ever stall. (Picture available at a later time.)

Having poked our head's into a number of shops and churches and whiled away more time than we realized, we headed for the lookout in earnest, James leading the way. (That's him in front of a great street mural, consulting his map for the umpteenth time that day.)


Unfortunately, when we arrived at the lookout, it was inexplicably closed. We decide to head to a bar, but on the way, we crossed a large nativity fair consisting mostly of rows upon rows of stalls all selling the same tinsel and kitschy manger scenes.


We finally got to the bar and met up with Alex and Louise, James's friends, with whom he would be going to the jungle in two day's time. Over the course of two or three hours, we all got a bit giddy, and James decided to display the awesome power of his zip-trousers.


Realizing that the three of us hadn't eaten anything but breakfast and empanadas, James, Julia, and I set off on a search for late night sustenance, only to discover that La Paz apparently could offer none. So we returned to the Loki bar and ate the only food available to us: Pringles and Snickers. By the time we arrived, the party was in full swing, and we were swept up in it. The night amounted to two or three hours of hanging at the bar, followed by late night dancing at a nearby club, where I was apparently the craziest and most active person on the floor. Quick word of advice: before going out to dance, and therefore, sweat like mad, all night, buy extra water so that you don't find yourself asking the security guard at your accommodation if it's possible to buy water at 5am in South America. Because it's not.

The next day involved a hunt for a new daypack for James's jungle trek and making our plans for Christmas, and little else. James left early in the evening to stay at Alex and Louise's hotel so that they could all get a taxi to the airport together in the morning, and I switched to a dorm room within Loki. Julia and I both passed out early, realizing that neither of us had gotten more than 6 hours of sleep a night for two weeks.

The next day, Julia and I had breakfast and walked to the bus station to buy my ticket to Sucre for Sunday night. Good lord, the difference between walking around with a man and walking around with a woman in South America! Whereas when I was with James, I would receive some looks and maybe a stray comment or two, mostly just about being so pale, Julia and I were howled at continually wherever we went, the combination of blond and redhead seeming particularly potent.

After another wander through the witches' market where I was yet again unable to find an alpaca sweater that I would actually wear at home, we randomly picked a spot for lunch and were rewarded not only with the best meal I had in La Paz but with a reunion with my friend Martin from Colca Canyon. Afterward, we bought our tickets to mountain bike down Death Road, reputedly the most dangerous road in the world and La Paz's biggest tourist attraction. Finally, we headed back to Loki, met up with Julia's Australian roommate Peter, and hopped a taxi to Killi Killi, another lookout point over La Paz.


This was when I started to freak out. Suddenly it occurred to me that biking down the world's most dangerous bike when I'd only been on a bike once in 20 years miiiiight be a bad idea. This idea had actually come to me previously, but since I had never researched Bolivia, never having planned on coming, I was easily caught up in everyone else's enthusiasm and insistence that I MUST do it. Poor Julia. She had only just met me three days previous, and now she had to deal with one of my OCD freak-outs. To her credit she handled it well, simply saying, "Let's just get out there tomorrow and see how you feel. If you don't want to do it then, you can always ride in the van." I acquiesced.

But fate, it would seem, has a wicked sense of humor. I awoke the next day feeling poorly, but unsure of what ailed me. I told Julia of this, and she offered the same calm and reasonable advice. I agreed to go, but nearly as soon as we were in the jeep, I started to feel worse. Julia and I were unable to account for the source of the problem, as we had eaten at all the same places the previous day, and in some had the same meal. Regardless, by the time we arrived at the starting point, 45 minutes outside of La Paz, my stomach had turned on me completely. And of course there were no bathrooms. I had to run up a hill and away from the tour groups to be violently sick. Upon returning to the group, I was uncontrollably sick again. While everyone else pulled on their biking gear, I huddled in the back of the jeep, clutching my stomach. The driver and I debated what to do, but his only suggestions were to stay in the jeep the whole day or try my luck with flagging a random cab. Considering that I could see none of the latter, I stayed in the jeep as we followed the tour group, demanding periodically that we stop so that I could be ill. So much fun.

Fortunately, at the first major rest stop for the group, the driver was able to flag down a Bolivian family headed back to La Paz, and they were willing to take me with them. Although it was one of the longest rides of my life, seeing as how I was loathe to ask them to stop when I required it, I can't tell you how grateful I am to this lovely family, who not only returned me safely to my hostel, but who also patiently chatted with me in Spanish in order to distract me from my illness.

I continually relied upon the kindness of strangers that day, receiving a bag of plain oats from my sweet Australian roommates, Jane and Daniel, when I was too weak to get to the bar for lunch. Later, my other pair of Australians roomies also returned from the Death Road, with Michaela suffering from the same symptoms as me. It turns out that she had also eaten the chicken caprese sandwich at the bar the previous night, while Julia had eaten another dish. Mystery solved!

After spending the entire afternoon in bed reading almost an entire book and watching "Thor" on my Ipad, I felt a bit better and was able to join Julia downstairs for a while once she returned. I was even almost convinced to go out. Almost. Instead, I spent the night in close proximity to a restroom, watching "Super 8" on Daniel's computer. Again, the kindness of strangers.

The next morning, I awoke a new person. I said my goodbyes to Jane and Daniel, who pityingly dubbed me the coolest roommate they had ever had, despite the fact that almost their entire exposure to me involved me being sic in bed, and I thanked them for helping to take care of me. Then Julia and I had breakfast and hung out in the Loki atrium.


I checked out of Loki, put my things in storage, and joined Julia, Peter, English David, and some 30-odd other folks from our hostel on a half-hour's journey to the most bizarre spectacle I have ever witnessed: Cholitas wrestling.


Although just as staged and theatrical as other forms of wrestling, Cholitas wrestling has one significant gimmick: the usual male wrestlers, their faces covered by masks like in the Mexican rings, go up against traditionally-dressed Bolivian women. Seriously.


The women first parade out in full regalia.


Then they remove their shawls and bowler hats and jump into the ring in earnest. Although the drawn-out contests are obviously fake, featuring near-defeats followed by dramatic come-backs, it is impossible not to admire the athleticism of both the male and female participants who flip and toss one another around the ring and take flying leaps from the ropes.


And the locals love it! While the seats right around the ring are full of tourists, the majority of the modest arena is full of Bolivian families, cheering for their favorite champions and throwing popcorn at those they oppose.


Anyway, this was my last outing in La Paz. I had to leave the show early in order to catch my bus. But I won't be forgetting it anytime soon!

- 'Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Loayza,La Paz,Bolivia

Lake Titicaca, Copacabana & Isla del Sol: This is another long one! (Dec 6th)

The next morning marked the first of the trip on which we overslept. At 6:30am, the front desk called our room to tell us that our tour director had been sitting in the lobby waiting for us for 5 minutes. I literally leapt from the bed, brushed my teeth, threw water on my face, and was packed in 5 minutes, even (and unusually) faster than James. He sleepily said that he'd never seen anyone move so fast.

A few minutes later we had checked out, apologized to the tour guide and the one other tourist in the van, and were headed to Copacabana. After two hours we made a quick stop in a small town for a bathroom break and a stop into a local shop, where James and I made the owner very happy by spending quite a few of our last soles compiling a breakfast of yogurt, chocolate wafers, Oreos, and plantain chips. (We vowed to eat more healthily going forward, but you work with what you've got.)

Shortly thereafter we arrived at the border, changed the rest of our money into Bolivianos, and presented our documents to the necessary officials. I was quite glad of my advance preparations as I saw the icy stares received by our other tour group reminder who simply shoved her passport under the nose of the official with none of the required paperwork and yelled, "American." We waited while she was directed to a place where she could withdraw money and make photocopies, and then finally, with visas and passports in hand, we walked across the border to Bolivia.

On the Bolivian side, another bus waited for us with our bags onboard, and we were soon transported to Copacabana. Once there, our Peruvian guide introduced us to our Bolivian guide, Renan, and we started the day inside of the beautifully painted Basilica.


That and a sampling of gigantic, brown-sugar sprinkled Bolivia popcorn were all we experienced of Copacabana before being whisked onto our Catamaran.


Immediately upon boarding, we were treated to a mid-morning snack of sandwiches and fresh fruit-- much-appreciated since we had slept through breakfast. We practically had the boat to ourselves, which greatly added to our enjoyment of it and the tour in general.

That being said, one of the only four other people on our boat had seventy years on her and bad knees to boot, so she almost fainted at the sight of about 200 stairs when we reached the dock at Isla del Sol. But Renan and James, like the gentlemen they are, assisted her up the whole way.


While they were doing that, I raced ahead and hung out with the other three girls in our tour who were from Santa Cruz, Bolivia.


Halfway up the island, our tour agency rents a parcel of land maintained by the locals, on which they grow and study a number of native Bolivian crops, including many grains.


They also have a llama paddock...


... which housed the craziest, furriest, buck-toothed llama ever!


Higher up, they have an exhibit of the boats primarily used by the natives of Lake Titicaca...


... as well as a couch made of the same materials, which James rather enjoyed.


A private museum also stood nearby, housing Incan pottery, statues...


... and mummies.


Atop the mountain, we had a fantastic view of the lake and the rest of the island.


And there we witnessed a traditional ceremony by a shaman and were each blessed by him in turn.


We then proceeded back down the mountain.


But rather than reboard the catamaran, we were first treated to a ride aboard the same sort of sailing vessel which transported the Bolivians ancestors across the Pacific and into Polynesia (according to a theory).


Onboard, James tried his hand at rowing and yet again threw sartorial caution to the wind, modeling the traditional garb.


The weather was ideal, the sky cerulean, and all in all, I couldn't imagine a better way to spend an afternoon.


(But god, we were cheese balls.)


Finally, we switched back onto the catamaran for a splendid lunch with the lake shimmering just outside of the windows.


Back in the van an hour later, we got one last glimpse of Copacabana...


... before driving onto a barge to cross another section of the lake. (That's the barge beside ours.


Once back on land, we proceeded to La Paz, but not before a tornado crossed our paths. I had never seen one before and was fascinated. But as we drove closer and closer, I did ask at what point one stopped driving toward a tornado. As though in answer, it dissipated moments later.


Finally, late that evening, we checked into Loki La Paz and ran immediately into Keshia and Rachel in the bar, having had no idea that they were even staying there. After several drinks and a number of the girls' raucous stories that I can't print here, we headed back to the room and fell asleep. All in all, one of the best days of the trip so far.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Loayza,La Paz,Bolivia

Back in Puno (Dec 5th)

I awoke quite early on the 5th of December and used the time to make a bunch of calls on Skype and to update this blog. I then had took advantage of the hotel, rather than hostel, free breakfast and gorged myself on eggs, yogurt, cereal, cheese, bread, tea and orange juice. Then I went back upstairs and packed while James ate his breakfast, having learned that I take a significantly longer time at this than he does despite the similar size of our rucksacks. We both elected to wait until moving to our new hotel to shower, not wanting to have another confrontation with our host.

After that, the day was spent running errands, most importantly preparing my papers for crossing into Bolivia. Because of the frosty relations between Bolivia and the U.S. and the consequent distrust of American citizens on the part of Bolivian authorities, I hadn't planned on going to Bolivia at all. But I felt more confident entering with an Englishman, so I changed my plans. Unfortunately, because of the aforementioned frostiness and the hefty fees we charge foreigners to enter our country, Bolivia charges American citizens $135 and requires quite a bit of paperwork, so the gathering of the latter took up a fair portion of the day.

We ended the day in another bar, drinking beer and mulled wine, eating, and dissecting the merits of the 80's and 90's music videos being played continuously in the background. We ended the night back at the hotel with James giving me a tutorial in Indy Rock I hadn't yet discovered. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep to the sound of Kate Walsh's voice.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Puno, Peru

Lake Titicaca, Taquile (Dec 4th)

A stomach bug had hit James in the night, so I had breakfast with the family on my own: pancakes and jam. As during the other two meals we had had with them, the family sat to the side while I sat at the table, but since James wasn't there, I asked if the girls could sit with me, which they did happily.





After breakfast, I woke up James, and we packed and said our goodbyes to the family. We also left two small gifts of thanks, as is customary, since each of the families on the island takes turns hosting tourists once or twice a month, and the gifts they receive in exchange make up a portion of their regular income. Then we joined the rest of our group, got back onto our tour boat, and departed, with one last look at Amanati.











After an hour's boat ride, we arrived on Taquile, another of the larger, but very traditional islands in Lake Titicaca.





There, we walked around the island, took pictures at yet another Plaza de Armas, this one featuring a gorgeous view of the lake...





... and, after an unnecessarily long and tedious lecture on the traditions of the island by our somewhat melodramatic guide, had a small set lunch in one of the numerous family run restaurants on the island.





Our time on Taquile only totaled two hours, and soon we were back on the boat for our 3-hour journey back to Puno. James and I spent most of the trip in the roof of the boat with Jenny, another Northern England, but my fair skin could only take so much sun, and I spent the last hour asleep across several seats on the main deck.

When we arrived back at our hotel, our rather changeable host smiled broadly, then scolded us about the flooding of the bathroom floor the previous morning, which we explained had come from a leak in the tub. He didn't believe us. We then booked a catamaran tour through him for two days later, after which he asked if we needed to stay in the room another night, to which we replied yes, seeing as how the tour was unavailable the next day. He then said, "Okay. We are full tomorrow." Now, we had not seen another soul in this hotel the entire time we had been there, but were being told that there were no vacancies. Personally, I think we were being kicked out because he didn't believe us about the tub.

We still chose to book the tour and then went out for a drink at the one of the bars we had visited the night before and dinner at a local restaurant where I made the mistake of trying pizza outside of NYC but also discovered the pleasures of mulled wine (or here, vino caliente). We then had an unexceptional tea and desert at the reputedly best-in-Puno restaurant and tucked in for an early night.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad