| Breathless Bolivia is magical country known as the "Roof Top Of The America's". It's spectacular mountains and traditional people makes this section of the magnificant Andes a real gem! |
| "I've seen crowds everywhere, people who want change, who want for their family, a better life. When the masses dream, the form rivers of hope" -National Geographic Feb. 2001- The bus station in JuJuy, Argentina was the first indiciation of the major changes ahead of us as we headed North into Bolivia. It was pure pandamonium in the terminal as people pushed and shoved mountains of "stuff" in cloth bags and dirty plastic sheets. We fought, pushed and cursed our way onto the bus only to find that our seats were already taken by people with matching tickets that had matching seat assignments. We knew we were entering a new world of disorder where semi-organized chaos ruled. Although the trip to Bolivia was not that far, maybe about a half day, we were astonished at how quickly our surroundings changed around us. The green fields that blanketed the vast plains of Argentina gave way to a dry and rocky land while modern towns evolved into crumbly mud shacks with corrigated tin roofs stabalized with worn out truck tires. Progress was agaonizingly slow as the bus strained under the weight of it overcapacity cargo on its effort to climb to the boarder town of La Quiaca. The engine roared like an angry dragon puffing out huge clouds of toxic black fumes in an effort to climb to 3,500 meters (over 11,000 feet). We stopped in nearly every town along the way usually dropping off two or three people and a few chickens and then picking up a dozen or so new people, each of them bringing on several new chickens, cats and virtually everything else you can imagine. Asses and sacks of funky food pressed into us as people struggled for space. Underneath cases of beer and bottles of booze were being piled on in massive quantities...why we wondered? At one point a small, dark skinned girl about the age of six or so was standing next to us. We scruntched over enough to make a small space for her. With thankfulness in her smile, her mother plopped her right next to Shawn. WIthin minutes, the stifling heat and the rocking motion of the bus navigating around ditches and over lumpy gravel put the child sound asleep. Trying her best to get comfortable, the cute little angel snuggled right into Shawn, finding a little nitch under his arm. She held firmly onto one of black braids while eagerly sucking on her thumb of her other hand. Following her lead, Summer snuggled up on the other side falling vicitm to the sleep-enducing enviroment. We continued to rumble north, the two lovely ladies snoozing away the last few ours. By early afternoon we crossed over into Bolivia. The crossing, as expected, was a joke. We filled out the form, recieved our stamp and we were on our way. Almost immediately we could hear the sound of music and laughter. The sounds got louder and louder as we slowly marched our heavy packs towards the city center. The altitude made this task a little more difficult than normal. That is when ahead of us came a: "BAM...BAM BAM BAM...BAM BAM". What was that??? Startled, we looked at each other wondering what was going on? As we turned the corner it became as clear as the mountain air we were breathing.... IT'S CARNIVAL!!! Eager to get to our destination and get involved in the activities we raced to the bus station. Our goal was another town about 2 hours north. Once again we passed seemingly deserted towns with dried up futball fields where swirling dust devils were the only ones playing. As it usually goes, our two hour trip took four but this let us catch spectacular views as we crossed over a low mountain passes and descended into the community of Tupiza. We were just in time to catch the late afternoon sun as it turned the dry canyon walls into brilliant shades of red and orange. The town, actually more of a village, consisted of rocky streets and small one room huts made of crumbly mud and thatched roofs. We woke early the next morning, eager to walk around. As one may imagine, every store and restaurant was exploding with energy as people anxiously awaited the Carnival festivities. The mid-day tranquility was brought to a grinding halt as bands with booming drums and ear splitting cymbals ushered in the insanity. Children in brilliant colored clothes danced next to elderly men and women in traditional outfits. All the while, semi-conscious hordes of locals followed them making as much noise as possible with anything accessible. Rambuncous kids were firing bottle rockets out of bamboo shoots while the adults were tanked on cheap booze, staying awake with the help of big wads of coca leaves shoved in their cheeks. Carnival was full on, even in our little village. The days were short, the nights long�the way a party should be. Although great fun, the true charm of Tupiza was in the surrounding countryside � a stunning landscape of rainbow-colored rocks, hills, mountains and canyons. It conjured vivid images of the American Old West, and rightfully so. This small town about four hours north of the Argentina border is in the heart of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid country. The two outlaws came to this region in August of 1908 in an effort to escape the wrath of the US government and to case enough banks for retirement. As the story goes, it was this land (actually a town about 50 km away) that they pulled their final job and finally wound up on the wrong end of a gun. So, with this in mind, we hired a young local kid to saddle up a few horses and take us for a tour of the country side. We headed east out of town down a one lane dirt road that followed the curve of a rocky river. The late afternoon sun was hot on our back and we could feel the intesity of the high altitude UV rays frying our necks. Passing the last shack in town, we turned left into a dried up old wash-out. It was obvious that it had been sometime since water had flooded this shallow valley. Since the last big storm, scrub brush and cacti had grown up. Our horses walked and meaunevered gracefully always seeming to find the verft path, decided to take off on a 4 day adventure to follow their path and explore some of the wild and rugged land of Bolivia. The ill-fated adventure started early on Sunday morning. Our truck, a rather out of shape Landcruiser, arrived in front of our hostel laden down with fuel, water and cooking gear. After throwing our rucksacks on the roof, we rumbled west out of town. Actually, even before reaching the outskirts the truck stopped and our funny little driver named Mario jumped out to throw water on the engine. The signs of future disaster were there, we just didn�t read them. Soon though we were off, bumping our way up a dried out river bed. The washed out gullies were clear evidence of the flash floods that must pass through this region on a regular basis. For now, though, there was no sign of water anywhere, the only shade of green came from scrubb brush and massive cacti. Life, at this altitude and in these dry, hot, harsh conditions is nearly impossible. By mid afternoon we had had climbed to over 4,000 meters, nearly 13,000 feet. Although blessed with nearly perfect weather all morning, we were keenly aware of the massive dark clouds quickly marching in our direction. It seemed only a matter of minutes before they caught us. We rushed down a river gully, trying to stay ahead of the water. We of course were no match for mother nature and the dry river beds we raced down were soon swollen streams of frigid brown water. As time slipped by, we noticed the rain drops became louder and louder and seemed to literally jump off the windows. It didn�t take long to understand we were in the grips of an ice storm and the future would be an adventure. In time the storm passed and we continued on, now manuevering down rivers as deep as our tires and admiring the reminensce of the ice gathered around rocks and coating the small plants. After reaching the valley floor, we once again began to gain altitude, feeling our ears pop in the prosess. In time the road split and our guide gave us the option to continue on towards the place we would sleep or take a tour to San Vicente, the home of a nearly worn-out gold mine and the final resting place of Btuch and The Kid. He was obviously for taking it in for the night but the four of us were ready to press on. (something that would come and haunt us later). The guide was not to keen on the idea of the detour. The storm clouds had gathered once again above us and the dirt path was covered with a thin layer of water. Twenty or so minutes later the cold mountain rain began to fall once again, we didn�t care, we were determined to see everything on the trip we had paid for and would see what we wanted to see�specifically where the final shoot out of Butch and Sundance took place. Well, as romantic as is all may sound to see such a historical villiage, it really wasn�t all that. Infact, it probably was the sigle most depressing town we had come across in all of our travels. Granted, the grey skies and cold rain didn�t help the situation. The town of San Vicente was a sad sad sight. The town was virtually devoid of life. Once boasting a population of nearly 2,000 people, there are now less than 200 that call this place home. This means a lot of derilect building, rotting from the inside out, doing their best to stand up. It was such a place that we were forced to spend the night. The town it self has no accomidation for visitors, probably since they only get visitors only a few times a year (and most are not forced to stay the night). So, as a last resort, we had to pry the lock off the door of an abbonded building. The miners who provided the crowbar helped us clear out the empty beer bottles, sweep the floor, and drag in a few rusty bed and delapiated mattresses. We quickly got bundled in all the clothes we had in order to seek refuge from the elements. There was no glass in the windows so in order to break the wind sheets of plastic and newspaper were taped up. The cold was not the problem of the night though, the issue was the altitude. This one-mule ghost town sits at 4,800 (15,744 feet), at an altitude drastically higher than we had ever experienced. This made sleep impossible because in an attempt to compensate for the lack of oxygen and air pressure, our heart and lungs were working overtime. We spent the night gasping for air and suffering from hang-over like conditions: headache, nauseia�etc�etc. This really sucked. Needless to say, we were happy when the dawn welcomed us with a warm sun and brilliant sunlight. After a brief stop the next morning at the local mueum where we saw the skeletal remains of either Butch or Sundance (they are not sure which one they have), and the bullet riddled leather trunk which they supposedly stole, we made our way down the wet road crashing through streams and avoiding wash-outs. Once again, luck caught up with us and we ended up sunk while crossing a river bed. Fortuently, this time it took only about 20 minutes or so to work our way out. So the white Landcrusier, now nicknamed caballo blanco (aka little white horse) made its way to the high plateau. It is amazing to be at such an incredible altitude yet still be driving on land as flat as Kansas. We normally associate such altitudes with mountains, not plains. The natural enviroment outside was incredible, but the enviroment (ruled be the radio) inside the cab sucked. For reasons unknown, we left civilization with only two cassette tapes, both ear-splitting crap. The scratchy tunes where nearly unbearable. Our best guess was that one of them was produced by the local grade school�.a couple of young girls going on and on with the most ridicuoulsy simple synthasizer beat. The other seemed to be produced by a handful of drunk gauchos (cowboys) strumming away on out of tune guitars and beating on drums (or trash cans) for possibly their first time. Ouch. Things were not as bad though as they sound. We were now incredibly far from civilization�a place where Llamas and Vicunas drastically out number people. We were on our way to _____ when we came across two _____ women escorting their decorated llamas back to their villiage. The animals had the cutest pink and yellow ribbons tied to there ears. This was to celebrate their birthday, which coincides with Carnival each ear. These incredible animals look like a cross between a camel and very hairy horses. They have been used for centuries for wool and food, seeming to prosper under such tough mountain conditions. Being surrounded by llamas and the massive Andes made us really feel we were getting to know the land of Bolivia. When the alarm went off at 3:30 the next morning we had no idea wha a long dy was before us. We quietly stuffed our backs in the soft glow of candle light and piled back into the jeep. Our goal was to catch sunrise over a series of thermal lakes. When we pulled up we startled the large collection of flamegos.... |
Our time in this harsh, mountainous land was absolutely spectacular, despite an endless series of mishaps and breakdowns. We pushed through rain and hail storms. We rumbled over rough and rocky terrain and splashed through deep mountain rivers. We were fortunate to see llamas and flocks of flamingos. We did our best to communicate with local men, women and children who were just as curious about us as we were of them. We swam in thermal lakes, watched the clouds clear in front of snow covered volcanoes and skipped around on rocks to avoid falling into geyser pools. It was a true adventure sleeping in rustic shacks bundled under colorful blankets made of llama wool to keep warm and helping one another to cope with the thin air found at such incredible altitudes. One of our nights was spent at 4800 meters (15,744 feet). We had been in the jeep for nearly 24 hours before we finally spotted help on the horizon. It was the headlights of another Toyota Land Cruiser which brought the first signs of hope and snapped us out of our trance. We hurried to turn on our only torch in which to signal our location while the two other gringos with us shoved on their muddy boots. We stumbled out into the night and onto the saturated salt flats, ecstatic and extremely pissed off at the same time. It was nearly 3:30 in the morning, the brilliant stars above being one of the few highlights of the last 5 hours fighting the cold temperatures and harsh elements associated with being over 14,000 feet. All of us had moved into a daze, our eyes blod-shot and our heads pounding from hours of searching for head lights in the distance. |