Lines in the Desert... Suprise Birthday for Thai & A Tearful Farewell... Beautiful Bolivia - Where Everything is Possible and Nothing is Safe...

Wow! So much to talk about! It seems like we've been traveling by whirlwind for the past month or so. Since I last wrote, we made it down south of Lima to Nazca for a quick flight over the desert. The tiny pueblo is home to a handful of locals and a slightly overwhelming tourist niche surrounding the famous Nazca lines - a series of mysteriously oversized and unexplainable drawings out in the heat of the immense arid landscape. The glyphs, it has been shown, are easy enough to create with a long rope, a bit of geometry, and a few days work. What remains a mystery is the 'why.' Many theories have been lobbed at the patchwork - calling it everything from as astrological calendar to a map of water sources to a series of alien landing pads - but none have turned up any definitive proof. Most experts today believe them to be sites of religious worship among the Indians who inhabited the plain over 1,000 years ago. The lines have survived due to the protective layer of heat that lies close to the surface during the day.
Today, the town of Nazca is filled with agencies selling flight tours over the lines. Unfortunately they are not the cheapest (about $80 to $120 depending where you shop) which makes buying tickets a bit akward in an area of the county where the average local eats for about $3 a day... But hell, when you're already this close... In the end we went for it, but the experience was not without its frustrations. For the cost, the flight only lasts about 30-40 minutes and comes with no guarantee of when you will actually take off; we remained 'on call' in the tiny terminal from about 9AM to 2PM before we were shown to our plane. Pains aside, the desert itself is amazing. Once you are in the air, you realize that the whole of the area is covered in intersecting geometrical shapes and images. The immensity of the creation just blows you away. We returned to Lima equally thrilled and put off by the weekend.
During the week to come, we relaxed and reunited with the friends we had made during our trip to the mountains a week before. Thai's birthday happened to coincide with Jorge's who we met on the same excursion, so plans were made unbeknownst to either to have a huge BBQ. Everyone pitched in to get them gifts - Thai ended up with a vinyl poster of her head superimposed on Wonder Woman's body... Wonder Thai, hm... You just have to see it I guess. The party was also a nice farewell as it came two days before our flight to Bolivia. Peru has definitely been the hardest country to leave thus far - the time we spent and the friends we made will never be forgotten.
For better or worse, we made our way to La Paz on the 10th and began to acquaint ourselves with a new country. The capitol is less than pristine, but it does have its distractions. For one, it is set on the side of a hill at about 11,400 feet which means you spend half of the day stopping to catch your breath. We toured the Witch's Market during our first few days. As we meandered between the stalls of amulets, statues, aborted llama fetuses, and stuffed animals (not teddy bears), I had to wonder whether the place would exist without the tourist industry. To be sure, local religious beliefs are a mix of Catholicism and pantheistic superstition, but I didn´t see a single local shopping in the alleys... And the sheer volume of abortions taking place among the llama population is either brutally high or inflated beyond natural numbers, because every stall seemed to have an eerily abundant supply. La Paz also has a very interesting coca museum which lays out the plant's history from its use as a sacred herb by the Andean indians to its medical aspects and on through its eventual narcotic transformation. To this day, 'Andinos' chew dried coca leaves and drink coca tea to combat the effects of altitude sickness and increase their work capacity during long shifts.
La Paz is also home to San Pedro Prison, supposedly the strangest in the world. While it is entirely illegal, it is well known that the guards accept bribes in exchange for a tour of the facilities. The complex is divided into two halves. Those who can afford it (mostly foreigners who have been caught dabbling in Bolivian cocaine trafficing) are allowed to pay for nicer accomodations - some even have multi-level penthouses complete with kitchens; those who can't (the Bolivians) are kept more or less in a collective yard. Many of the paying 'guests' even bring their families in to live with them as the conditions are better on the inside. Safety is also great incentive for the foreign inmates, as they are often quickly killed if they are thrown into the communal hold. This fact keeps the more upscale side in line, because the punishment for breaking the prison rules is immediate removal from their private housing. We heard from many tourists who went in and spent their day playing video games or otherwise hanging out. They made it sound very interesting, but in the end we decided we didn´t have the cash ourselves. True, the guards will let you in, but only after you hand over 250 Bolivianos ($35) per person. Cheap by American standards, but extremely pricey down here especially when it all goes into their pockets...
While we were in the city, we also made friends with some of the other travelers that were staying in our hostel: Claudia - from Ecuador, Wojtek - the Polish Australian dual citizen, and Magda and Yuli - sisters from Colombia. After a night at the bar, we decided to take a biking tour of the Death Road - a 35 km stretch of narrow downhill gravel road that runs along the edge of a steep cliff. The hairy conditions have earned the road its legitimate reputation as the deadliest stretch in the world - people have fallen to their deaths by the bus-loads during high traffic. For better or worse, its infamy has encouraged a healthy tourist trade which sends travelers racing down it with two wheels, a helmet, and often limited experience. Our group definitely fit this description as most of us hadn´t been on a bike in years, let alone on steep gravel roads with hairpin turns... Fortunately, despite a fair bit of hesitation from some of the girls, we all made it down in one piece. In the end, Thai even discovered that she was a natural at mountain biking and was usually in the front of the pack! The experience was definitely hairraising and by no means legitimately safe (we saw plenty of other groups who seemed to have been much more well equiped; at times, our guide wasn't even in the lead!), but it was an absolute blast. At the bottom, we were treated to a hot shower, an hour by a pool, and a buffet lunch - all of which was very welcome after our ordeal.
During the trip we added another traveler to our snowballing group - Gium (sic?) from France - who joined us at our hostel. That night we also bumped into Yoann, another Frenchman who Thai and I first met in Honduras when we were scuba diving. The next day the seven of us took a bus north to Rurrenabaque. If there was any significant difference between the Death Road and the one we took this time, I was not aware. Some segments were so narrow, and the drop-off so steep, that I could not see any road between my window seat and the river some 2,000+ feet below. I spent much of my time with my hands fixed deep in the foam of the seat before me contemplating what a plunge over the side would be like; some of the girls we were with had to take sleeping pills just to keep from crying.
Upon arrival in the jungle, we reacquainted ourselves with the heat and humidity we had left behind in Central America. We took a three day tour of the Pampas - or wetlands - which brought us several hours down a river tributary into the heart of things. All along the way the banks were lined with capibaras (a sort of oversized guinea pig) and alligators. We sat and watched river dolphins surface and sink. At one point on our way to camp, we pulled the boat over to the shore by a tree which immediately began to fill with curious tiny monkeys. Before we knew what happened, they rushed the boat, jumping from shoulders to heads and back again in exploration! Our guide pulled out a banana which only prompted more frenzy as people continued to squeel and giggle and monkeys scrambled for the fruit. During the next few days we slept in bungalows under the canopy, went out in search of anacondas (christ, they stink!), fished for piranas, swam with the dolphins in alligator- and pirana- infested waters (one pirana actually bit Yoann's nipple!), and cruised about the river in the dark. Thai and I also discovered just how much the Colombian and Ecuadoring girls love to sing... loudly and out of tune... So there was an element of torture to the whole, but it was still ruled by a sense of energy and excitement that epitomizes the high points of travel. It was easily one of the greatest tours that we have done this far. And the sounds of the jungle just before dawn are indescribable... It is the hour when all of the life enfolded in the shadows and reeds makes itself known in roiling unison.
Upon returning to Rurrenabaque, we were waylaid for a day as the city shut down for a collective strike. Every form of business and public movement was haulted for a 24-hour period in an attempt to focus the central government's attention on the needs of the region - the idea being that they deprive the rest of the country of local products as well as disrupt through-traffic. Apparently such action has been very successful for La Paz (which is known as the whiny brat that always gets its way), a fact which has prompted many other regions to make similar attempts. Unfortunately I don't know how successful they have been for more remote areas who only seem to be hurting themselves in the process.
The following day we caught a bus back to La Paz after saying goodbye to Yoann - he decided to hang around and return by boat. If it weren't for the additional cost we would have joined him, especially given the prospect of staring down the same intense drop-offs as before. But we swallowed hard and slept through what we could and kissed the ground when the bus finally stopped. We didn´t have long to rest, however, as everyone quickly agreed that we should head south towards the altiplano and salt flats of Uyuni. So once again we jumped on a 13 hour busride headed for the far corner of the country. This time, the reward was three days in the most bizarre landscape that any of us had ever encountered. Before we went, we bumped into Jordi and Mee So, a Spaniard and South Korean who had traveled with the others through Ecuador - and our multi-national troop became nine... The first day we drove across the Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flat in the world. The remnants of a long dead sea, the landscape is barren whiteness in all directions surrounded by a distant ring of hills. Towards the southern end, you begin to come across a series of distantly spaced rolling hills that play host to giant cacti. The mounds themselves are the remains of coral reefs, now long petrified. After lunch, we continued on to our hostel for the night, riding across the expanse on the top of our jeep at 50 mph with only the roof rack to save us. Like our driver said: Bolivia - where everything is possible and nothing is safe...
That night we stayed in a hotel built entirely out of salt bricks. There are a few such places around the salar which are quite impressive if a bit impractical. Everything - the walls, bedstands, floors, tables, etc. - have been constructed from the white stone which makes for an eerily beautiful (at least from the inside) and suprisingly warm structure. Unfortunately they have to wrap the entire exterior in plastic to protect it from moisture... We awoke early the next morning to watch the sunrise cut over the hills before having a big pancake breakfast and setting off.
Day two brought us through entirely different scenery. First, a unique indian cemetary constructed amidst the petrified remains of coral columns. Then a series of red desert expanses and colorful lagoons. At times the view from our windows looked eerily identical to photos of the surface of Mars - rusty flatlands encircled by countless cinder cones. At over 12,000 ft we broke over a hill and found a deep blue lake rimmed by a brilliantly white shoreline and teaming with flamingos. It would not be the last time we would find such a bizarre scene. Over the next two days, we repeatedly stumbled upon similar vistas in an array of different hues. The lagoons shifted from turquoise to tan to black to green to red, each given its shade by a distinct combination of minerals. The effect of a red lake full of flamingos set aside a volcano at 13,500 ft was almost too outer-worldly to believe, yet there it was.
Our tour also took us by a series of bizarre rock formations, including the 'Tree of Stone' - a rather top heavy and aptly-named spire which seems like it might be toppled by a moderate breeze. And geysers and hotsprings as well! I still can't get my head around all of the different scenes that we came across in the matter of a few days. Uyuni may very well have been the highlight of this trip.
After returning to reality, we said goodbye to Jordi and Mee So and set out for Potosì. At over 12,000 ft, this mining town is the highest city in the world. During the height of the colonial era, Potosì was larger than either Paris or London due to the rich silver trade supplied from the nearby Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain). Unfortunately, the city's history is one of unfathomable exploitation. For over 450 years, the silver mines have been picked and scraped by desparate hands, largely for the profit of others. In the early years, the Spaniards forced African and indigenous slaves to work in the blackness of the mountain's interior without any exposure to sunlight. Coca, the sacred plant of the Andes, which was briefly outlawed by the church as 'a diabolical impediment to Christianity,' was distributed en mass among the workers after the taskmasters realized just how much it increased production. At its height, the mines of Cerro Rico provided over half of the world's silver - all of which was immediately transported from its home back to Spain. Now much of the precious metal is gone, but thousands continue to drill and detonate the mountain's innards attempting to grab the remaining minerals. And as they continue to dig without mercy or thorough planning, the rock becomes more and more like swiss cheese, making a massive collapse continuously more likely...
It is estimated that over 8 million people have died in the mines. It is known as the 'mountain that eats people alive.'
A small group of us went on a tour to see the conditions in which the miners work. Many of the mines still work without ventilation, pneumatic drills, or even electric lamps. The larger, better equiped cooperatives make use of such equipment, but it is many decades outdated and often faulty to a scary degree. Sublevels within the mines are reached by rickety ladders that drop down narrow tunnels ranging from 45 to 150 ft. At the extremities, where workers are drilling and setting explosive charges, the dust is so terrible that it is impossible to see more than two feet through the haze. We were down within the mountain for a little less than two hours and I emerged with weak limbs, a soar back, and a cough that I still have yet to shake. It is hard to imagine that the average man spends eight hours, six days of the week, down there. Many pull double shifts to make extra money, and some even work 24 hours in a single stretch in the inky gloom surrounded by deadly gasses, raw explosives, and suffocating heat and dust... I've tried to picture this life but I know I can't.
The average life of a miner is 18 years once they begin their work. Most die from silicosis - a rupture in the lungs caused by the dust. They literally sacrifice their lives for their families... and they know it.
Since the mines, we've been resting in Potosì waiting for a large festival set to take place this weekend. We had to say goodbye to the rest of our party. Claudia left for Ecuador a two days ago, and Tek, Magda, and Yuli caught a bus down to Salta in Argentina. We're actually giving serious thought to blowing off our flight from La Paz to Bueno Aires on the 11th and heading across the border early. I have come to love this country for its beauty and excitement, but the constant altitude has become difficult, especially for Thai. The incredible poverty, too, makes one feel very guilty about being a simple backpacker here. We are paying 29 Bolivianos (the equivalent of $4) each to stay in a hostel; this is about the same daily wage paid by the better mines on the mountain above... Comparisons like these have begun to choke me and I feel naked without a greater purpose in this place. After this weekend, we will leave...