After a very cold night in the unheated hostel on the shores of Lago Colorado, we woke up early. Really early. The plan was to head out by 4:30 A.M., in order to see the sunrise over the Sol de Manana geysers, an immense field of steam and bubbling mud located some 5000m above sea level. Predictably, the truck didn’t start again. Less predictably, it continued to not start, even after we pushed it up a rather steep hill (with the help of several other tourists staying at the hostel and a cable tow from another SUV) and rolled it back down again.
We started the day with a bit of exercise, as the truck once again declined to start. In an effort to keep things interesting, this time we had to push it along a slight uphill incline, and Carlos the driver dropped it into reverse in order to get it started.
It worked though, and soon we were on our way.
The truck jounced along merrily, as we took in the arid landscapes and listened to classic sounds of the ’80s and ’90s on Carlos’ very well-used mix tape (one of three we had for the entire trip). About an hour later, we found ourselves gawking at the second major attraction along the Southwest Circuit: flocks of flamingos!
Well, we’re finally back in Canada. It’s a sad moment in some ways, though it’s also good to be back on Mountain Daylight Time. Among other things, it finally gives me a bit of time to write a bit about our trip before the memories start to fade. So, here goes…
Our first step on our month-long adventure was an all night bus ride from La Paz to the town of Uyuni. Once there, we quickly surveyed the town, and signed on with a likely looking tour operator to do a 3-day swing through Bolivia’s “Southwest Circuit.” Our first stop on said tour was the Salar de Uyuni, located in southwest Bolivia. It’s the largest salt flat in the world, and one of the most surreal places on earth. If I were to make a film about purgatory, I’d film it here. I’ve never seen so much nothingness — just blue and white, stretching on towards infinity. It’s the one place in the world where formal modern art accurately captures the world.
Last weekend, Manuela and I headed back to Coroico. You might remember from a previous entry that the old road from La Paz to Coroico is called “The Death Road“, and until recently (specifically, until they finished the new road), was considered one of the most hazardous stretches of dirt and gravel in the world. Well, to make a long story short, we figured that this sort of danger was just too good to miss, so we biked down the death road on the return trip to Coroico.
Every country has its idiosyncrasies when it comes to driving. Germany has its Ampelmännchen. Italy has its love of public debate and disdain for “rules” of the “road”. The U.S. has its spirited gun play during afternoon commutes. The UK has its roundabouts and zebra crossings. And Bolivia has its zebras.
Those who know me well or have been reading previous blog entries might well be forgiven for assuming that the title of this entry is:
a) a reference to some obscure joke (possibly from Gary Larson)
b) a way to introduce a goofy picture of me (possibly wearing a silly hat)
c) some political thing.
However, in this case, I really did see a turkey in the mist last weekend — I even have the pictures to prove it.
As it happens, Manuela and I were on the road again. This time, our destination was Coroico, a sleepy town about 3 hours southeast of La Paz. Coroico is known for a number of things in addition to itinerant turkeys. It is situated in a hilly jungle setting, midway between the arid altiplano and the dense Amazon basin. It is a very lush part of the country, with coca, coffee, citrus, bananas, and all manner of flowers growing in the surrounding area.
Last weekend, we headed out to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca. The lake is one of the current nominees in the New Seven Natural Wonders of the World Contest (inc.) and I will allow that there’s a strong case to be made. The lake is a deep blue, and waters stretch farther than the eye can see. Titicaca has been revered by numerous cultures over the centuries, from present day Aymarans and Quechuans to the Incas and Tiwanaku of previous eras.We arrived in Copacabana on Saturday. Though only three hours from La Paz, we nonetheless travelled by taxi, bus, and boat in order to get there. Our bus also travelled by boat for a time.
(Editor’s note: for those who don’t like anything that smacks of environmental preachiness, I advise you to skip this entry and check back next week. We’re headed to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca this weekend, so I should have some neat photos to post soon.)
It’s an interesting exercise to compare life in two such different countries as Bolivia and Canada. For instance, pollution exists in both countries in a variety of forms; I daresay it is considered a problem in both countries. However, the nature and extent of the problem varies widely, even paradoxically.
I realize that “expect the unexpected” is a very tired phrase.In a perfect world, it along with a hundred other cliches and empty platitudes (along with redundancies like “empty platitudes”) would be retired from active duty in the English language. Unfortunately however, we do not live in a perfect world, and “expect the unexpected” remains the best way I can think to describe the mental attitude necessary for travel in Bolivia. Our trip from Oruro to Iquique, Chile, was a textbook case. Nothing went wrong, per se, and yet it was undoubtedly not what we expected.
Carnaval is many things in Bolivia. It’s a party, a preparation for Lent, a rite of spring, an indigenous festival, a collective remembering, a drink fest, and a time for prayer and supplication. It is also a vital thread in the national fabric.
First and foremost however, it’s a dance. I’m told that a Bolivian politician once said that the country may be going to hell, but it’s going to hell dancing together. (more…)
