Category Archives: Bolivia

Bolivia Adventure Part II

22 Friday May 2009

Posted by in Bolivia

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By the way!! I have FINALLY uploaded pictures from the last month on Picasa…here is the address (haven’t had time to write captions yet, but I will!)
I write this from the Carribean shores of Bocas Del Toro in Panama. I feel very behind in recording my adventures during the middle of my time in Bolivia, and if I do not complete my story with due haste, I feel it may be overtaken with the far warmer memories I am creating at this moment.
I already wrote to you about climbing Huayna Potosi, and the previous email, I believe, left off with me the night before I joined a tour of the Salt Flats and the volcanic region south of them, on the border with Chile.
We left early in the morning for the train station as we were told that there were strikes going on in downtown La Paz and the journey to the bus station might be slow going. As it was, we were fine. The station was an experience for its toilets, which were quite disgusting..and like so many bathrooms in South America, inexplicably gave you a ticket for paying to use the facilities. Why do they do this? Are armed police going to raid you in the stall, mid pee, and demand to see your ticket?
The bus journey to Oruro was uneventful (yet again, I was the new addition to the group of 10 travellers and they didn’t seem too keen to engage me) but I was very happy to see Michael, Tiago and Samara at the train station as we collected our tickets for the 7 hour train ride to Uyuni…one of the coldest placest on earth with temperatures in the winter of up to -100 degrees celcius. We all lunched together and then got on the train.
Unfortunately, they were playing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on the train. Whilst I love this movie, it is a very sad memory for me when I saw it for the first time, and that coupled with the fact that it is a very sad movie overall, had me crying for about 3 hours of the journey and arriving in a rather sour mood which was not aided by the fact that none of my new comrades wanted to share a room with me. Probably for the best, I cried myself to sleep.
We piled in groups of 4 into our 4×4’s for the next 3 days and headed off to see the world’s largest salt flats. The tour itself turned out to be somewhat disappointing with absolutely no interpretation…we were just driven around and told to get out at various points of interest and take photos. Not that the locations were not stunning, because they were.
The first day was a highlight for me as we took a lot of perspective photographs in the area of blindingly white ground, piercingly blue sky, and sun that could burn your eyes if you walked around without protection. The idea was to have objects in the foreground appearing to interact as if in the same plane and space with objects (usually other people) way way in the background, creating unique illusions. This was a lot of fun, but took a good while to get a hang of together with a lot of patience.
We also visited a very strange mountain covered in cacti which stood in the middle of the salt and seemed very oddly out of place. The entire area was like an illusion, especially as we drove on the horizonless “freeways” of salt that carried no mark or indication of direction. I would not want to be stuck out here with my own car.
That first night we stayed in a hostel that was made entirely of salt. Really. You could lick the walls. The ground was covered in thousands of salt crystals which crunched as you walked on them. Definitely an alternative to floor vacuuming and cleaning. ?
It was very cold that night, but thankfully our room, though not heated, had good protection against drafts. The evening meal was spent bundled up and ladling soup complete with gloves. My new group seemed to love playing cards, but I didn’t join in, opting to read instead. Later, some musical talent from a local school stopped by to sing and dance for us. That was very sweet and we all tipped and thanked them.
The next two days we continued our journey south stopping at incredibly colorful lagoons scattered with flamingoes, unusual rock formations that stood out in stark contrast to the unending desert behind them, and beautiful volcanoes that had a pretty sprinkling of snow on top of them.
Our second night was far more frigid than the first and we resorted to wearing nearly ALL of the clothes we’d brought with us whilst trying to keep warm in the silly thin sleeping bags the company provided, all the while inside the beds covered in 7 more woolen blankets. If you didn’t lay awake from the cold, it was from fear of being smothered by the weight of the covers. Just turning over was quite a task.
That morning we had to ready ourselves in the dark (other than a plastic roof which let in a blustery wind, the hostel only had electricity from 7-9pm) using our headlamps and set out into the night sky at 430 in the morning. our first stop were some steaming geysers and bubbling mud pots, which ended up being quite wonderful to stand in front of, trying to warm our butts and hands in the steam.
The thermal baths, therefore, came as a very welcome sight. Our guide had said she didn’t like them because they were too hot, but I for one think she is mad, and after dipping in a toe, needed absolutely no encouragement to strip in the frigid cold and dive right in (keeping my wooly peruvian hat on, of course). The water was fantastic and Tiago and I were the first ones in. Lots of people came up to the water, hesitatingly putting in their toes only despite our shrieks for them to f*%^*ing get their kit off and get in! “Oh, but it’ll be too cold to get out again!” Clearly none of them had lived in a ski resort long enough to know that if you sit in a hot tub for 30 minutes, you’re very much protected from the chilly night air for at least a few minutes after you get out. After much whining, we were joined by more people as they got up the nerve.
I bid goodbye to my friends that afternoon as Michael headed back to La Paz on the night bus, and Tiago and Samara went on to San Pedro de Atacama (which, ironically was only about 20kms from where we were…and where I had spent such a fantastic time in March, 2008). I loved meeting you guys and hope that we stay in touch!!
That night getting back to Uyuni, we were all in need of some solid gringo food and fell upon the most delicious pizza, apparently, in Bolivia and washed it down with fresh homemade chocolate cake (heated!!) and ice cream. It was fantastic.
The following day we had a long, hungry, bus journey to Potosi, followed by an even more famished trip to visit the world famous unesco world heritage silver mines of Potosi. Somehow our guide had neglected to realize that the mines would not be worth visiting in the morning as it was a Sunday, and therefore had last minute arranged for us to have a late afternoon tour on Saturday. However, it didn’t afford us any time to stop for lunch. By the time we had our second meal of the day it was 945 pm! Luckily, I had leftover pizza from the night before to tie me over.
The 3 hour or so visit to the mines will stay with me for a very very long time. The mines are now almost stripped of silver, during the time of Spanish conquest, thousands of African slaves were brought over the ocean to work the mines in unbearable circumstances, sometimes being forced to stay in and work in the mines for six months at a time. The descendants of the lucky few slaves who survived make up the tiny african bolivian population who live in the north of the country. We all bought gifts for the miners which consisted of coca leaves (which the miners chew religiously to battle symptoms of altitude, since the mine is at 4300 metres, as well as to suppress appetite and provide energy to work in the deplorable conditions) cigarettes, unfiltered, and sticks of dynamite. The mine is a cooperative, and each miner is not salaried, his wage is determined by the amount of mineral he is able to extract and sell. The principal minerals being sold today are tin and lead.
These miners work in horrifically cramped spaces, at 4300 metres, in temperatures of 45 degrees celcius (115 degrees fahreinheit), breathing air that is full of noxious fumes such as cyanide, and silica dust, carry loads of rock up to 100 kilos at a time on their backs several times a day through miles and miles of back breaking low clearance tunnels, risk their lives from accidental death or dismemberment due to explosives, and generally have a life expectancy of about 15 years after entering full time work in the mines, at which time they usually contract silicosis pneumonia. We asked several groups of miners how much they were able to make for a day’s work: Their answer? Between $6 and $9 a day. If they have to stop working due to a loss of lung capacity of MORE than 50%..they can earn a pension of $1.50 a week.
I will never again complain about the working conditions of any job I have back home again.
We were all completely filthy and having great difficulty breathing after just two hours in the mine. Just walking was hard enough. I couldn’t begin to imagine actually spending 8-10 hours a day here. It was too difficult to contemplate. The passageways were impossibly cramped and my heart was racing at some points from the fear created by such enclosed spaces. At some points we literally had to crawl on all fours and squeeze through the narrowest of halls. When asked if we wanted to go visit a blast site a few of us volunteered.
I soon asked myself what on earth I was doing as I found myself climbing up a ladder with more rungs missing than present (definitely no health and safety code in Bolivia) all the while with rocks and silica crashing down on my helmet and clothes. The passageway at the top of the ladder was not only tiny, but it had a significant degree of slope to it. Susie, who was ahead of me, was having a very hard time and eventually decided to back out. We were told that during the day, as many as 10 men would be working in this tiny tiny space. We all backed out and had quite a difficult time squeezing back down the shaft, not able to look down. I was very unnerved by it all.
Thankful to be back out into the fresh air (still hard to breathe though because of the altitude, Potosi is the highest town of its size in the world) we were next given the opportunity to experience a dynamite explosion. How cool? Well, first I managed to get a photo of me holding the lighted stick of dynamite before a volunteer together with the guide ran down the hillside to set the charges before legging it back to where we were. When the first bang came, I almost fell over from the sheer force of it. It was incredible. Forget taking a picture..I practically dropped my camera.
After a memorable morning spent wandering the streets of Potosi, which had many seemingly moorish influences in its architecture, we all jumped in cabs for the 3 hour ride to the capital of Bolivia> Sucre.
Our hotel was lovely, and at this point, I was enjoying my unpopularity in the group because I was still enjoying a room all to myself. After a yummy dinner we headed out for karaoke which Sole, our guide, had arranged. Of course, everyone in the group just wanted to have fun and I wanted to SING. And I wanted to sing alone, not with the entire group crooning drunkenly along with me. That’s not karaoke for me, at least (but as you all know, I’m weird and a voice snob). Disappointed, I headed back to my room and settled in for a delightful if subtitled movie in bed.

Much better.

I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the white capital of Sucre the next day. It was a stunning little city, and one in which I think I could happily live for a while. There were parks and trees everywhere with little outdoor cafes and lots of places to sit and watch the world go by. I was thrilled to find a beautiful Potosi silver ring for a ridiculous price, and drink glasses of fresh “tambo“…unripe passion fruit juice, at the local market. In the evening, a few of us took a cab up the main hill to a cafe called Mirador which had an incredible patio view over the entire city. It could have been Spain or Tuscany with the setting sun warming our toes as we sipped tea and ate fantastic chocolate cake. I was in heaven.
On our last day in Sucre, 3 of us decided to go on a guided walk through the mountain range east of the city, the Cordillera de los Frailles. The route took us first down an original Inca trail (apparently part of the trail that connected Buenos Aires to Machu Picchu), through villages inside an ancient volcanic crater strewn with violet and red rocks, and then several miles further over hills to a set of original and fossilized dinosaur footprints. They were fantastic and much better than expected as we could walk right up to them. Anywhere else in the world and these incredible artifacts would be cornered off away from tourists and viewable only by binoculars. The scenery was also very different from all else I’d experienced thus far on this trip, and together with the green hills, dramatic rock shades, glorious sunshine, and abundant eucalyptus trees, I would have guessed I was in Australia.
It was a long 18 km hike followed by a two hour off road drive through rivers and over many boulders. We were wrecked by the time we got back and after a shower, I barely had the strength to make it to a restaurant and get food to go.
The next morning a few of us boarded a plane back to La Paz as the rest of the group continued on their South American odyssey on to Santa Cruz and Brazil. I was looking forward to doing my own thing again…and as I mentioned in my last email..I decided on that flight to climb Huayna Potosi. The rest you know!
OK…I will leave you there and pick up next time with my last two days in La Paz before flying back to Costa Rica and journeying on to Panama where I am now.

Bolivia Adventure Part III (part II coming later!)

17 Sunday May 2009

Posted by in Bolivia

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For the first time since my adventure began two months ago, I am going to write to you out of sequence. That´s because I just completed what has to be the greatest physical challenge of my life to date…the 3 day expedition I took to climb Huayna Potosi, a stunning mountain in the Cordillera Real of Northern Bolivia, just a few feet shy of 20,000 feet. It was the worst and best experience simultaneously, however, by far I believe it will be the most memorable moment of this trip (if not of recent years) and something I will look back on in utter disbelief for many years to come.

I returned to La Paz on the 13th of May and had a flight booked to San Jose, Costa Rica for the morning of the 14th. For some unknown reason, however, I had it in my head that I wanted to tackle this 6088 m peak…and set out to explore my options for joining an expedition, and whether changing my flights was even a possibility. My Kiwi guide whom had accompanied me on the World´s Most Dangerous Road had told me that he had climbed the mountain the week before, and that whilst it was the most gruelling trek, he said that the views and experience was otherworldy. So, I had been thinking about it over the past week, and I don´t know why (I really need my head examining) but I decided I had to do it on the flight from Sucre to La Paz.

On arrival in La Paz I went to a travel agency and called the trekking company my guide had recommended, and was disappointed to hear that they didn’t have a group leaving for the summit until May 22. A few more calls to other agencies left me similarly disappointed. Just when I thought I should give up and leave Bolivia in the morning, I came across an agency by the same name as the mountain, and they had a group leaving for the 3 day trip in the morning! I walked there and spoke for a while with the owner, a mountaineer and ER doctor with a crazy and generous personality, and pondered my options. He explained the route, the ice climbing training on the first day during acclimatization, the risks of altitude sickness, physical fitness requirements, and all the gear that I would need to rent if I had a chance at success. He seemed very pleased that I had essentially been at altitude for a month, and assured me that I shouldn’t have a problem, but that he would give me some drugs in the event I started to feel sick.

When I explained that I needed to first check and see if I could alter my flight…he offered to take me directly to the airline office because he wanted an excuse ¨to get out of the office for a while!¨¨ How kind. We hopped in a taxi which took us down to La Paz´main thorough fare of The Prado whereupon he helped me secure a flight out on Tuesday next week, giving me two more days in La Paz after we got back. It seemed a lot of time, but then again, I would probably be needing at least a day of rest on return (too right) and then one more day to actually SEE La Paz (which I hadn´t yet) before departure. So, it all worked out and we cabbed back to the office where I proceeded to pay the $140 for the whole trip and sign my life away for the adventure.

Funnily enough, one of the girls from my 10 day tour of Bolivia, Helen, who had the same flight booked as me tomorrow but connecting onward to Santiago, also decided to come on the trek after hearing me talking about it on the flight from Sucre! I asked her if she had any idea what she was getting herself into, to which she happily responded ¨no, but a great spur of the moment decision, right?¨¨ As yet, I wasn´t so sure…I was pretty anxious but excited at the same time.

I called my sister back in England and told her about my plans and asked her to try and dull the details to my mom. I tried to tell her not to worry, and that I would be in touch as soon as I returned to La Paz on Saturday afternoon.

It was a somewhat restless night as I contemplated postponing my departure until the next morning so I could have one day to rest before this gruelling excursion…but Helen convinced me to come along with her. OK, then.

If I´d had one more day to really contemplate what I was about to do, I may have pulled out anyway!

Off we set for the van which took our trekking group of 8 (though one of the trekkers, Wolfgang from Germany was setting out to complete the ascent in two days instead of 3) to the company´s equipment rental store where we were all kitted out with gloves, crampons, gaiters, plastic boots, ice axes, jackets, down jackets, head-scarf combos, extra wool socks, backpacks, and climbing harnesses. Each pile of necessary gear was enormous and I wasn´t looking forward to carrying it all up to high camp…

The drive was 2 hours and we all excitedly chatted about what lay ahead and stopped a few times to get photos of the massive peak as it got bigger and bigger as we approached. I kept thinking…was I going to make it?

Arriving at base camp, I was pleasantly surprised at the charming little refugio where we were to spend the night. It had several rooms filled with bed bunks, and a cozy living area with combo dining room-kitchen and a lovely open fireplace providing the only heating in the building for the chilly night ahead at 4700 metres.

After a home cooked lunch, we strapped on our gear and harnesses and headed out for the hour walk to the foot of the glacier for some ice climbing-crampon-ice axe training.

I had some experience with this equipment so I wasn´t too nervous. Turned out that it was a good thing I was there as I was the only person on the trip who could speak Spanish well enough to translate the guide´s instructions to the group about the various methods of ascent and descent. We spent roughly 3 hours there, ending with a rappel down the side of the ice. Lots of fun and hopefully the information had stuck enough in our heads and bodies to be of help on summit day (though at the time it didn´t really dawn on me just how much harder it was going to be to scale a wall of ice and snow in complete darkness).

After our trek back to the refugio, we were famished and dined heartily on vegetable soup and pasta…carbing it up for tomorrow. After some welcome Coca de Mate tea around the fire with my new companions, I headed upstairs to my sleeping bag and an early night. Of course I filled my Nalgene with hot water first to serve as a welcome hot water bottle for my frozen toes.

I slept surprisingly well, despite the altitude (insomnia is notorious at these heights) and after breakfast, we welcomed the group from that morning´s summit attempt (including Wolfgang) as they trickled in around 10-11:30 am. I was very disturbed to learn that of their group of six, only three had made it to the summit. The other three (all girls, I might add) had turned around after just a few hundred metres higher than high camp, vomiting and suffering from horrendous headaches and disorientation. They looked pretty shaken and weary. But then again, so did the triumphant three who had made it. I asked them about their experience and it did little to allay my own fears. Very tough, difficulty breathing, narrow ridges with extreme sheer drops either side, harder than they had thought it would be, yet entirely amazing, were all descriptions of what lay ahead.

Gulp.

After lunch, our group geared up and set off for the 3 hour or so ascent to 5300 metres and the refugio at Campo Argentino…high camp where we would attempt to get some sleep before our 12:30am wake up call to begin the summit day. (NOW THAT´s EARLY!) I found the walk to be pretty easy and was pleased at how well I was breathing. Saying that, I had copped out just a little and paid a porter to carry the heaviest items of my gear…and I´m not ashamed of it! I wanted to have the best possible chance at making the summit, and I thought that saving my legs was probably a good idea. Helen agreed with me and we shared the cost between us.

The views as we climbed got more and more spectacular, but the peak still seemed an impossibly distant and far away treasure. We got to the snow line around 4pm and scrambled up over rocks where we could to reach the refugio. Watching the sun set over distant Illimani and the other peaks of the Cordillera Real range was a sight that was breathtaking…especially with all of the clouds hovering below where we stood, seemingly at the top of the world.

But no, that was for tomorrow (or tonight, if you think of midnight that way!)

The refugio was tiny but very cute…we all lined up like sardines on the one top ¨´single´bunk bed, happy to be close to one another for warmth. I was very much enjoying the camaraderie that was developing between our happy little international group : countries represented amongst us were France, the US, Canada, the UK, and Israel. We chatted happily and shared stories from our travels and conjectured about what may lay ahead, over bowls of chicken soup ( which I had to force down my throat because I was not hungry at all).

The refugio also contained the worst outhouse I´ve ever seen, it does not even bare description, lets just say it was ¨´overflowing¨¨ and one was far better off choosing to do one´s business behind a rock despite the bitterly cold night air.

We all agreed on lights out at 6:30pm, and despite the early hour, attempted to crawl into our bags and get some shut eye before our ridiculously early start. I lay there, anxious and heart pounding from the altitude, feeling a little out of breath just from turning right or left in the bed, or re-arranging the bag. WTF. Shit.

I got maybe an hour of restless sleep. It was just too high to get hard sleep. And I lay there for an hour trying to convince myself to get out of my sleeping bag because I needed to pee, not wanting to step out into the icy night. It was time to prep for the big day, and it was madness in the tiny refugio as the seven of tried to sort out our day packs, water, gear, headlamps, and plastic boots.

Stepping out into the still of the night, I will never forget the excitement and thrill that lingered in the air, the bright stars shining overhead lighting up just the outline of the majestic peaks surrounding us. And the cold. God it was cold….around -15 degrees Celsius without the wind factor. Brrrr.

I was going to be in a rope team with just my guide…Gualberto, since we were an odd numbered group (plus, he´d probably correctly figured out that I was going to be the slowest of the group). Gualberto helped me as I struggled to tighten the second pair of plastic boots I had (the first were horrendously too big and he had another pair sent up from La Paz for me) and affix them to my crampons and thick gaiters. Affixing my headlamp onto my woolly hat to light the few feet ahead of me, we set out into the dark silence. My heart was racing.

It was 2am, and my team was the penultimate to leave.

The going was tough and looking back on it…it was also somewhat of a mental blur. I couldn´t think of anything more but trying to control my breath, attempting to get more oxygen in my lungs by forcing air in and out through pursed lips. It helped at first but got more and more difficult with every step, with every gained metre. Roped up with Gualberto, I soon fell behind and was visibly the slowest one of the team. I didn´t care much, and the owner had told me that the key to success on the day was to travel as slowly as possible. Having said that, Gualberto kept pushing and pushing me to keep going, not really allowing me to take breaks when I felt my lungs might burst if I didn´t rest.

It was gruelling.

About an hour into the climb, I fell into a rhythm that was almost hypnotic as I listened only to the sound of my ice axe and crampons crunching into the snow. Every few minutes I looked up, horrified at the sight of the peak which still seemed an impossible distance away from my tiny and insignificant little speck of a body.

As the slope became more intense, I realized that I needed to go to the bathroom, and number two as well. I´m not sure I´ve ever crapped in such an uncomfortable state in my life (far worse than on the Salkantay) with my bare arse exposed to the blistering wind, trying to remain stable on an impossibly steep slope, and my guide standing a few feet away, hopefully with headlamp pointed away.

However, I was definitely able to climb in an improved fashion afterwards.

The silence was comforting in some way. Until it was disrupted by a deep rumble that suddenly grew in volume and my mind cleared enough to comprehend that what I was listening to was an avalanche which seemed to be hurtling towards us. Unfortunately, one couldn´t see anything and I had no idea whether we stood in its path. My heart leaped into my throat for a few seconds as I saw my guide, frozen, seemingly contemplating whether to make a run to the right or left. As he was about to make such a decision, the rumbling stopped, and the mountain fell quiet again but for the sound of our breaths. ¨¨That was very close¨¨ Gualberto said. ¨¨We are ok, lets go¨¨.

Trying to remember to keep up my energies by eating chocolate and drinking water, we plodded on, each step increasingly more painful and breathless. At one point, I saw that the first real ice climb just lay ahead and I was sure that I wasn´t going to be able to keep going. I asked Gualberto how much further? He looked at his watch and was concerned, telling me that we were running late. For what exactly, I asked? Apparently, the descent becomes hazardous too late in the morning as the snow becomes soft and falling deep as you tread an additional danger. I was up against the clock which didn´t help my nerves one bit, nor my aching muscles. ¨¨We have another 2 and 1/2 hours to go to El Cumbre¨¨, he said. More devastating words I could not have imagined him saying.

What on earth was I doing, and why? Why was I putting myself through this? Why not just give up?

Trust me, these thoughts plagued me, and even more when we passed up one of my companions, Matthew, who had turned around due to a bad stomach. I so wanted to go with him, but something deep inside pressed me to keep going.

That first ice climb was ridiculous. It was then that I realized doing what we had practiced a few days before was completely different when attempted in the middle of the night. I couldn´t see where I was going, nor how far down the drop was below my feet. I was utterly terrified. To make matters worse, Gualberto kept yanking on my rope, urging me to climb faster as I gasped and gasped a few feet below him. I kept screeching ¨¨No puedo! Me Espere. Momento, por favor!!!!¨¨ which means, I can´t, wait a moment, please! I can´t count how many times I tried to yell this, out of breath, only to have him continue and tug on the rope.

The top of that first technical climb was a welcome relief, until my headlamp lit what lay ahead. This time, only swear words entered my head and I felt like crying. I was numb from cold. I couldn´t feel my feet. I asked Gualberto if I could rest a while, to which he responded (as he did many times)…¨¨in another twenty minutes, ok?¨..though of course, in Spanish. Thank God I could speak Spanish. I wondered how my friends were managing to communicate with their guides… I could see their headlamps in the far off distance, moving slowly up the side of the mountain. God, they seemed so far away from me! How could they be going so much faster?? Ugh.

At one point I had to stop and re-tie my boots. My left foot had no blood running through it and my neuroma was being aggravated. That was the last thing I needed, because once acute it would not be weight bearing. I couldn´t afford that to happen today.

I told my guide that I wasn´t sure if I could make it. ¨¨No te preocupes, Anita. Yo te ayude. Vamos a la cumbre!¨¨ he said…encouraging me not to worry, I will help you, lets go to the summit!! Wiping tears, I pulled on my down jacket and another hat, put my ice axe to the mountainside. Onward.

And onward. Breathing was ridiculously difficult. Gualberto stopped and told me I had one more hour to go, but that it was going to be much harder climbing than before. Once we started he said, we could not stop. This was my last chance for chocolate and water. I was terrified at this point, my legs ached, my heart pounded, and my head started to throb from the altitude.

I absolutely do not know how I managed that last 35 degree slope. Every swing of the ice axe was exhausting, every step felt like an effort coming from a place that wasn´t my body. Pulling myself up on to Polish ridge (so named for the Pole who fell from it in 1994 during a solo ascent) I was greeted by the incomprehensible sight of a ridge of snow just a foot and a half in diameter with 3000 foot drops either side…one stretching to La Paz and valley, the other to snow capped mountains to the west. It was quite a sight. To add to the magnificence, the sun chose that exact moment to pop above the horizon and shed its golden rays over us. I was overwhelmed. I could see the summit. And I could see my friends already making their way down.

It was another twenty minutes, and we had to stand on a treacherously thin sliver of shelf to allow my group to pass us on their descent. Weary, they offered words of cheer, and we climbed on. When I finally hauled myself to the top of the world, I broke down in hysterics.

I had made it.

As it turns out, crying is much more difficult at this height also. I couldn´t catch my breath between gulps of tears and I tried to calm myself. The view was beyond words. I couldn´t believe I´d done it. Gualberto hugged me in congratulations and we proceeded to snap lots of victory poses as I tried to choke back emotion. Wow.

After 15 minutes or so enjoying the sunrise and the glow of victory it was time to head down. Luckily I´m far more adept at descent than I am at ascent and we quickly caught up with the others.

It started to make more sense why we start the climb in the middle of the night…its not just for the snow conditions. You simply wouldn´t attempt the climb if you saw what lay ahead. Simple as that. Bloody stupid. That’s all I can say.

Deep treacherous crevasses that I had jumped across without a thought in the night suddenly became lightened caverns of death. We saw the results of the avalanche and stared in disbelief at its proximity to the route we had taken.

It was so very beautiful and it was on the descent that I could take most of the pictures to remember the ascent by. On and on we trudged, our knees taking a beating with every step. At one point I fell down, my head dizzy from altitude and exhaustion. A little chocolate helped.

After a couple hours we were back at the refugio where we were welcomed with some hot tea. I would have welcomed breakfast but alas! we had to wait till we descended to base camp. I was spent, beaten, unable to move. I lay down and quickly became very cold by my wet underclothes. I quickly changed, re-packed all of my equipment, and then headed down with the others, thankfully back in my hiking boots.

That 2 hour hike is a blur. My head hurt so much but I thought it must be from hunger and tension as much as from altitude. The sun beat down on us like meat on a grill. I was so so happy to see the lake, to cross the dam, and enter the refugio a full 10 hours since we had set out.

After a cold shower, I sat down to a bowl of soup followed by chicken and rice. I felt like hell. But I had made it. This image of eating lunch at the table with my fellow climbers (and with the anticipatory group for the next day) had got me through I think. ¨¨How was it?¨ I was asked by the nervous looking new group. ¨Hardest thing I´ve ever done in my life¨¨ I replied, truthfully.

After two hours in the van I was ecstatic to crawl into bed back in my hotel room which I was sharing with Helen. After a 3 hour nap, I felt somewhat jetlagged as I showered and changed to meet the group for a celebratory curry. It was the perfect ending to a unbelievable day.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this…I must ge going…we are off to watch Cholitas wrestle in El Alto. I will write Part II very soon.

Meanwhile, here are some pictures taken by Ezra a member of my team. I should be able to upload my pics in the next day or two before I fly to Costa Rica and on to Panama. What a relief sea level, sunshine, and the beach will be after this….

http://picasaweb.google.com/ecyashar2/HuaynaPotosi6088mAboveSeaLevel#

Bolivia Adventure Part I

11 Monday May 2009

Posted by in Bolivia

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I write to you from the UNESCO World Heritage site of world-famous silver mining town of Potosi in South central Bolivia. Much has happened since I last wrote, so I will endeavor to get caught up…and attempt to concentrate on doing so despite the horrendous din of a practice parade outside this coffee shop window.
I left you last travelling on an overnight bus to Puno and Lake Titicacca..finally saying goodbye to Cusco…and hello to my first day in Bolivia, as I would be continuing on that next afternoon to Copacabana on the lake shore (no, not the famous beach in Brazil).
Well, the bus was yet another experience not to be forgotten. This time, not for the uncomfortable seats or bad incessant music…no, this time for the heat. I had a heater right by my foot which was jetting out oven worthy temperatures over the 7 hour journey to the extent that I couldn’t even place my feet on the floor and I felt like a rotisserie chicken. Multiple pleadings to staff fell on deaf ears. By the time we arrived in Puno, at 345am I might add (another lie told to me by a bus company…that we would arrive around 6am) I was Medium well done.
My plan had been to hang out at the bus terminal until around 7 before catching a cab to the harbor and a boat tour to the famous floating reed island of the Uros people. However, I was quite pleased with myself after I managed to finagle, in Spanish, a free room for 4 hours of sleep, before going on a tour that included the boat trip, transfers, and the bus ticket to Copacabana.
And it was worth it. I needed that shut eye and a refreshing shower before heading out at 830 to meet the boat and my tour guide.
I had been warned by other visitors that the Uros Island tour was very tacky and fake. I, in fact, enjoyed it thoroughly. These islands are made entirely from totora reed who´s roots literally float, allowing them to be tied together and then heavily stacked with layers and layers of reeds on top, then the entire “island” is anchored to prevent it from drifting out into the lake, and voila! You´re ready to build your totora reed houses on top and your totora reed boats to get from A to B.
The lifestyle of these people is fascinating. They seemed very happy to see us and clearly rely heavily on tourism for their income. Their costumes and hair braiding was uniquely colorful and ornate. It was just so strange to be walking around on ground that had give to it. I´ve learned how many things in my life I´ve taken for granted…but living on solid ground was never one of them before this experience.
Unfortunately, we were told that due to the extreme and damp conditions…most kids raised on the islands had rheumatism and arthritis by the age of 20 and were unable to walk by the time their 40th birthday rolled around. We were told that this generation was probably the last to live in this traditional (no electricity except for a few solar panels that powered TV´s!!) method, the mainland and its modern conveniences being too strong a pull.
Upon return to the bus station, I was alarmed to be warned that I might have trouble entering Bolivia on my British passport because I used my US passport to enter Peru. I couldn´t understand why that would be an issue, and there was nothing I could do at that point on the bus…so I fretted for the next 3 hours until we reached the border.
On arrival, I spent what Peruvian money I had and waited to get Bolivianos from the border´s ATM.
There was none.
And to my dismay, the border officials demanded that I continue to travel on my US passport and pay the $138 for a visa. I couldn´t believe that the completely benign decision I made a month ago to use my US passport upon entering Peru was now going to cost me. And worse yet, I didn´t have any money. I was screwed.
To my amazement, a couple from Brazil (who later became fabulous travel companions for the next week or so, Samara and Tiago) handed me 2 $100 bills and told me I could pay them back later. I was so grateful.
After miserably and intentionally stalling for time, the border guard threw a form at me and told me to fill it out. Meanwhile, Samara told me to hurry up as the bus driver was getting antzy and wanted to go without me! This was stressing me out and I started to panic.
THEN…the official told me that one of the bills was fake..which was an absolute lie. I couldn´t believe it…he actually wanted to deny me entry into Bolivia. Luckily, Michael, an American on the bus, lent me the other $38 in a mixture of Soles and dollar bills. Just when I thought I was going to get a visa, the official demanded to see proof of my yellow fever vaccination (which no one else had been asked to produce). Thank God, I had it..albeit about 1 year before expiration (I had had a shot on the USS Explorer doing Semester at Sea when our itinerary was changed to include Brazil). He made me go photocopy it twice along with my passport.
At this point, Samara and Tiago were literally standing in front of the bus to stop him from driving away…and with my luggage!
If it weren´t for them, I would have been staying the night sleeping on the pavement outside immigration in nothing but a fleece for warmth and no money to even buy a bus ticket back to Puno in the morning!! What a nightmare.
Thankfully, I got my visa (which they then messed up by granting me permission to remain in Bolivia for 5 instead of 1 year!!) and we journeyed together to Copacabana.
On arrival, it turned out that my hotel had given away my reservation. Could this day get any worse? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it could.
There was no ATM in town, and the bank was closed for the next 3 days for a festival. WTF. What was I going to do?!
Well, thankfully, Michael, myself, Samara, Tiago and two lovely Canadian girls (Arielle and Christine) found ourselves staying at the same hotel and we hung out together for the next two days before heading to La Paz, and they kindly subsidized my existence during that time. I don´t know what I would have done without them! THANK YOU!
By the time we had checked in, we were all in need of a stiff drink and some good food. So the six of us headed out and found a lovely restaurant at the hotel that had given away my room (bastardos) and promptly ordered a red wine and tried to laugh away the stress of the day. We then gorged on an amazing swiss fondue and other dishes that left us full and exhausted. It was a wonderful meal with wonderful company.
The next morning was when we discovered that the bank was shut. Thankfully, I was advanced a few bolivianos by a sympathetic hotel owner on my credit card, just enough to cover my hotel costs and a bus ticket to La Paz. Michael would loan me the rest.
After all the traipsing around town to sort out money, we were left no other option than the shorter afternoon tour to the beautiful Isla Del Sol on Lake Titicacca, and after lunch, Michael and I caught the ferry together.
It was a long, slow crossing, hell, I think I could have rowed faster than this boat travelled. But the view up top was beautiful albeit freezing with a biting wind.
The island itself was very Mediterranean in appearance..it felt like Spain..with lots of rolling green hills, pastureland, and of course the dramatic backdrop of the lake itself. Unfortunately, the boat only gave you 40 minutes on the island before you had to turn around again, so Michael and I opted for a longer tour of the island for a couple of extra bucks (which was added to my tally) which would allow us to take a hike along the south shore to a different boat heading back to the mainland.
It was well worth it, despite the altitude that had us huffing and clutching our chests as we climbed and climbed.
Back on the mainland, being gluttons for punishment, we decided to climb Cerro Cavalrio which is a giant hill view point overlooking the town, and it was supposed to have an amazing vantage point for sunset. It was an exhausting climb but we were rewarded with not only views over the city and lake as the sun set into the water, but also of the revelries going on in the main square as severe partying got underway for the Festival of the cross.
By the time we arrived at the top, huffing and puffing, it was already getting dark and we realized that we better hurry if we were going to get down safely. We chose the alternative route down, and whilst I was pretty comfortable, Michael was not enjoying the lack of visibility and the steep jagged rocks underfoot. We made it back the city OK, just very ready for our evening meal.
Meeting up with our fellow travellers we enjoyed a wonderful meal in a fire lit restaurant of the local speciality: Trucha, or trout. It was delicious, and I had perked up because the manager had assured me that the bank would re-open in the morning.
Of course, it didn´t. How shocking. Not.
After dinner we walked back up the hill towards the sound of trumpets blaring and thousands of
people cheering and having fun.
This party was unlike anything I´ve ever experienced. First of all, towns from all over the region had come to Copacabana and were represented by their own brass band. Each brass band played their own song which was intricately choreographed (though not often intricately executed due to the fact that most of the musicians were blindingly drunk). Now, imagine all 8 or 10 bands, playing different songs, all very loudly…..AT THE SAME TIME. It was a cacophony of noise, yet somehow, it roused the locals to their feet in a frenzy of dancing.
What surprised me the most about this Bolivian party (as opposed to a street festival back home) is that all generations were represented- young mothers with children, elderly couples all decked out in indigenous attire, as well as the twenty something crowd. It was fantastic to observe: everyone was having a blast and getting very very wasted on the FREE booze (a peach hot tea with brandy) that was being passed around.
In addition to the music and dancing, each town let off its own fireworks display in a sort of competition style. What was unique was that the fireworks went off in the middle of the crowd! Every time there was a giant Catherine Wheel you had to turn and run for your life or falling pellets of fire would smelt your clothes.
It was certainly a night to remember.
The following day, after a final morning in the town running errands, saying our goodbyes to Arielle and Christine, and booking a day trip¨for Michael and I in La Paz to mountain bike ¨´The World´s most dangerous road¨, we boarded a bus bound for La Paz.
It was a stunningly beautiful drive, and another unique bus experience, this time because we had to get off the bus at the crossing for Lake Titicacca and proceed by boat while the bus was loaded onto a cargo barge. Descending into La Paz, with the incredible Cordillera Real mountain range all around was a breathtaking sight. The city was enormous and completely filled the deep valley and dotted the hillsides all the way up to the famous suburb of El Alto. The city is comprised of thousands of red brick houses and a large proportion of the buildings are incomplete because property taxes are not due on unfinished building projects.
Upon arrival we checked into a hotel that was recommended to me by Mirjam (thanks, Mirjam!)
which had giant painted murals on the walls, then headed out for a dinner at a place that was recommended to Samara for its Llama steaks wrapped in bacon. The first stop, however, was an ATM, and I was so overjoyed at being able to withdraw money that I had my group take several pictures of me in happy glee at my renewed self reliance.
The Llama was VERY VERY good….
I was truly enjoying the company I was in. In all these weeks of travelling I realized that what I was really yearning for was to connect with one or a group of people. Other than Mirjam, I really hadn´t at this point. Surrounded by other travellers, I have still felt very lonely and the pain of my break up was still very strong and causing me to weep daily. I have been so sick of feeling sad and depressed, and angry with myself because I should really be enjoying this experience…the travelling has been so wonderful. Unfortunately, I just feel like a part of me has died from disappointment, so I was so very grateful to spend just a few days with my new friends because they allowed me to breathe in a sweet yet short reprieve from my torturous thoughts.
The next days´ adventure was, I think, the high point of my journey thus far. It was a truly remarkable and memorable experience. The world´s most dangerous road (so named for the number of vehicle fatalities that occur annually and over its history) stretches 75 kms from La Paz to Coroico, and descends over 3800 metres (that’s 12,500 feet!!) with one section of climbing. The scenery was incredible. We began at 4900 metres, cold, barely able to gasp oxygen, surrounded by mountain peaks, and SEVEN HOURS OF ALMOST COMPLETE DOWNHILL riding…we were in the hot, humid, sweaty jungle at 1100 metres, breathing easy. The views were beyond belief. As was the knowledge that at almost every bend in the road, a 1200 metre sheer drop was waiting to accept you and your bicycle if you skidded, hit a rock just wrong, or fell off. At some points, the road was barely wide enough to accommodate a single vehicle and extra caution had to be taken at blind corners to make sure nothing was coming the other way.
Our guides (and the brakes on our bikes!) were incredible and gave us lots of guidance along the way. We were warned to enjoy the first 22km of asphalt as an opportunity to get really comfortable with our bikes, and with going much faster than we were comfortable, to get used to going around the tight corners with correct footing and balance, and being able to do so without depressing the brakes. The logic here was, that if we travelled too slowly on the dirt road sections, we were much more likely to crash, and we had to learn to trust the bikes that were designed for the rigors of the downhill rough.
It was astounding that I made it without completely freaking out. Sometimes, our guide would come along side me and tell me that I needed to go faster and just relax. HOW?? I could die at any moment! He suggested that I sing to myself, which I did.
It helped immensely.
I soon got the hang of the speed and whizzing around sharp bends with confidence. On arrival at the jungle, we were directed into an animal sanctuary (the third I´ve visited now) where we were given congratulatory ice cold beers (God, they were good) and invited to take showers or swim in their pool. Heading to the pool, I was greeted by a group of Kapuchin Monkey, one of whom took a liking to me and proceeded to want to play pat-a-cake by clapping my hands together. He was adorable.
After a filling lunch we piled back into the bus, completely spent, and began the long, winding climb back up to La Paz, all the while staring in disbelief at the crazy drop offs that we had maneuvered on our descent.
What a day.
Samara and Tiago were waiting for us when we got back, and Michael and I excitedly relayed our day´s experiences over an incredible plate of Cuban food in a restaurant we had stumbled across a few blocks from our hotel. They had decided to leave for Uyuni and the salt flats in the morning as well…so it turned out that we would probably be on the same bus and train in the morning (I had booked a different tour when I was in Peru). Michael decided to join them, so we all toasted to the next 3 nights which were going to be COLD and test our endurance of basic basic basic accommodation that was without heat, water, or electricity in subzero temperatures.
I hoped I would see my 3 friends throughout my trip…which I did!
I´ll leave it there for now..and write again (probably later today) and fill you in on my trip to the Salar de Uyuni and Potosi.