“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay home.”
- James Michener
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October 2009
August 2, 2009
At breakfast, I was joined by a guy who was my dorm mate one night in Cusco, on my bus the previous day, and now at the same hostel as me in La Paz. Oh, the gringo trail. He told me that a few days before, he was hassled while using the Peru-Bolivia border crossing that’s known for being shady. By the time he got past the border officials, his bus had left him and his luggage was still on it. He got into a taxi and asked the driver to go as quickly as possible until they caught up with the bus and flagged it down!
Llama Fetuses at the Witches’ Market
I spent much of the day wandering the streets of La Paz. I found the Witches’ Market which is not really a market. It’s a few stalls at the end of street of tourist shops. But there definitely are folk remedies and figurines and llama fetuses for sale there. Llama fetuses are naturally aborted and some Bolivians bury them under new homes to bring good luck.
Witches Market
At lunchtime I sat at a cafe facing the window and looked out at the strange and wonderful city of La Paz. It’s a place where the past and the present collide to form a vibrant character. It seems like a city that is not trying to be anything other than its own unique self, as full of contradictions as it may be. A microcosm of Bolivia and a great introduction to the country.
It was a Sunday, which meant there would be a Cholita wrestling match that night. Cholitas in Bolivia are indigenous women who typically wear two long braids, full skirts, and bowler hats. After reading about the sport in National Geographic and then seeing it on Andrew Zimmern’s Bizarre Foods, I was determined to go. I’m not at all interested in wrestling, but I liked the symbolism of it– oppressed women fighting back without exchanging their skirts and petticoats for pants.
The view of La Paz from El Alto
If you’re looking for full-on wrestling, you won’t find it at a Cholita wrestling match. You will find lots of laughs as long as you go into it with a good sense of humor. The event went on for a little too long and there wasn’t as much Cholita matches as I expected. But it was so bad that it was good. A highly enjoyable, only in Bolivia experience.
The English/Irish group from the previous day modeling their new wrestling gear
A Cholita leaps onto her opponent
Entering the match with style
Taking on the referee. Refs are usually on the bad guy’s side.
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August 1, 2009
I woke up to the realization that my shoddy hostel’s water wasn’t going to get warmer and I wasn’t going to get any cleaner. I finally succumbed to the cold shower. I learned how to get clean when both the air and your water supply feel like ice. It’s all about speediness.
I checked out of the hostel and went to get breakfast. I was joined by an English guy I’d met on the boat from Isla del Sol to Copacabana the previous day. We were both leaving for La Paz that afternoon. When I bought my bus ticket, I specifically requested the tourist bus and paid 25 Bolivianos. He said he paid 30 Bolivianos for his tourist bus ticket. The journey between Copacabana and La Paz was one I’d heard a lot about because there had been a history of tourist kidnappings along that route. I wondered if he was charged an extra 5 Bolivianos or if I’d end up on some shady bus. I hoped for the former.
We made our way down to the bus area. The scene was chaotic with backpacks and backpackers everywhere. When they started boarding the bus, it became even more disorderly. A clipboard that we had to sign in on was being passed around haphazardly. Everyone was scrambling for it because the bus appeared to be overbooked and everyone wanted a seat. In the end, there was one seat left and several people who hadn’t boarded. I saw an Israeli guy who had been my bunk mate on my last night in Cusco. He was traveling by himself, so he claimed the last seat and we finally headed off to La Paz.
Our bus floating across the lake
Some places have floating markets. Others have floating villages. Bolivia has floating buses. On the drive from Copacabana to La Paz, there is a point where you have to cross over part of Lake Titicaca. But there is no bridge. What’s the solution? Put the people on a boat, and put the boat onto a raft. It’s resourceful and provides entertainment for a multitude of tourists.
Che Guevara scrap metal statue in El Alto
After a long drive, we approached the vibrant streets of El Alto. We rounded a corner and were treated to a stunning view of La Paz. A valley of buildings with a snow-covered Mount Illimani in the background. I instantly knew I would like La Paz. When we reached the city, we were dropped off on a busy street corner. Getting off the bus was just as chaotic as getting on.
First glimpse of La Paz
I shared a taxi with the English guy and two Irish girls who were part of his group. Their hostel was right around the corner from the hostel I’d booked. Later, I met up with them at their hostel for a pre-dinner drink. We were also joined by a English couple they’d been traveling with. At dinner, we had a conversation about British spellings and pronunciation versus American spellings and pronunciations. This subject has potential to get out of hand but it’s always fun. When I encountered the group on the boat the day before, I thought they were part of a tour, but they’d all just met. I love how quickly travel allows connections to be made.
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July 31, 2009
The reality of Altiplano winter travel is that there are times when it’s too cold to shower. My hostel claimed to have hot water. It turned out to be a trickle of lukewarm water followed by freezing cold water. I passed on the shower and made sure to put on deodorant. I walked down to the shore to catch the boat I’d booked to go to Isla del Sol for the day. I’d bought a ticket the day before at one of the many ticket agencies. It doesn’t matter which agency you choose because you’ll end up on the same boats as everyone else.
Leaving Copacabana
Two Finnish girls sat in the seats next to me. We ended up chatting the whole way. Like many people who were traveling from the south the north, they had stories of extreme stomach illness and extreme weather. The stomach illnesses remained a mystery, but it seemed like a lot of people had gotten caught up in the same storm. I’d heard tales of being stuck in snowstorms at the Argentinean or Chilean borders and wind that was so strong that you could lean back into it and not fall down. At such high altitudes, the equator already offers very little respite from the cold. I was nervous about moving further away from it. But they assured me that despite the awful weather they’d experienced, they’d seen some amazing things.
If you choose a full day trip to Isla del Sol, they’ll drop you off at the far end of the boat so you can spend the day walking across the island, visiting the ruins and enjoying 360 degrees of loveliness. You have to make it to the other side in time to catch the boats, otherwise you might be stuck until the next day. The Finnish girls and I got off to a slow start. We leisurely strolled around, stopping often to take pictures. It wasn’t long before we realized that it wasn’t going to be a casual walk.
I was having issues with altitude. I don’t think the hike would have been as challenging at a lower elevation. Walking up even the slightest incline left me gasping for air. And the poor Finnish girls were still recovering from their stomach illnesses in addition to dealing with the altitude. I tried to encourage them by reminding them that it was good practice for their upcoming Inca Trail trek. They were great Isla del Sol buddies. If one of us caught a burst of energy and went ahead, we would call back to let the others know when we were coming upon a downhill section. Descents made us very happy.
Regardless of the feeling that I was suddenly asthmatic, the island was incredibly beautiful and worth the visit. At the top of every hill and around every corner, you are treated with gorgeous new views of the lake, islands in the distance and the simple island life. We made it to other side of the island just as the boats were starting to leave. Whew, we made it!
Incan Altar
Aymara gathered on the hillside
Some sort of ruins?
Baaa!
Three little girls
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July 30, 2009
Overland border crossing is all about formalities and symbolism. Real border crossing happens when you dive into a country’s customs, food, or any other aspect of a culture that pushes you to do something you haven’t done before. Nevertheless, I’m always intrigued by borders. Years of imperialism led up to lines in the middle of nowhere; lines that can be very significant, but often seem trivial when you cross them.
The drive to Copacabana was scenic as promised. There were wonderful views of the sparkling blue Lake Titicaca the entire way. When we arrived at the border, I hurried ahead knowing that I would take longer than most because I had to get a visa. I didn’t want to be left behind.
Getting stamped out of Peru was fairly easy. The only person who had trouble was a guy from Columbia. They eventually let him through, and he explained later that they wanted a copy of his criminal records, just because he had a Columbian passport. He said it was not the first time he had issues like that at customs.
I walked across the border. The only noticeable difference were the red and white flags replaced with red, yellow, and green ones. The process for U.S. citizens to get a Bolivian visa is pretty detailed. It’s all about reciprocity. But the governmental issues don’t seem to trickle down to the ground level. The Bolivian border officials were friendly and laid back. They asked me where I was from and responded with an “Ah, Americana!” and a smile. Their one request was that I make copies of everything– my visa application, yellow fever certification, passport pictures, and passport. There was a cheap place to do it next door.
As I was finishing up with the visa and getting stamped into Bolivia, I bumped into the one other American in the group. He and his friend from England had forgotten to get stamped out of Peru and had to go back across the border.
We all got back on the bus. The driver assumed everyone was there and began to drive. Suddenly there were shouts from the back, “Americano! Americano!” We almost left the American guy behind. A few days later I heard similar story from another traveler. I think it’s not uncommon for buses to leave people behind at the border. The man ran on to the bus, very frazzled but clearly happy to have made it on.
When we arrived in Copacabana, I was ripped off by a taxi driver. I asked to be taken to a hostel I’d found in my guidebook. It took under a minute to drive there and the taxi driver charged me way too much. But it was a trivial amount by American standards so I let it go. The hostel turned out to be really shoddy and looked like a place where I’d freeze at night. Realizing that Copacabana wasn’t very large, I decided to walk through town where I found a hostel that was recommended by two English girls.
It wasn’t very nice either, but it wasn’t as bad and it was right on Copacabana’s main street. I spent the rest of the day wandering through Copacabana. I passed by a gleaming white church where I saw people getting their cars blessed for safe travels. Bolivia is notorious for its bad roads, including the most infamous, “The World’s Most Dangerous Road.” Car blessing includes washing your car, decorating it with flowers, spraying it with champagne, pagan and Christian blessings, and firecrackers. I kept walking and came across a parade rehearsal, the first of many parades and rehearsals I would see in the days leading up to Bolivian Independence Day.
Puno turned out to be drab, so I was happy find that Copacabana had an aesthetic sense. It’s a charming little town with colorfully painted buildings and flowery courtyards. But of course, this doesn’t compare to the natural beauty of Lake Titicaca. Before heading to a dinner of wonderful Lake Titicaca trout, I watched the sun drop down behind the seemingly never ending lake. I enjoyed the quiet and solitude. I was content– I’d made it to Bolivia and sensed that my adventure was just beginning.
Lake Titicaca
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