ruins

August 15, 2009

Where the hell is that? Why are you going there? These were the questions asked by the confused faces of people I encountered along my trip when I told them I was going to Samaipata. I didn’t have the answers. From what I’d read about it, I sensed that it would a be a gorgeous place with wonderful things to discover. What things, I didn’t know.

I’d made a reservation for a lovely looking little place in Samaipata called Hostal Andoriña. I received a prompt confirmation response and an important piece of information: Constantly remind the bus driver that you’re getting off in Samaipata. I was taking a Sucre to Santa Cruz overnight bus and needed to get off before the final stop. According to the hostel, people who were trying to get to Samaipata often woke up to find themselves all the way in Santa Cruz.

As I boarded my bus, I told the guy who had taken care of the ticket formalities that I was getting off in Samaipata. He looked shocked even though “Samaipata” was written largely and highlighted on my ticket.

Bolivia is home to the notorious “World’s Most Dangerous Road“, but it doesn’t take a traveler long to see that almost every road in Bolivia is dangerous. Steep cliffs, unsurfaced roads, sometimes no road at all, freezing cold temperatures, vehicle breakdowns, running out of gas– these are the realities of overland travel in Bolivia. I’d read that on the World’s Most Dangerous Road, there are dogs spaced out along the beginning waiting for people to offer them food. People believe feeding the dogs will give them good luck on their journeys. Even though this road had no official extreme title, as we pulled away from Sucre, there the dogs were, waiting for their offerings.

The first hour of the drive was fantastic as we rounded the corners of uninhabited mountains and the setting sun illuminated the sky with gorgeous shades of the rainbow. As the sun and the paved road vanished, the drive became a little more sketchy, but not nearly as bad as I imagined. The times that made me nervous where when we found ourselves moving backwards around a bend on a steep cliff. Sometimes the road was too narrow for two vehicles to pass each other which made it necessary to backtrack until a wide enough portion of the road was reached.

We made one stop in a town that was in the middle of celebration. Firecrackers lit up the sky, a great surprise after a drive that was increasingly uncomfortable and monotonous. At this stop, I reminded the driver and co. that I was getting off in Samaipata. One of the guys looked annoyed that I was telling him again. But I was determined to not wake up two hours past my destination.

I chatted with the French group I’d hung out with in Sucre and said goodbye because I knew it would probably be the last opportunity to do so. They were several rows behind me and I’d be getting off the bus before them. We were at the stop for a long time and we all got back on when we heard the driver start the engine. As we drove away, a few people chased after the bus and hopped on. The very real risk of getting left behind when your bus stops is yet another dangerous aspect of Bolivian bus travel.

The journey was about 13 hours. I had a great spot in the front row with ample leg room, but a chair that refused to stay reclined. After hours of tossing and turning in my gravity defying chair, I opened my eyes to look at the time. It was just before 6am and if I’d calculated right, we were due to arrive in Samaipata.

I knocked on the door to remind the driver once again that I was getting off in Samaipata. Whaddya know, it was a completely different driver and crew. They had no clue that someone was getting off the bus early “Oh, Samaipata?!” I was so glad I got up when I did, because we arrived in Samaipata about 10 minutes later. My broken chair was a blessing in disguise.

At the hostel, I rang the night bell several times before someone answered. I was surprised when a young American girl answered the door. She took my to my room where I immediately went to bed. In the late morning I woke up to sounds of people chatting outside my window.

In the courtyard I found what I didn’t know I was looking for—a traveler community. It was more than the usual coming of age backpacking holidayers; a motley mix of people was scattered about. There were youthful travelers and others with graying hair. Some were flighty, some cantankerous, some effervescent. But regardless of background or personality, you could tell these were all people with an insatiable curiosity about the world. People who felt the urge to move deep in their bones.

There were no barriers in this peculiar community of travelers, and it wasn’t long before I knew a bit about each person there. A Scottish couple, two Australian sisters, a girl from England and I agreed that some or all of us would go on a hike through a giant fern forest nearby the next day.

I peeled myself away from the fascinating assortment of people at the hostel and went into town. In the center of town, there was a main square full of random sculptures and absolutely nothing going on. At the height of tourist season, it was far from the “major tourist destination” my guidebook described it as. I loved it there. In this sleepy town I felt I was somewhere new and different while simultaneously feeling at home.

I bumped into the Scottish couple and they helped me negotiate a price for a cab to the El Fuerte ruins. Not much is known about the unique ruins of El Fuerte and I didn’t didn’t know what I’d find there which made the experience more appealing to me. Taking a cab is the quick way to get to the ruins, but you can also take a challenging uphill walk. On my way, I passed by the Australian sisters trudging up the mountain and hoped they didn’t see me taking the easy way up while they struggled.

At the top of the mountain where the ruins are, there was a fantastic view of the area. It is amazing how much of Bolivia is so pristine and untouched. The unruliness of the land has likely saved a lot of it from being destroyed. I reveled in the beautiful views and the mysterious El Fuerte and enjoyed a quiet walk around…

{ 9 comments }

August 9, 2009

I’d returned to La Paz on a Saturday and wanted to check out the city’s club scene that night. I went out with a group of people from my hostel and it was fun for awhile. But I quickly noticed that a large chunk of La Paz’s gringo party crowd were not people I wanted to associate with. La Paz, even more than Cusco, attracts a crowd that is there for the sole purpose of partying hard. They’re the kind of people who give 20-something backpackers a bad name.

Two of my of my roommates that night were part of that crowd. They were the most obnoxious ones I’ve ever had in a hostel. One, who had regurgitated her dinner before even having a chance to go out, passed out on a bed that didn’t even belong to her. She woke up in the middle of the night and decided it was a good time to have a long conversation with a random person in the room while the rest of us were trying to sleep. That is just a small glimpse of the night. I love nightlife, but I really don’t understand the need to be that extreme and travel thousand of miles to do nothing other than party. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night.

I’d signed up for a tour to Tiahuanaco on Sunday and could not bring myself down from my bunk that morning. I eventually did and tried to hurry, but I was still the last to get on the mini bus. I was late and I’d held everyone up. It doesn’t feel great to be that person in a group of complete strangers.

I shrugged it off because I had bigger problems than lack of sleep and being shunned by my tour group– I’d lost my ATM card. I think it must have happened at the ATM on Saturday afternoon, but I hadn’t noticed the card was missing until night when I was going out. It was late, so there was nothing I could do about it then.

It was a two hour drive to Tiahuanaco. We began our tour in a museum adjacent to the ruins. The tour guide was awful. He rambled on and on about trivial speculation. It was hard to follow him because he would sporadically switch between English and Spanish. After awhile, I got tired of pretending like I was listening to him. I found a chair and had a seat.

I was sympathetically approached by girl I’d noticed earlier. In her multicolored head-to-toe llama gringo gear, she was impossible to miss. She wore a llama wool hat with earflaps, a llama wool sweater, and striped pants that resembled pajamas that were tucked into combat boots with wool llama socks sticking out of the tops. These were all in neon shades blue, pink, green, etc. We chatted and she seemed as crazy as she looked, but it was cool that someone else was not into acting they were understanding what the guide was saying.

Tihuanaco - Stone Face My Amazon tour guide had been great. He let us know what everything was, but didn’t go into much detail. He let us be in the moment. I knew I wouldn’t be able to enjoy Tihaunaco as much with the guide’s incessant talking. So when we reached the ruins, I decided to take off on my own. I reveled in the in the color combination of rust-colored ruins and brilliantly blue sky. I ran my fingers along ancient walls made of multi-sized bricks that created beautiful patterns. I looked into the eyes of stone carved faces that had long lost their detail. I imagined what looked like its inhabited days.

Tihuanco - Hole in the Wall

Tihuanaco - Vanishing Point

Tihuanaco - Statue I eventually rejoined the group and maintained a safe distance from the guide. When everyone felt like they’d had enough of the ruins, we went for lunch at a restaurant nearby. I sat with the neon llama girl from England who’d approached me earlier, her French friend, and a Bolivian American guy. The two girls had met in Peru where they were supposed to volunteer. But Peru got worried about swine flu and closed all of the schools, so many people had to cancel their volunteering assignments. After that, they decided to travel together through Peru and Bolivia. The Bolivian-American was visiting relatives in the city of Cochabamba, and taking the opportunity to travel to other parts of Bolivia.

For lunch, we had a choice of chicken, beef or llama. I wanted to taste the llama but didn’t want to order it. The French girl let me try a piece of hers. It tasted like a cross between lamb and pork. We had a lively conversation over a long meal before heading back to La Paz.

Back in the city, we were dropped off at the Witches Market. I headed straight for an international call center to get in touch with my bank. The good news was that there were no extra charges on my account and I was able to cancel my card. The bad news was that there was no way I’d be able to get a new card before I left Bolivia. It was a Sunday so I’d have to wait until the next day to see if I could use my credit card to get a cash advance at a local bank.

The two girls I’d met on my Tihuanaco tour were staying at the same hostel and I met up with them to go out to dinner. The English girl had lost her ATM card as well, so our goal was to find something cheap to eat. I’d imagine we’d find a great local hole in the wall place, but we ended up on a street full of Bolivian fast food joints. We eventually settled on a place that seemed really crowded and like the place to be. On the menu were things like hot dogs, hamburgers, and popcorn chicken. There was a complicated ordering system that we didn’t understand. The workers saw that we were clueless and took pity on us and took care of us. We sat down to eat our burgers. I can’t say the food was tasty, but it was edible and didn’t give me food poisoning.

Back at the hotel, my obnoxious roommates had moved on and were replaced with two French women I’d seen on my bus from Puno to Copacabana. I slept soundly that night and hoped that I’d be able to resolve my monetary issues in the morning.

{ 0 comments }