TallGrove

Howdy folks!

Round two in La Paz was unfortunately not as enjoyable as round one: I now heartily wish I hadn’t spent so much time there in the first place. Admittedly, I was stuck there waiting for my replacement debit card, but STILL, there are way, way better places to be in Bolivia. One of these places is the charming (yet overwhemingly touristy) lakeside village of Copacabana.

Copacabana is on the shore of Lake Titicaca (do you get my extremely hilarious title-joke now?), which my guidebook describes as everyone’s favorite elementary school statistic. It is the largest and highest navigable lake in the world, but more interestingly it is from where the legendary founders of the Incan empire emerged. The lake is famous for it’s trout, and we enjoyed many fried fish in the beach shacks, looking across the lake, which is so huge it seems like the ocean.

However, the place to be is actually on the glorious Isla del Sol, which features ruins dating to before Christ and an ancient lifestyle by and large unchanged by the hordes of tourists that visit each day. Here, all the slopes are terraced, and have been for thousands of years, and they are still cultivated by the locals in traditional ways (that is, totally by hand). After a steep climb to the top of the island, we were rewarded with stunning views of the lake, which is ringed on one side by a mountain range to rival the Rockies. All the cafes have patios from which to enjoy the views as you sip your ice-cold beer, and our afternoon was largely consumed by doing just that. We then went on a walk around the terraces, and talked with the many field workers as they harvested their primary crop, peas. Every little girl or boy we met eagerly asked us to take their picture, but we quickly learned: as soon as the shutter clicked, their pleas changed to “paga me, paga me!” Evidently they desired renumeration for their work as an indigenous model.

A word about my Spanish skills. Some time in the last couple weeks, something just clicked, and suddenly my listening comprehension took a huge leap forward. I don’t know how, but I realized I was suddenly able to differentiate easily the individual words in a string of speech. It’s very exciting . . . talking with the locals has never been better. As Brandon put it today, we are no longer super-gringos, but a more savvy traveller. It is incredible what breaking down the language barrier provides. I suppose my ear just needed two months to adjust to the Spanish sounds.

Sadly, we couldn’t linger at the beautiful Isla del Sol, because Brandon has to meet his sister in Lima in a couple days, and my visa had expired. We rushed off the island, and headed (finally) into Peru. The border crossing was extremely easy (nothing like what Keiran & Co. are currently experiencing in the Middle East!), and after converting our Bolivianos into Nuevo Soles, we were ready to go. The first, only, and most striking difference upon crossing the border (apart from new and exciting beers to try) was the sudden appearance of rickshaws. These are bicycles (the fancy ones are motorcycles) that have been converted to have two passenger seats behind the pedeller (or driver). These bike-taxis are extremely common in India and China, I hear, but I never expected to see them here in Peru! I’ve yet to try one but I can’t wait.

We arrived in Cusco, Peru, which I had never heard of before coming to South America, but my guidebook affirms (as do my initial experiences here) that this is THE gringo capital of South America. Cusco (which means “The Navel of the World” in Incan) was the capital of the Inca Empire, which was founded by the two original Incans soon after they emerged from the icy depths of Lake Titicaca. The modern city is built on the remains of the ancient one, and most of the buildings here have foundations of Inca stonework. The stonework is amazing, because the stones were painstakingly chosen to fit perfectly together — they were not carved or hand-jointed.

Of course, Cusco is now most famous for Maccu Piccu, Peru’s answer to the Egyptian pyramids, the Taj Mahal, and the Statue of Liberty (joke). It also stands at the mouth to the Sacred Valley of the Incas, which contains countless Inca ruins all within walking distance from the city. This place is seriously cool.

Maccu Piccu is ridiculously expensive. Just taking the train (the only way to get there) up and back for a day trip is about $250!!! The famous Inca Trail, which is a four-day trek to the site sits at about $400, but is so popular that it is fully booked until mid-May or so (only 200 people a day are allowed on — but that’s still a lot!). Fortunately, I have found a somewhat cheaper option: for $200, I can go on a four-day excursion (food and everything is included), which features a full day of downhill mountain biking, two days of trekking in the mountains past other ruins, a full day at Maccu Piccu, and a relaxing finish at a thermal spring. A bit of a budget buster, but it’s gonna be great!

Just walking around this town is hilarious . . . for the first time I’m seeing tourists other than budget backpackers like myself, and EVERYBODY is trying to sell something. I’m thoroughly thankful that I’ve had two months to become skilled in evading agressive sellers. Everybody speaks some English here (unfortunate, because it is very useful to confer in a language they don’t understand when considering their offer. Many sellers do the same however, by speaking in Quechua, the indiginous language of these parts. And yes, most people speak it, and some speak only it — no Spanish! Cool.), and as a tall white guy I am a prime target. My favorite are the pretty girls who are trying to sell us massages — one hour for about six dollars. It is actually somewhat useful having three or four of them at once trying to sell us the same thing, because then we can work them off each other: one offers thirty soles, and another immediately counters with twenty-five. With patience and a practiced “Well, maybe, but I’m not sure” expression, you can get crazy cheap deals.

There is much more to tell, as always, but I’m afraid I’m tired of writing. Unfortunately there’s not too many new pictures, the quality of which I’m only somewhat pleased with, but wait for next week when I’ll write about Maccu Piccu!

Thinking of you all!

‘K Bye.

PS: Beer in Peru comes in 1.1 liter bottles! Life is good.

Greetings all!

Guess what? I’m tired and I don’t feel like writing anything, but my sense of reponsibility is somewhat over-riding these sentiments. I can, however, take the easy way out and merely gloss over recent events.

We headed down to this awesome little organic farm set in the jungle, which was run by a great hippie and his family. It was great . . . we had our own little cabin set deep in the woods, all the food was grown and cooked there, and our host, Christobel, was not only totally cool but loved jamming and chess.

The idea behind his place was that people would come and stay for a couple weeks and learn how to do all sorts of stuff, from farming organically to making home-made cheese. Sadly, both Brandon and I were (and still are!) tight for time: Brandon because he has to meet his sister in Lima on the 24th, and I because my Bolivian visa expired on the 14th. This meant we could only stay for a totally insufficient three days. Fortunately, we made the best of it.

As I mentioned, Chris loves chess and was confident enough to play all comers without his queen. According to his Bolivian wife, he always won. Always. Of course, I couldn’t let him go unchallenged! Maybe I was lucky, but I came out on top after three games (we both agreed there is no luck in chess)! The poor guy looked quite put out, and obviously wanted to play three out of five, but naturally I stopped while I was ahead, and then got the heck out of Dodge. Okay, okay, maybe not a great narrative of my interactions with Bolivian culture, but it was friggin’ sweet!

The highlight of our stay was a crazy jungle trek we undertook one day. We were assured it was four hours in to a 300-meter waterfall, and only a mere three hours out. It actually developed into a full-on thirteen-hour slog through untracked jungle, complete with three river crossings and numerous crazy drop-offs. Totally sweet. It was just what Brandon and I wanted — an extreme trek hacking through the jungle with machetes (without the machetes we would have gotten nowhere). It culminated on a rock ledge right underneath the enormous waterfall, with an incredible vista over the jungle. The mountains of Amboro National Park are incredible . . . it looked like it was where King Kong was found . . . look at my pictures, please.

The ride back to Santa Cruz deserves mention. The road was totally obliverated by landslides (often whole sections of road were just gone), so direct passage was impossible. This, however, is normal for the locals, who have ways of working around such difficulties. Our first ride was in the back of a pick-up truck, who drove to the edge of the first slide. The slide site is an insane tangle of trucks, busses, personal vehicles and construction equipment. All around the locals who lived nearby were selling all sorts of food and drink . . . they must thrive off the landslides. I can just imagine them seeing a landslide, and immediately cooking up a couple hundred tamales for the hungry and bored workers and travellers.

Anyways, we crossed the slide on foot, and caught a taxi on the other side. There was yet another slide to negotiate before getting to SC, but the taxi drivers loved it, as they were making a killing ferrying people back and forth in between the two slides. It was actually incredibly painless doing all this.

We finally got to SC and took a cama (bed) bus to La Paz, where I am now. I now honestly wish I hadn’t spent so much time here in the first place, now that I know what else Bolivia has to offer. Oh well. I am going to try to find another place like Ginger’s Paradise in Peru, in between Maccu Piccu and surf lessons, of course.

Sorry about the declining quality in blog posts, it’s just really seeming like work right now. You’ll have to satisfy yourself with pictures, but even with those I’m going for broke. No titles for the latest batch (except for the jungle trek, which was totally bad-ass), just sets. Sorry.

Exhaustivly yours!

‘K Bye.

Howdy Folks!

Well, let’s see. Even against my best intentions, Santa Cruz developed into another Sucre. That is, we spent a lot of time lazing around. However, our Hostel was most certainly suited to leisure pursuits. Every morning we were served fresh melon juice and an assortment of fresh, ripe tropical fruits, which we consumed while watching the only available English channel on the wide- and flat-screen TV, CNN. Turns out the Israelis are still killing the Palestinians. Some things will never change, I suppose.

After breakfast, Brandon and I generally retired to the hammocks in the courtyard, which was overflowing with a veritable jungle of flowering tropical plants. To top it all off, two tame toucans (yes, toucans) lived there, and were more than willing to chill out with you.

The days slipped by easily there, and we avoided doing too much in the city, because for some reason everything was half again as expensive as anywhere else in Bolivia, and beer stores were almost impossible to find. One memorable evening, though, we North Americaned out and went to an arcade in a mall. There, you could rent a little cubicle with a giant flat screen TV, a super comfy couch, and a Playstation 2 for only two dollars an hour. We had a pretty good geek-out session for sure.

I think the height of our hedonism occured on Sunday. We decided to get some serious drinking done, and to do it right. So we went off to the huge market and bought a few coconuts, a couple ripe pinapples, some fresh mint and a large bottle of Havana Club 3 Year (for those of you who haven’t drunk it before, do so. It is quality in a bottle). We milked the coconuts, juiced the pineapples, and made cups from the empty coconut shells. We then concocted the freshest piña coladas I’ve ever had (thanks in part to the blender at the hostel), and garnished them with the little drink umbrellas I’ve been carrying around this whole time (thanks, Robin!). When we got tired of piña coladas, we made excellent mojitos with the good mint we had. What a day!

Like most good things, though, Santa Cruz had to end. Too much partying had been taking its toll, and the slacker-traveller guilt was starting to get strong. So we headed to Samaipata, a sleepy little town set in the sub-tropical hills three hours from Santa Cruz. The drive, typically Bolivian, actually took seven hours (actually not that bad, as it turns out), due to a washed-out bridge first and a landslide second. We got here, though, and this place veritably rules. Everyone is friendly and says hello on the streets, the heat and humidity are at most acceptable levels, and the surrounding countryside is gorgeous.

The first day we went to a little zoological reserve only a three-kilometer walk from town. The walk alone would have been worth the time, but the zoo (for short) was totally way cool. Excuse my slang, but that’s how you would describe it too. There were all sorts of cool animals, like tropical birds and turtles and even a little armadillo you could hold in your hands (under the shell he was actually quite disgusting looking and stinky), but the stealers of the show were the uncaged monkeys who wandered around. These guys just loved people. They would walk up to you, or climb, and hold out their hands as if to be picked up. The second you reached down (or up) they would grab on and climb right up onto your shoulder, where they would hug you and pick through your hair for lice. It was so funny! Also, watching them climb was amazing. Their (prehensile) tails have a little pad on the end like their hands, which give extra grip when they’re swinging around. Playing with monkeys is the coolest ever, and you all have got to try it one day. What else can I say?

The next day it was off to some waterfalls. After being dropped off by the taxi, we struck off down the trail, which was regularly taken out by landslides. Traversing these was most enjoyable and resulted in extremely muddy boots. Beautiful forests, falls and mountains were the keywords for that day. I also saw my first tropical butterflies . . . specimens larger than my hand floated around on their almost unnaturally colored wings . . . dad, you would have been in paradise (especially with the giant — and repulsive — non-butterfly insects everywhere)!

Apart from that, we’re eating well (steak with mango chutney sauce, amazing, and cheap!), drinking well, and living well. In a couple days it’s back to La Paz, then to Lake Titicaca. Then it’s into Peru, where Maccu Piccu awaits. After that, I will work my way northward along the coast, eating seafood and enjoying the beaches, until I get to the north where I will learn how to surf. And then, it’s back home. No pictures on Flickr this time around, I’m afraid, so you all will just have to cope with the little flavour I’ve given you here. I’ll take care of that when I get back to La Paz.

Thanks for the emails, Mark and Kieran!

‘K Bye!