Through Bolivia

Bolivians in their finery. La Paz May 2009

More travelling, less writing.

In La Paz there is an area known as the witches market. Many stores sell supplies for spells and charms including dried llama foetuses.

In Potosi we descend into the silver mines where men of poor prospects trade years of health to put bread on their tables.

In Sucre dinosaur tracks in ancient mud have been raised vertical. Or perhaps there were once spider dinosaurs that could run up and down cliffs.

At night we go see a local dance performance. Afterwards we still feel restless so we go out on the town.

Someone shouts a round of absinthe shots. I have never had absinthe before, but I have heard of its reputation - a strong woody drink with poisons in it that can drive you crazy if you have to much of it. The general consensus around the table is that it tastes awful. I don't mind it though - at least, I find it tolerable. Maybe because it meets my expectations.

The bar is too quiet so we wander the streets looking for some place lively. We hear the promise of music coming from somewhere - an energetic drumbeat playing ticca-ticca-TAC ticca-TAC ticca-TACCA-tacca ...

Soon we see a group of people outside a night spot. But as we get closer we realise they are just loitering around a bottle shop. There is an old car sitting in the street in front of the shop, unoccupied with its engine idling and rattling, ticca-ticca-TAC ticca-TAC ticca-TACCA-tacca ...

We wander on an eventually we do find a nightclub. In the upstairs room they play music in English and Spanish with an alternative rock sound. We dance with the locals. There's one crazy track I immediately love that I think I'd like to play at my next party. I try to remember some of the lyrics and months later I will scour the internet for it, but to no avail.

Copacabana, Bolivia

The bus leaves Cuzco, Peru at 8:30 am and arrives at Copacabana just as the sun is setting. Copacabana is a small town nestled between hills on the shore of lake Titicaca in Bolivia.
The bus driver recommends a hotel on the shore.

I lug my pack up six flights of stairs to a nice room with the best view. A large window looks west out over the small harbour where dozens of ferries float on the water as well as several kayaks and about a hundred duck shaped recreational paddle boats.

The lake stretches out beyond to the horizon. It is twilight. The sun has set but there is still enough light to set the clouds afire, red, orange and yellow, bright beneath a darkening blue sky.

Because the town is small the tourist shops, restaurants and other services are concentrated in a single street which spans several blocks. I visit a travel agent, money exchange, internet cafe and restaurant.

In the morning the view is still beautiful. The dawn light stretches around the horizon to lightly colour the clouds above the blue lake.

I go down to the harbour and board a boat that heads out over the expanse of blue. There are about thirty passengers on the small ferry. I go up on the roof where there are bench seats but there are several smokers upwind so I go below to get some fresh air.

At the front of the boat there is a small hatch which I can stick my head through but in doing so I knock off my hat. The black hat I bought in Ecuador slides briefly over the roof before it tumbles over the side.

I am upset for a moment but I quickly resolve myself to its loss. I go to the back of the boat to look for it. It has overturned and floats lopsided on the water, a miniature boat drifting away in our wake.

It is a two hour ride to Isla del Sol and the weather is beautiful.

We walk up a stone path past rural houses and crops sparsely planted on the terraces. As in Peru there are more terraces than there are people who are prepared to farm them. I walk with a Swedish girl I met on the boat. We discuss travel, vegetarianism, the eradication of the native Tasmanian, social injustice and much more.

We walk across a sandy beach on the lake shore. The sand is fine and contains no evidence of shells. We walk from the north of the island to the south. We see an ancient Incan stone tablet that was used for human sacrifice and the remains of an Incan village. The remaining walls form a labyrinth. It is impossible to distinguish rooms from halls and street paths.

But the highlight is the walk itself, over the top of the island. Up and down hills. Wonderful views of the lake which looks like a sea. Bays, beaches, trees. The snow capped mountains of Bolivia.

It is a good day.

Amazon Jungle, Peru

After Machu Picchu we return to Cuzco. From here we take a forty minute flight to Puerto Maldonado in the Amazon Jungle. We cross over snow capped Andean peaks before descending to flat tree covered land with large brown winding rivers.

Any area down from the mountains that is part of the catchment area of the Amazon River is referred to as 'Amazon' and this makes up about forty percent of South America.

It is a three hour boat ride up river to our jungle lodge. Along the way we see a couple of boats with crude pipes and mechanisms that sift through the silt of the river looking for gold.

On the shore there is a small family of capybaras, the worlds largest rodent, about the size of a pig. We also spot a juvenile red howler monkey.

The lodge room is large and spacious with high wooden ceilings. One wall is open to the jungle. The en suite is comfortable but the shower only has cold water.

Several years ago when I first visited the lush tropical rainforest of Northern Queensland I thought how much like a jungle it seemed. Now that I am in the jungle I have to admit, it reminds me very much of Northern Queensland.

We climb a tower thirty metres high to stand above the upper canopy. Even though it is late afternoon, the direct sun is uncomfortably hot and I soon descend to the warm shade of the jungle floor.

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The next morning we rise early and walk to a lake where we board a large row boat. In the trees we see a group of stinky birds - brown fowls with beautiful wings, long necks and small heads. As there name suggests, they are not good eating.

A dozen small bats roost on a tree trunk sticking out of the water. They are well camouflaged but start to jiggle as we get closer.

Towards the end of the lake I think I see a couple of ducks on the surface.

"Ooh, ooh, look!" cries our guide with great excitement. "Ooh look. It is the giant otters. Ooh, can you see? The giant otters. Oh, you are so lucky. Oh look."

Our guide is breaking her own rule of being quite so as not to disturb the animals. "Oooh look! Oh, I haven't seen for so long. Oh, you are so lucky."

She has reason to be excited. Giant otters are rare. They are the largest otters in the world. Perhaps fifteen hundred in the world and only one hundred and twenty in this area of South America. She hasn't seen one for two years.

In my best photo from fifty metres away I can make out the heads of the two otters. They look like potatoes.

Our guide gives us dry crackers and directs us to crumble them over the side of the boat. The water is in turmoil as voracious piranha fish rush to the surface to devour the crumbs with their razor sharp teeth. At least, I imagine they have razor sharp teeth. I can't actually see them in the murky water. Some of the others in the boat have a better angle to catch a glimpse of them.

I think a school of goldfish would be just as animated with the prospect of feasting on cracker crumbs.

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In the jungle, we visit a huge capok tree and ginormous Brazil nut trees. The fruit of the Brazil nut is like a small hard coconut, about half the diameter of a coconut and without the surrounding thick fibrous husk. Inside the sphere are the nuts we know and love encased in their tough wedge shaped shells. Cracking open these shells, the raw nut has a kind of coconut taste. Despite the similarities the Brazil nut tree is no relation to the coconut which is a palm.

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In the night we don head light torches to look for insects. Five minutes into the walk I am already regretting it as we study a spider, a beetle, some ants, a cockroach. All insects that could be studied better in the daytime. Where are the jaguars?

On the way back from the walk I turn off my light and try to navigate using as much of the sparse moonlight that manages to penetrate the thick jungle canopy. This is also a way of avoiding having to stop and look at every cockroach and spider we pass.

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The next morning I bid farewell to my travelling companions with whom I have shared my Peruvian adventures. They return to Lima to finish the tour.

There is no going back for me however. I have elected to stay an extra two days in the jungle before resuming my grand adventure.

That morning I head out with a group of people to a bird hide to look for parrots and macaws. A few show up at a distance. I spend half of the time reading a book. A couple of monkeys drop by to relieve the monotony.

I realise I have a bit of a cold. Back at the lodge I have a nap before lunch. I decide I should rest so I spend the afternoon in bed reading and watching TV shows stored on my mobile phone - my last remaining functional device of advanced technology.

That night it begins to rain with determination. I realise I have a lot of a cold.
After breakfast I spot an agouti wandering around in the rain. These large rodents have sharp teeth which they use to eat Brazil nuts.

I continues to rain all day. One of the guides describes this as "female rain". The male rain lasts for ten minutes. It is quickly over and people return to whatever they were doing. The female rain goes on and on without respite. Nobody can do anything.

I spend most of the day resting and sleeping. The next day I rise early to catch a boat out of the jungle.

Despite my illness I still appreciate the beauty of the enormous wild greenery. I huddle from the cold wind as our boat speeds down the swollen river. The dawn light through the early morning clouds and the mist hanging over trees and water is something I will long remember.

Trek to Machu Picchu

Lares Trek

The trip I booked in September was an eight day hike which combined the Salcantay trek with the Inca Trail. It is very important to book the Inca trail well in advance because there are limits on the number of people permitted.

In February I found out my trip had been cancelled due to insufficient numbers. I was on Safari in Kenya at the time and I had a very poor internet connection. It was difficult to organise an alternative trip. It took about three weeks to sort everything out and by that time there were no more Inca Trail permits available until June.

The Lares Trek is a suitable alternative. We rise early and leave Cuzco by bus to arrive at the starting point of our trek late morning.

It feels good to have the Earth beneath my feet again - stretch my leg muscles and traverse mountains and valleys using only the inherent strength of my own body. I can't fly and I am a lousy swimmer but my boots were made for walking.

We hike up a steep grassy hill overlooking a small village of stone houses with thatched roofs and fields of potatoes, broad beans and corn.

The horses carrying our packs quickly overtake us. Llamas grazing on the hillside gaze curiously as we pass. We come to a small lake and the path becomes steeper and rockier. Mist envelopes us as we climb up through a pass. We put on rain gear as the thick mist wets us. We catch glimpses of nearby hills and ponds.

We descend into a valley dominated by a cascading river. The mist clears. We cross the river which turns and tumbles down into a lower wider valley. The path descends into the valley.

At the bottom is a small village and many tent sites. A road beyond the village spoils the magic of remoteness somewhat.

The next morning there is less mist. A mountain topped by a glacier appears and disappears behind temperamental clouds.

We climb to the other side of the valley. We marvel at where we walked the previous day. A few eagles fly by. "Are they condors?" asks someone who hasn't seen a condor yet.

The mist returns. We rest.

"Harku, Harku." says Gladys, our guide. This means "let's go" in Quechua.

I compose a Haiku.

On high mountain paths

Empty lungs in thin air

Peru in our hearts.

Over the the hill into a new valley with a new village below. A new river and new mountain to gaze at. Local women at the side of the path bring out local goods for sale. We give presents of pencils or bread to the young children.

On the third day we descend into a small town. We stop at the local primary school to donate supplies of pencils and paper. We walk along a dirt road beside a creek lined with gum trees. It is a very Australian scene.

We go by bus to Ollantaytambo. A quaint old town of Incan origins overlooked by Incan ruins on the slopes above. From here we catch a train that follows the river downstream through a deep valley.

Gum trees disappear and are replaced by jungle vegetation. The powerful rapids of the river foam white. Hills above become mountains. Over some nearby craggy peaks, condors fly appearing as distant specks. Snow capped mountains in the background.

The train stops at Aguas Calientes. Even my very basic Spanish is enough to translate this. It literally means "hot waters" and is so named because of the hot springs I spend half an hour relaxing in that evening.

A nice way to end a trek. A hot bath, a clean baño and a comfortable bed.

Machu Picchu

I was disappointed about not being able to hike the Inca Trail so I was damned if I was going to catch a bus up to Machu Picchu.

At a quarter to five in the morning I set off in the dark to begin my hike. The temperature is mild but the air is humid so I am quickly warmed by my exertion. I follow the path by the river down stream and out of town. On the other side of a bridge a path of stone steps progresses steeply up the hill. I don't know it at the time, but this is the restored Incan Path which Hiram Bingham climbed when he 'rediscovered' the sacred city in 1911. At intervals it crosses the bus road which also winds its way up the mountain, a much longer, not so steep path with many switchbacks.

For half an hour I labour up the path seeing little more than the stone steps in front of me, panting and sweating and not regretting an instant. With the faintest light appearing in the sky, I switch off my headlamp and allow my eyes to adjust to the gloom. At twenty to six the sky is light enough to enjoy the view as the jungle trail opens out to look down upon a huge hill jutting out of the morning mist.

At five past six I reach the top and battle with the crowds at the entrance gate before rejoining my companions who have ascended by bus.

Machu Picchu is glorious. It was abandoned in the sixteenth century and consequently escaped discovery and destruction by the Spaniards. It remained hidden in the Jungle for centuries.

The jungle has now been cleared from the site. The city is mostly intact except for the thatch roofs which have long decayed. Also the site has been cleared of any artefacts that could be carried away.

Only the stones are left. Stone buildings, stone temples, stone paths and stone fountains - a series of basic stone outlets with running water fed by hidden springs.

Llamas roam freely over the lawns keeping the grass town. Rabbit like viscacha with bushy ears and tails can also be seen darting here and there.

The ruins slope up the land either side so from just about any spot we have a great view of the city spread out before us, the high surrounding hills, the rivers far below and distant hills and mountains. Clouds roll in and out, temporarily obscuring parts of the vista, exposing and highlighting others.

I climb the steep nearby peak of Huayna Picchu. This takes an hour. At the top are more Incan ruins. I look down on the city of Machu Picchu, the Inca Trail that leads to it, the road and trail leading up from Aguas Calientes and various hills and valleys of Peru.

Without a doubt, Machu Picchu is one of the highlights of my journey.

Peru Highlands

Colca Canyon

We head up into higher ground away from the desert. Grass and low lying shrubs appear on the hills. Vicuñas - smaller versions of alpacas - wander freely over the hills with a backdrop of snow covered mountains.

We stop to take photos and within two minutes two women appear accompanied by small children. They spread out their blankets and sell us jewellery and clothes made of alpaca wool.

This is a Peru which fits within the scope of my imagination - in contrast with the unbelievable coastal desert.

Our accommodation is on the outskirts of a small town at the end of a bumpy road overlooking the Colca Valley. I lie in a hammock looking down on the valley and fields of wheat, barley and potatoes. There are some snow capped mountains in the distance partially obscured by a nearby hill. On my left, a few gum trees, tall and straight, remind me of home.

In the morning we drive down the Colca Valley which slowly gets wider and deeper. Eventually we come to the Colca Canyon. The deepest part of the canyon is three thousand metres. The section we visit is only twelve hundred metres deep and is sufficiently impressive.

We walk along the edge of the canyon and gasp as condors with three metre wing spans fly overhead.

In the afternoon we go for a walk up the steep hills near our hotel. It feels good to stretch my legs after so many days travelling in buses.

Near the top of the hill, at the base of a cliff, we see an ancient pre-Incan cemetery. Small stone buildings with windows facing east. Some of the skulls have an unusually high cranium. This was due to deliberate deformation. It was an ancient practice to bind a wooden splint to the growing head resulting in an elongated skull.

Titicaca

We drive back through the highlands and on to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. Along the way we pass many herds of llamas tended to by women in traditional clothes, often accompanied by small pre-school children.

We visit Taquile island. The two thousand inhabitants live in small houses along the rocky path that winds its way up the large hill. What I find most amusing is that almost all the trees on the Titicaca islands are eucalypts.

We walk up to the top and have a nice lunch by the quaint town square overlooking the lake and with the Bolivian Andes in the distance. The lake is so large it feels like a sea.

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In the afternoon we go to another island. Our tour guide tells us of the "seven wonders" this island holds.

1. A police station with no police.
2. A jail with no prisoners.
3. A hospital with no doctors or patients.
4. A power generator that doesn't work.
5. A church with no priest or parishioners.
6. A hostel that never has any guests.
7. A water pump that doesn't work.
   

Members of the local families that will provide our nights accommodation meet us at the dock. We split into small groups of two or three. I join a couple from New Zealand.

A young woman, Marie, leads us up the hill to her parents house. Our rooms are nice enough. Soft beds covered with thick, heavy, knitted blankets and the downstairs baño is nicely tiled and has running water.

After we settle in, Marie takes us further up the hill to meet the rest of our group. Some of us start a game of soccer against the locals. It is a mismatched game - seven of us against nine of them. All of their players are skilled and have no problems with the four thousand metre altitude.

After five minutes I am huffing and puffing wildly. After ten minutes I have to leave the field. Lying by the sideline, the ball comes in my direction and I kick it back into play with the heel of my boot without getting up.

After several minutes I return to the field. I take a forward position where the action is infrequent. Most of our team is playing defence and our goalie Sherry is doing a great job preventing the opposition from scoring.

I leave the field again, rest and return. The ball comes my way and I manage to return it to a team mate. He kicks it to our best player who kicks the one and only winning goal. By some unspoken agreement this signals the end of the game.

We are presented with a trophy and both teams gather for a photo opportunity. I lie down exhausted in front of everyone and hold the trophy up with one hand. Sherry picks up the smallest member of the opposition and holds him in her arms like a baby, much to his alarm and everyone else's amusement.

The game went longer than planned. After all this activity there are only two of us who feel like walking up higher and catching the remains of the sunset. My energy returns almost as quickly as it left. From the top we can see the fading light, red above the lake, Puno and the hills of Peru.

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We return to the soccer field where Marie's father meets us and guides us silently back to his home for dinner.

The kitchen / dining room is small with a dirt floor. Three of us sit on a bench seat with our back to the wall in front of a small low table. A tasty vegetable soup is followed by a similar vegetable stew with rice. Marie sits across from us by the clay fire place with a cast iron top, tending the food in clay pots and thin aluminium pans. Her mother sits silently to the right knitting. Marie's father sits in the shadows at the far end of the room on our left. The room is dimly lit by the fireplace, a candle and a half watt bulb. The candle goes out.

Over dinner we have a limited conversation in Spanish which is no ones preferred language. The islanders native language is Quechua. The conversation focuses on family, numbers and ages of brothers and sisters and animals in different countries. I tell the story of the girl in Ecuador who accidentally put salt in her coffee, not once, but twice.

After dinner our hosts dress us in local clothes in preparation for a dance. For the women, this involves several layers of skirts, blouses and belts. The men simply slip on a poncho.

In the small town hall, two local bands take turns to play music at opposite ends of the hall. Battle of the bands. We all dance in a group, then in pairs, then there is a display of the local dances. Then it all wraps up rather quickly, much to my disappointment. I only got to dance with two girls and there are several others I would have liked to have danced with.

Floating Islands

The next day we visit the amazing floating islands of Lake Titicaca.

The long totura reeds of the lake have an edible stalk that tastes a bit like a wet mild celery. (Yes, I ate some.) When the reeds are dried and flattened they look like giant pieces of yellow straw two centimetres wide and two metres long. these are layered on top of each other again and again to form a huge compact mat two metres thick. This floats with about twenty centimetres above the water.

The island we visit is large enough to hold about ten small houses, a school room and several incidental buildings. All the buildings except for the school room are made of the reeds as are beds, tables, seats, etc. A few ponds and swimming holes are cut into the centre of the island.

The islanders drink direct from the fresh water of the lake. They fish and make handicrafts including beautiful tapestries. Several stalls await us.

There are scores of similar islands nearby. This island has about seven families living on it. There used to be another two families but they decided to separate. This was achieved with a handsaw.

Walking on the island is like walking on a spongy straw mat. The surface gives because of the top layers of reeds - not because it is floating on water.

A boy sits outside the school room playing with a hammer, nail and a board. Two young boys run out and urinate into the nearby pond. Inside the school room are about sixteen children between the ages of three and ten running and playing. An adult supervises.

We go for a short ride in a large reed row boat. Then it is time to leave.

Three women sing us songs as we board our boat. As we pull out from the shore they yell in unison, "Hasta la vista, baby."

Sadly, this island life is not good for the health. The islands are two small for decent exercise and the spongy surface promotes a sedentary lifestyle. Life expectancy on the islands is between fifty five and sixty five.

Peru Coast

The Coast of Peru.

The coast of Peru is not what I expected. A dry sandy desert with forbidding barren mountains. Occasionally there is green life where there is underground water or where a river has made its long way from the Andes.

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We take a boat out to the Ballestas islands. Rocky high cliffs rich in guano. Astounding quantities of bird life nest on the rocks, fly overhead or skim over the water looking for fish. Here and there, several groups of penguins stand proudly on the rocks near the water. Sea lions also bask on the rocks, sleeping in the sun.

We come to a beach a hundred metres wide with thousands of sea lions crowded together. The surrounding cliffs amplify the cacophony of barking and squealing. Young pups, black and shiny like fat leeches squirm along the beach. The shallow waters near the shore churn with the splashing and swimming creatures.

Sea lions at the Ballestas islands

Sandboarding on my belly at the sand dunes of Huacachina

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Near Nazca we climb a lookout tower to get a better view of the ancient shapes cut into the dry desert surface.



We drive out further from Nazca to see a pre-Incan cemetery. The local farmers buried their dead in a fetal position facing the sun. In the past century the wind has lifted away some of the sand to expose the remains. Human bones and cotton wrappings litter the sandy surface. Grave robbers have also caused damage.

Burial pits have been excavated and contain multiple skeletons, intact and dressed. Some bodies have been mummified by the dry heat where it rarely rains.

The people usually died of disease between their twenties and forties. There are many remains of children and few remains of the elderly.

I find the experience emotionally draining as I am still mourning the loss of my friend Linda. Linda and I went to University together. We would get together for the occasional dinner and we would often have long chats on the telephone except for the times when she was ill when she would become reclusive.

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Arequipa is the second largest city in Peru with a population of one million. Here we visit a large and beautiful nunnery. The secluded city within a city with streets and houses and courtyards. The dominant colour for the inner walls is a deep sky blue - the outer walls, a rich terracotta brown.

Ecuador - Quito and Mindo

Good Friday Parade in Quito

Our group tour of Ecuador finishes in Quito. The next day is Good Friday.

Thousands of people parade the streets dressed in purple hooded robes similar to Ku Klux Klan outfits. Interspersed between the purple marchers are different marching bands and many men dressed as Jesus carrying crosses of different sizes.

Sometimes they are accompanied by men dressed as Roman soldiers. Many carry their crosses with cushions on their shoulders. They stop to change sides or to rest. One cross is as big as a telephone pole. Its bearer drags it through the street helped by friends.

Some don´t carry full crosses. They have large wooden beams across their shoulders. Some drag heavy chains from their feet. It is a solumn occassion.

The parade stretches on for over a kilometre and takes two hours to pass. How do you start a parade of that size? Where does everyone gather before they begin their march?



Mindo

The next day I take Ailsa's advice and catch a local bus to Mindo. Mindo is a small town on the edge of a cloud forest and is well known as a birdwatchers' paradise.

The town is full this night and I have a hard time finding a room. I take what I can get. My "room" is a second floor balcony under a roof alcove. There is just enough room for a single bed and for the door to swing open. The railing is about a foot high. My hostess advises me not to drink as I could fall over the edge. There is no window or curtain. Just open space. There is a mosquito net over the bed.

The view is magnificent. It looks out onto lovely trees and there are sounds of a stream just beyond.

At night I lie in bed and listen to a group of people singing South American songs as someone plays guitar. This would be lovely except they start at 12:30 am and they play until 2:30 am. They are close by and I don't have a window to shut out the noise. I don't get to sleep until four and I wake up at daylight.

At breakfast I watch a hummingbird hover near a bird feeder before flying away.

Late that morning I check into the hotel next door which has a large room with ensuite and a door to balcony with a hammock. This balcony is larger than my previous nights accommodation.

The view is just as beautiful, looking out over the tree covered town and beyond to the nearby hills and forest.

My balcony view, Mindo.

Here I take a holiday from my holiday. There is no need to leave my room to see anything. Everything I need is here. The restaurant downstairs has excellent food at a good price. Pretty Ecuadorian girls smile shyly as they take my orders in Spanish and return to the kitchen to giggle.

I spend two days in my room writting. My laptop stops working unexpectedly. I switch to pen and paper. I will have to wait until I return to Melbourne before I can get the laptop fixed under warranty.

I return to Quito. My photos are all safely stored on an external harddrive. I buy a second harddrive for backup.

An hour before I have to leave for my flight to Lima I receive an email and learn that a friend has died.