Bolivia
Hotel Rosario
March 28, 2009
Lynnie Bruce and Maxwell Fletcher's first shared writing was on a pull-out page of an inflight magazine the day of their engagement. A list of destinations to explore was itemized and then prioritized by one and two asterisks. Within the first three years of their marriage they managed to reach over 20 of those countries, sailing their 40-foot sloop from Belize to Turkey. Since then, they've expanded their list, including domestic as well as more international sites. Bolivia was an unexpected addition, one chronicled on the following pages. And, the next destination? To be determined.
Why Bolivia?
Eyebrows were raised whenever we mentioned our destination. After all, heading to a damp and chilly climate wasn't a Mainer's idea of escaping winter. But this llama frontier was a return to land-travel cruising days – something both of us craved. With our travel guides, backpacks, and camera we entered the mystical landscape often named in the indigenous Quechua and Ayamara tongues. In this book, edited excerpts from our emailed travelogues keep pace with our visual views. For those curious as to why indeed Bolivia, just turn the pages. See if you, too, are captured by this country's spell.
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Our Bolivian Itinerary Wednesday, March 11
Fly overnight to La Paz from Boston via Miami Thursday, March 12
Land in La Paz, switch to local plane, arrive mid-morning in Sucre Wednesday, March 18
Ride the morning bus to Potosi 2
Saturday, March 21
Wrap up for 6.5-hour bus to Uyuni Sunday, March 22
Meet Javier for our three-day Salar tour Tuesday, March 24
Endure the 12-hour night bus to La Paz Monday, March 30
Catch cab for early morning flight back to the states
SUCRE
Thursday, March 12, to Wednesday, March 18, 2009
We arrived in the comfortable city of Sucre after 23 hours of travel (starting with Doug´s driving of us to Logan accompanied by his home-baked oatmeal cookies). We had a 3-hour layover at La Paz airport (12,000 ft), and the altitude combined with night flying morphed our bodies and minds into slo-mo. Just ask us how many times we had to count out our exchanged dollars:bolivianos. While waiting for our short air-hop to Sucre Lynnie was approached by security folks. A foreigner was needed to participate in a training film, so on low oxygen Lynnie acted as if she was late for a plane and had misplaced her passport. Within ten minutes the filming was over with little mishap, just laughs. We slipped back into our dreamlike trances, still a bit in smiling shock of where we were. After a 45-minute flight south we landed in the city named for General Antonio Jose de Sucre. He along with Simon Bolivar fought the Spanish in the early 1800s, winning independence in 1824 and forming the new country "Bolivia" one year later. Known as the country's judicial capital, Sucre became a Unesco World Heritage site in 1991. With its lower altitude (just over 8,000 ft) and milder climate, Sucre seemed an excellent first stop in our 2+ week travels. Outside the Sucre airport we said “no gracias" to taxis and walked down to the main street. We grabbed a mini-bus on faith we'd make it to the city center. Some kind people gave us directions on where to get off. Within 30 minutes we'd transitioned from bus to feet, determined to stretch our legs after 20 hrs of travel. Slight mistake – it was several blocks on the outskirts of town and then up several steep streets and long stairways to reach our hotel. Later, after repeating that uphill trek several times, we finally broke down and took taxis – for a grand total of about $1.20 per trip. Knowing we needed to aclimatize we at least walked the downhill leg, although even that wasn't easy the first few days. We had splurged on one of the better hotels whose website and descriptions had been scrutinized back in Maine. Casa Kolping was perched atop a hill at the southern end of Sucre, which sat in a wide valley. Luxurious sun and wafting breezes welcomed us as we crossed the outdoor terrace and entered our 2nd-floor room. Throughout our travels, there were few tourists outside the main tourist attractions; and, due to Bolivia's answering shot of $135 visa to USA's own entry requirements, we met very few Americans other than the occasional young backpacker.
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Our Sucre hotel was covered with morning glories, jasmines, and other flowers on every wall and railing. Instead of rain and cool climes, the days were sun-drenched with shirt-sleeve weather.
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After recuperating from our Orr's Island-to-Sucre travels, we strolled up a block to Cafe Mirador, Museo de los Ninos Tanga-Tanga. Overlooking the city from the south, Max indulges in his first coca-leaf tea.
Serving as one of Bolivia's two capitals Sucre retained its judicial power even as the legislative capital migrated to La Paz in the late 1800s. Our hotel looked north where La Catedral off Plaza 25 de Mayo became a night time beacon dusk to dawn.
It's easy to see why Sucre is called 'White City of the Americas'. Shown here are vistas from Iglesia de la Merced... with Lynnie's fear of heights in view.
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The pulpit at Sucre's cathedral illustrates Bolivians use of gold-leaf, silver, and even jewels to dress their Catholicism. We were unable to photograph the 1625 canvas painting of Capilla de la Virgen de Guadalupe (Sucre's patron saint) here. Over the years the original canvas became invisible, veiled by donations of diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds and amethysts.
From the same cathedral silver abounded, such as this near view of candlesticks crafted with raw material from Bolivia's mines. This and other decorative silver created a familiarity with the mining city Potosi, our next stop.
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Majestic entrances graced downtown sidewalks: the iron-studded doors to the cathedral (opposite one of our favorite Bolivian hang-outs, the Joy Ride Cafe) and elaborate panels exiting onto the Calle de Nicolas Ortiz (off of Plaza 25 de Mayo).
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Max standing next to those lion-head doors on Calle de Nicolas Ortiz. All of our days in Sucre were bright with sunlight and temperate climes. We were pleased not to have our long underwear put to use.
Red and black creatures from Jalq'a region; bright geometric designs from Potosi; and, the muted blue to green rainbow stylized 'calendar' from Tarabuco–tactile memories purchased in Sucre. Even more magical, white corn chaff decorated the Jalq'a weaving, having blown into the loom while the woman wove her design.
SUCRE
(continued)
Prior to managing our Sucre hotel, Casa Kolping, Evangelia (Eva) Kessoudakis ran the Museo Textil-Ethnografico ('Textile Museum'). Swiss-born Eva cared passionately about the museum. The founders were a Chilean anthropologist and her husband who escaped the Pinochet regime in the mid-80's. This couple started the foundation Anthropologists of the Southern Andes (ASUR) to preserve the traditional weavings of Bolivia. Unfortunately there was an ideological clash with some players desiring to introduce more contemporary styles into the weavers' repertoire and the anthropologist resisting. Later in La Paz we met Javier Guardia who facilitates indigenous craftmaking with his non-profit organization ProArtesenia Bolivia. Under his tutelage, Bolivian artisans, including the weavers who'd left the Sucre organization, are introduced to the world of exporting. This exposure results in more modern designs incorporated into the traditional wares. The museum, however, still maintained a large group of artisans, even adding male weavers. The museum with its well-displayed artifacts allows tourists as well as locals to immerse themselves in the beautiful colors and patterns of Bolivia's woven art. 15
Eva shared her incredible knowledge about the indigenous weavings, of which we bought three. Each region dictates the textiles' style. For example, the cloths from Jalq'a are predominately red and black with chaotic creatures; Candelaria's (Tarabuco's) weavings can serve as calendars, with literal depictions of battles, harvests, and celebrations; and, Potosi weavers use multicolored geometric designs. At the textile museum we were fortunate to watch a woman creating one of these cloths. Sitting cross-legged and oblivious to the growing number of viewers, she quietly plied the treadle through the 300 or so slender threads. What amazed us was no pattern stood to either side of this small loom yet a complex design emerged. Her fingers plucked the red thread out from the black as she followed an ancient Jalq'a design seemingly embedded in her DNA. Due to the number of threads per cloth and the intricacy of the designs, an 18" x 24" piece can take up to two months for an individual weaver. No surprise after watching the time it took to pass a single yarn from one side of the loom to the other.
Sunday we took a 1.5 hour bus ride to the hill town of Tarabuco, where 60 surrounding communities were holding their annual Pujllay ('amusement' or 'play' in the Incans' Quechua language).
Every 2nd or 3rd March weekend, Bolivians honor the leadership of a woman, Dona Juana Azurduy – a Bolivian Joan of Arc – who led the towns to defeat the Spanish in a major battle March 12, 1816. After four hours our eyes and ears were bursting with wondrous technicolor sights and sounds.
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We were only two of the thousands of spectators paying homage to the parading towns' people – even Bolivia's vice president helicoptered in. On the way to the final gathering in Tarabuco's football field, a Senora asked if we wanted to take her photo for 50¢. A small price to pay for a memory.
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The food stalls and street vendors were in full display. Our eyes took in young women spectating with admiring young men, uncles and fathers sitting and chewing coca leaves, mothers and grandmothers selling everyday wares... time-honored habits.
With his baseball cap Max got at least part of the costume right. We considered buying one of the 'helmets' seen to the right of Max until we heard the leather was cured with llama urine. We opted for knitted hats instead.
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Final destination culminated in the football (soccer) field with spectators trading places with dancers. The music melded into a singular beating sound created with instruments and no vocals.
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So many costumes, each denoting specific regions, caused our own heads to twirl.
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Wooden sandals carried metal cymbals for symbolic dancing. OVERLEAF: Jubilant street dancers jammed the streets decoratively attired, starting with their hats. We purchased some for gifts when we reached La Paz. Once back home, Lynnie soaked them for two days to rid them of the street and animal aromas.
Just up the street from Casa Kolping was the Museo de la Recoleta. Founded in 1601 this hidden jewel has served as a monastery, convent, prison, jail, and where General Pedro Blanco, wanna-be president, was assassinated in 1892. Outside its walls children romped and laughed at the school next door and in the open-air plaza.
Ancient murals decorate the highest part of the corridor walls as we toured with a group of 7th & 8th graders from Roanoke, Virginia, with their Bolivian-born teacher. A photo op occurred when they embraced the ancient cedar, the only one remaining from those that once populated Sucre's streets.
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One of the non-OSHA construction sites seen in Sucre strolling down to the main plaza.
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Wednesday, March 18, began with a 3.5 hour bus ride from Sucre to Potosi, climbing from 8,000 to 13,000 ft. The countryside is carved into farms and fertile fields, accompanied by flowing river waters and minimal traffic.
POTOSI
Wednesday, March 18, to Saturday, March 21, 2009
First impression of Potosi was disappointing: dirty, narrow, dusty streets – a noticeable step down from Sucre. After all, this was once the richest city in the Americas due to the silver mine. At its height, Potosi had 200,000 inhabitants, making it one of the largest cities in the world. The next day, however, revealed green parks, colonial architecture, and sun. A stroll to the town square revealed a silvery glimmer of this town's past. We had started a 3-day regimen of prescription Diamox, for altitude adjustment. Fortunately we had also bought some Sorojchi, a local and widely used medication (mostly aspirin and caffeine) touted in guide books. At midnight the pill was a head-saver, putting a kabosh on Lynnie's intense headache and nausea. We drank glugfulls of water and eased consumption of alcohol, food, and exertion to offset the altitude's affect.
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Potosi´s claim to fame, and the reason a city even exits here, was because of an escaped llama and Cerro Rico ('Rich Hill') the rusty-brownish mountain that overlooks the town. In 1544 when looking for this frisky llama, an Inca, Diego Huallpa, rested and lit a fire at the foot of this mountain. The heat caused the ground to melt and silver to seep from the earth. The Spanish soon heard about Huallpa's find, and Potosi's history became ingloriously tied to Spain's wealth. Local labor couldn´t possibly do the job, so the Spanish imported African slaves.! It is estimated!that between 1545 and 1825 six to eight million African slaves and indigenous Bolivians died from the hellish conditions!inside the mines.! They worked in!12-hour shifts,!living underground four months at a time.! The silver was incredibly!beneficial to Spain, and!it!was a disaster for them when one of their!fleet sank or was captured. One such shipwreck was discovered!off Florida in the 1990s. Bolivians are quite resentful that only a single coin and two duplicates!have been!returned to their country in spite of recovered coins valued at tens of millions of dollars.!! The mines became largely depleted in the early 1800s, but are still worked today by cooperatives in still-appalling conditions.! We had seen the documentary "The Devil´s Miner" (available on Netflix) so we knew the story: the primitive tools used; that fatherless children are some of the employees in this hell; the horrid truth that anyone who works there over!10!years is!almost certain to!develop silicosis, resulting in a dramatically shortened life expectancy. In spite of these despairing facts, for many there are few options in this poor country. At our Hotel Cima Argentina, the staff was helpful and warm. Our room featured modern amenities. And, we enjoyed dinner and conversation with an Alaskan mining consultant. But, an air of a brutal past remained and haunted our visit to this mined land. !!!
Like Sucre, Potosi was designated a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. This city, whose wealth and livelihood was suctioned out by the Spanish, grew on us as narrow streets and colonial buildings beckoned. Yet, we couldn't forget the looming and disquieting presence of the Cerro Rico mine.
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We toured the mint,!first commissioned by Spain in 1572!to produce coins for the Realm. Casa Nacional de Moneda ('National Mint') was built in the mid-1700s and in use until 1953. To safeguard shipments to Spain elaborate locking mechanisms sabotaged any attempt to pry open the lids of these imposing chests.
The two-story, oxen-propelled!cogs (four of them)!were built in Spain, shipped to Buenos Aires, and hauled by mule to Potosi for reassembly. Below the wheels, the stoic beasts trudged in circles while the great wooden cogs flattened silver for coining.
Founded in 1685 the Convent of Santa Teresa accepted daughters of wealthy families. Once admitted, contact with their families was limited to speaking while hidden behind a grill. Chambers of trapped doors housed embalmed bodies in lime, one still visible through glass. In the courtyard a 346 year-old apple tree was still producing.
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Prior to leaving Maine we had seen the documentary, "The Devil's Miner". The film exposes the horrific conditions in which young boys and men work. While Lynnie's movie viewing was as far as she wanted to go into the mine, Max decided to take the infamous tour. It began downtown!with donning of mining gear:! boots, coveralls, hard hat, and headlamp.
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Once outfitted, first stop was the miner´s market.!It is customary!to bring an offering to the miners of dynamite, alcohol!or coca leaves; so, Max purchased a dynamite kit (dynamite, ammonia nitrate!propellant, and!3-minute fuse) and a bag of coca leaves (total cost about $4).!!
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Before circling up the mountainside the group toured the smelting factory. The ore is mixed with chemicals in crude – but seemingly effective – automated machinery.! The minerals are gradually worked out of the ore via a series of odiferous baths and agitating machines.
Once on Cerro Rico, they began following one of the tram lines!into the mountain. These mini-rail lines are used to manually haul the!ore out in large trams.! After walking deeper and deeper into the mine, most of the time hunched over, they eventually came to a small!portico where miners have put up a few displays for the tourists.
A!shrine to their god!¨Tata¨to whom the miners make offerings and ask for protection was one of the displays. Further inside devilish figures known as ¨Tio¨ appeared. Believing Tio must own the minerals in this hell, miners always stop to appease this character with offerings of lit cigarettes placed in its mouth, a pile of coca leaves, and!spilled alcohol.
Next they walked another long distance horizontally, came to a split in the rail line, and stopped to rest.!The air was dank,!dusty, and minerally. Heat emanated from the earth. Claustrophobia began to set in with thoughts of turning around. The first descent was down a twisting, winding hole four to!six feet in diameter at about a 45 degree slant.
More ladders and!another long stretch of winding tunnels led to!level three.! A single man was working some ore that they had dynamited a few days earlier.! This was where the tour ended, but the mine continued down!to!a level eight (in addition to traveling horizontally for vast distances).!
Relieved to be at least out of the moldy darkness Max now was instructed in the art of explosions. The guide insisted Max's lit dynamite fuse was "safe". The guide then took it, ran 100 ft and tossed it. Thirty seconds later it exploded.
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The next morning rain drove us inside this one-room shack where we waited for our Potosi-Uyuni bus. The bus mistress kindly let us don our long johns behind the glass divider for the 6.5 hour ride. We decided this would be a wise tactic once we saw other passengers waiting with thick blankets.
Dancing figurines and glittery boas adorned our bus to Uyuni. The one "bathroom" stop in the half-day ride was a local canteen with no bano... just the great outdoors. Our strategy was limited liquid intake that morning. A long skirt would have been a practical wardrobe addition.
SALAR De UYUNI
Saturday, March 21, to Tuesday, March 24, 2009
After the 6.5 hour bus ride from Potosi to the small frontier town of Uyuni, we checked into yet another lovely Spanish style hotel with inner courtyard and immaculate rooms. The backpacker crowd finds decent rooms for $10 to $20 a night, but we splurged on continental breakfasts, heat, and clean bathrooms for $50 a night. ! Another luxury we gifted ourselves with was our Salar tour company. Horror tales abound when researching tours of the Salar: overpacked vehicles, bitterly cold rooms, lack of food, and all coupled with unreliable guides. To protect ourselves against a less than stellar experience, we selected Ruta Verde Tours and arranged for a private, three-day tour. Emails flew back and forth between Gijs Dijkshoorn in Bolivia and us on Orr's to guarantee a smooth visit to the largest salt flats in the world. However, the itinerary came with a caveat – even major bus companies will cancel routes due to impassable main "highways" during the rainy season, which is November though April. Our driver, Javier Flores, picked us up Sunday morning!in his 4WD Toyota.!He grew up in el campo ('the country') raising llamas with his family who still lived in a small pueblo outside of Uyuni. His first language was Quechua (introduced to the area by the Incans roughly 700 years ago), with Spanish being his second.!With his family of three little girls (ages 2 to 8) and his wife, Quechua was mainly spoken at home yet was now taught along with Spanish in school. It was hard to wrap one's tongue around the unfamiliar syllables, but he was smilingly patient when Lynnie asked in text-book Spanish if the name of a mountain or area was Quechuan. ! Within an hour we faced the blinding white carpet of the Salar de Uyuni, salt flats left over from ancient lakes that existed!40,000 years ago. We literally drove across these!salt flats, navigating by the various black islands, which served as Javier's guideposts.! Some of the islands were covered in cactus, a few of which!recently died and!were noted to have been 1,000 years old. Snowcovered peaks dot the horizon in all directions. The white of the salt lake, especially!the parts that were covered in a few inches of water, create an endless variety of optical illusions and perfect reflections of the mountains. At times we felt we were at sea, so expansive was the vista. Cacti "buoys" added to the similarity as Javier steered his vehicle across the salt bed of 12,106 sq km. A reserve, Reserva Nacional de Fauna Andina Eduardo Avaroa, covered the bulk of the area. Established in 1973 its goal is to protect the llama-like vicunas and the slow-growing llareta plant, both of which we saw as we traveled though this vast wilderness.
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On Sunday, March 22, we began our trek across and around the Salar. Javier and Max pose for one of our multitude of saltflat photos. In the background snow cones of salt await pick up.
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The bright red truck gathered the dug salt piles for cleaning, bagging, and exporting. Ninety percent of the salt is consumed by humans and ten percent by livestock.
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At the edge of the salt flat in a small outpost named Colchani, we visited a salt factory. Rudimentary cleaning and packaging is done, hand-sealing pre-printed bags with an open flame.
Our first stop at Isla Incahuasi, 80 km west of Colchani, baptized us with llama meat lunch (no need to add it to any future dining). Here, too, we joined the other tour groups clowning against the white background, perfect for optical illusions. OVERLEAF: We asked some young Italian vactioners to snap a few of us.
SALAR De UYUNI (continued) We drove to Tahua, a town at the northern edge of the lake, with extensive stone ruins of pre-Incan cultures.! A wizened old man in the small village provided a key for our next stop. We drove part way up the mountain then hiked a!short ways to an ancient cave. The dwelling, secured with a small iron gate, apparently was the home!of a!pre-Incan family numbering eight souls, referred to as the Coquesa mummies.!
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They appear to have died simultaneously,!perhaps from a volcano's toxic fumes.!!The!mother still wore a shawl with metal tie pin and had a braid down to her waist.! She was in the!kitchen area surrounded by pottery and cooking implements.! The father!was!seated on a throne-like chair!made of!rocks.! Three small children lay in a crib area, and a couple other skeletons were sitting at the far end of the cave.! It was surreal to be surrounded by a family, in their spacious cave home, from perhaps 700 or more years ago,!seemingly untouched since the day they died. ! Thirty minutes later over rock-strewn roads we arrived for our first night at the!Tayka Salt Hotel – walls, tables,!chairs, beds and much of the rest were crafted of salt blocks.!One reason we chose Ruta Verde was its ability to book tourists into the Tayka Hotels. Recently constructed, these four hotels represent a model of community tourism forming 'Limited Responsibility Societies'. Each community owns a third of the hotel, eventually acquiring full ownership. The profit is also shared with each community receiving a $1 per tourist. The local customs and culture, including culinary tastes, are incorporated into each area's Tayka Hotel providing guests a unique regional visit. ! Unlike the high season – Bolivia's winter months of July and August the hotels were at full capacity with 70 guests – there were only two other groups in addition to us. We were very happy to be traveling in the off season,!with the added benefit that!the temperature wasn't nearly as cold. With these milder days we rarely donned our multiple pairs of long underwear, carefully pinched into our backpacks on Orr's.
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We kept uttering, "Is this for real?", as Javier let us absorb the quiet stillness echoing in the spacious cave home of these Coquesa mummies. The sacredness of this space settled over us as we respectfully eyed the bodies, imagining their disrupted lives.
The Tayka Salt Hotel's beds were surprisingly comfortable in spite of being one of the many pieces of furniture composed of salt and cactus. Fortunately the bathrooms featured porcelain banos. Leaving the Tahua village area on day two, diverting from the stone-built road would have resulted in sinking into a salty mire.
Wide-angled or Telescopic, our fascination with the Salar made for countless photos. Javier's respect and knowledge of his country's natural landscapes enhanced our awe of Bolivia's beauty.
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Quinoa, a high protein grain native to Bolivia, tinted mountain sides and valleys with its green, yellow, and red hues. Javier explained that the different colored quinoa each had specific uses – as flour, cooked grains, fermentation, and other consumables. At Mala Mala Bahai the Bolivian flag topped the Galaxia Cave, our next stop.
At Mala Mala Bahai we met one of the co-discovers of the Galaxia Cave. The owner-guide pointed to ceilings encrusted with 300,000 year-old coral as we slowly took in the geological oddities. In another opening they had found an ancient grave site where the pre-Incan Chullpas buried their dead in hollowed out holes.
A plastic tarp was removed from the underbody once we exited the salt flat. Constant companions were gas, drinking water, spare tires, and mechanics' coveralls. We used all of these accessories during our three-day exploration.
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The flamingos have highly sophisticated filtering mechanisms with which they can!filter out the toxic chemicals present in many of!these lakes.
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These regal avians feed by day and migrate at night. Javier who loves this wilderness told of nights fluttering with the traveling flamingoes' clicking speech. OVERLEAF: Velvetly lit or glistening dark, the landscape captured our eyes.
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Throughout our journeys we frequently passed herds of wild vicu単a, similar to llamas but faster and sleeker. Now they're captured and sheared vs. killed for their fur, which is prized even more than llama for its fineness. At our second Tayka Hotel Max suggested our hosts dine with us, so tables were joined and conversation bubbled in Spanish and English.
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Our last morning was documented by the Tayka Desert Hotel manager with his wife, young assistant, and three-year old daughter. As the only guests in the hotel, we truly felt part of an extended family. When retiring at 10pm the English-speaking manager solicitiously provided us with an extra 30 minutes of electricity before we resorted to candles.
Early morning rising presented us with flaxen vistas and wind-carved rock formations in the Desierto Siloli. The Stone Tree is a favorite photo op, and of course we obliged.
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As we rose to over 15,000 feet we walked amid the Geysers of Sol de Manana,!full of sibilant airstreams and bubbling muddy stewpots.!Javier told us the geysers begin around 5am only to quieten six hours later.
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After filming a snippet of Javier and Max holding their hats out to be caught and carried aloft 20+ feet by a geyser's wind tunnel, we then carefully explored this surreal moonscape. Javier shared with us that this was his favorite day of the three-day tour.
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There were dozens of holes in the!ground, some small, others 15 to 20 feet across, all bubbling away in grays, browns, yellows and reds, the sulphur smoke billowing high into the wind.!
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Caution was advised due to possible cave-ins. Some pools were still. OVERLEAF: Others boiled and hissed and plopped a colorful mineral fermentation.
After documenting our highest point of altitude we then descended to our first bath in days: the natural Hot!Springs of Polques. The temperature absolutely perfect, neither too hot nor too cold with bathing costumes of (dark) underwear and t'shirts.
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Chile to the west and Argentina to the east cup the southern boundaries of Bolivia. La Laguna Verde ('Green Lake') pools at the foot of the Volcan Licancabur (5960m). Lead, sulpher, arsenic, and calcium carbonates dye the water green. Here!even the!flamingoes' filtering system wouldn't help. Surrounded by wonder we couldn't stop grinning.
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Chilean, Andean and the rare James flamingos coexist, filtering the algae and diatoms inhabiting these lagunas. Like the other lakes in this area, Laguna Colorada, the "Colored" Lagoon, obtains its hue from algae and plankton feeding on the mineral mix.
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We picnicked our last day at Laguna Colorada with lunches prepared by the manager's wife from the Desert Hotel. "Con los manos" or eat "with the hands" was the phrase we used, explaining to Javier it originated in Cuba when staying with Jose, another gracious host.
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On the way back to Uyuni we stretched our legs at Valles de Rocas. Amidst the dry, wind-sculpted rocks grows endangered llareta, which was harvested by earlier inhabitants to burn as fuel. OVERLEAF: An apt road sign on our six-hour drive to Uyuni.
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Our celebratory meal was where we'd had our first dinner in Uyuni, Minuteman Revolutionary Pizza, a favorite among tourists. Owned and operated by Chris Sarage from Amherst and his Bolivian wife, this friendly eatery boasts "Pizza with an altitude" at 367 meters. Next up: our 12-hour, overnight bus ride to La Paz.
LA PAZ
Wednesday, March 25, to Monday, March 30, 2009
Two hours after our pizza dinner we stood in line for the passage to La Paz. !We had originally booked!with Todo Turismo, a very high-end bus line, but they temporarily stopped running for fear of wrecking their buses!on the rainy season's washed-out roads.! So we took regular coach, and for the first few hours went as slow as a snail´s pace over torturous roads.! ! A cab from the chaotic bus station landed us at Hotel Rosario where we asked to stay for the next five nights. Listed as the top pick in several guidebooks, this multi-level, full-service hotel became our oasis during our last five days in Bolivia. Located!in the market district coined "the traveler's ghetto", the sidewalks for blocks in all directions were full of street vendors, most of them indigenous woman in their colorful native dress.! They were selling everything imaginable, from household supplies to raw meats, vegetables and spices, clothes, weavings, and jewelry.
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A!Witches' Market operates in one area of this district, and we couldn't help but think of voodoo-ism as we peered into these exotic stalls. Sugar-paste ornaments, clay figurines, and paper offerings for Pachamama ('Earth Mother') decorate shop walls. Mummified llama fetuses to protect new construction are on display, and the ever-present household god of abundance, Ekeko ('dwarf' in Ayamara) welcomes buyers with a fat-cheeked grin and open arms. The tiny but informative coca museum instructed us in the industrial nations' misuse of this native Bolivian plant. Although a bit over the top in finger-pointing, the explanation of how outside countries converted this small green leaf into a dangerous narcotic was thorough and honest. From the spells of gods, goddesses, and coca, we strolled two blocks to the imposing Iglesia de San Francisco. A smiling young woman guided us in English through this renovated church and monastery. Built in the1500s and rebuilt in the 1700s, the church holds many original artifacts such as wine casks and eerie self-flagellation rooms. A crypt is located under the main floor of the cathedral, housing the remains of many of Bolivia´s greatest heroes. A thirty-minute cab ride placed Lynnie in the wealthy neighborhood Zona Sur, a residence and shopping area equal to any upscale city; yet, this moneyed enclave was so different from the rest of our Bolivian journeys, the experience felt surreal. We were surprised at how much we enjoyed La Paz. Excellent meals, fun "gringo" hang-outs, indigenous people and wares, and the urban feel were a wonderful way to end our landscape travels in this magical country.
Hotel Rosario was an easy five-minute walk to Calles Santa Cruz, Sagarnaga, Jimenez and Linares, the Witches' Market area. The explosion of city life stunned our bus-weary minds as our feet stepped along colorful displays and vendors. OVERLEAF: a young boy pulls his orange cart with trailing peels.
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To explore one of the highest lakes in the world, we took a day tour with a guide. The three-hour trip to Lake Titicaca required a split ride, with the bus on a barge and ourselves in a power launch to cross the Tiquina Straits. From there we landed in Copacabana.
A lovely cathedral showcased brilliantly carved doors and the original wooden statue of La Virgen Morena del Lago, the Dark Virgin of the Lake, from the late 1500s.!Carved by a grandson of the Incan Emperor Tupac Yupanqui, a superstition warned the statue's removal would cause a devastating flood.
After an outdoor pollo ('chicken') lunch in Copacabana we walked down to pick up one of the launches to Isla del Sol. Along the way we spotted tented stalls selling the largest popcorn we'd ever seen. Prior to lunch we saw vehicles decorated for Benedicion de Moviliades ('Blessing of Automobiles') with owners asking the Virgin for protection.
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Copacabana became the launching port to reach Isla del Sol or Titi Khar'ka ('Rock of the Pum'a), which is how Titicaca got its name. This sacred island was the birth place of the first Incans and was landscaped with their habitation. An enterprising young Bolivian waylaid Max for a 50¢ treat of posing with her llama.
From the neighboring Isla de la Luna, virgins' throats were slit in a well-used stone chair. Their bodies were placed in the temple to mummify for the gods and their blood flowed to Pachamama, Mother Earth. Catching one of the launches we headed back to La Paz accompanied by a New Zealand couple and a young Brit on his GAP year.
We toured Iglesia de San Francisco built in the 1500s and rebuilt in the 1700s, with many original artifacts such as wine casks, self flagellation rooms and a very lovely cathedral. From the rooftop the vistas, both below and above, were colorful and ancient, including the hut-jammed hillsides of El Alto.
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Our last afternoon we found a large street party beginning its celebration in front of our hotel, with two bands, everyone brilliantly dressed drinking beers and carrying some large banners. It was a fitting end to our Bolivian adventure.
March 2009
Bolivia