Part 2: Stuck in La Paz & Sucre
The 3-hour bus ride back to La Paz was almost as sketchy as the city we left behind. I drifted in and out of consciousness – catching glimpses of the sunset over small towns and placid waters before being dislodged to cross Lake Titicaca. There is one point in the journey were everyone has to get off the bus and board a small passenger boat while the bus crosses on a raft-like boat next to you. This didn’t feel as awkward on the way to Copacabana because that was during the day, but there was something very uncomfortable about crossing during the night with people crammed next to each other, no life jackets and no lights on any of the boats or docks. I would have been more nervous if it weren’t for Kevin’s distracting laughter at what an “experience” Bolivia is compared to the rest of the functioning world. That laughter continued when our bus was later stopped so the police could “check for drugs” as we heard others unloading packages in the back of the bus (I’m not implying anything illegal happened… but it was sketchy).
We woke up on Wednesday (Aug. 18) to our typical Bolivia breakfast: bread, butter and jam and set out to wander the streets of La Paz. We originally planned to leave La Paz this day for Salar de Uyuni where we were going to take a 3-day Jeep tour of the world’s largest salt flat. Unfortunately the miners in Potosi chose to go on strike during our trip to Bolivia so traveling to Uyuni was impossible due to roadblocks and potential danger. I have to admit I was most excited about seeing this part of Bolivia and am now left with this desire to return one day (at least my visa is valid for 5 years). Since we weren’t going to see Uyuni and Potosi anymore… we decided to stay in La Paz and mountain bike what is known as “El Camino de la Muerte.” Yes, we decided to mountain bike Death Road! (That adventure will be a separate post.)
La Paz struck me as a rather dirty city with typical market streets filled with vendors, backpackers and panhandlers. La Paz struck me as a rather dirty city with typical market streets filled with vendors, backpackers and panhandlers. We purchased artisan jewelry, took a cab to the top of the hill to look out over the city and took pictures of llama fetuses for sale in the witches market. Llama fetuses are believed to bring good luck when offered to Pachamama (Mother Earth) in Bolivia.
La Paz from Mirador Killi-Killi (the lookout)
our crew overlooking La Paz(L-R: Agata, Kelly, Me, Kevin)
an uncharacteristically quiet market street(La Paz could probably use some wiring advice)
Witches Market - notice the llamasOne interesting site we saw in La Paz was San Pedro Prison. Rusty Young’s book “Marching Powder” details the abnormal penal system of this prison where the inmates basically govern themselves and function as a small community. Family members actually live with the inmates but are free to come and go as they please. We saw children entering the prison in their school uniforms as normally as if they were entering their houses. Women walked through the front gate with excessive quantities of items they were clearly going to sell or trade on the inside (one had crates of eggs, another had toilet paper). Many travelers take illegal tours through the prison conducted by inmates and supposedly worth the $400-ish Bolivianos. We weren’t able to take a tour, but I did take a few pictures – which I was immediately forced by a heavily armed prison guard to delete.
entrance to San Pedro Prison in La Paz(I pretended to delete all of my pictures but really only deleted the last one)
We finally left La Paz on Friday (Aug. 20) and took the overnight bus to Bolivia’s constitutional capital: Sucre. Driving into the city that morning felt like we were entering another country. It is immediately apparent why Sucre is known as the “white city” because nearly everything in the city is painted white – from the colonial-style buildings to the trees.
Sucre: the white cityMy research tells me that Sucre is home to one of the first universities in the world, and it’s said that the liberal thinkers of Sucre took the first steps toward independence in South America. The reason I was even tempted to research the history of Sucre is because the image of a cracked bell (much like our Liberty Bell) caught my eye in many forms and places throughout the white city. Turns out the Campana de la Libertad (Bolivia’s Liberty Bell) rang out across the city in 1809 as the (16-year) revolution for independence began. Our hostel attendant told me the bell recently cracked on May 25, 2009, when used in honor of the bicentennial celebration of independence (but I can’t find anything online to support that fact).
Sucre is a relatively short bus ride to Potosi (silver mining town). Kelly and I decided to check out the bus situation since we didn’t get to see Potosi/Uyuni during the strike. It was the walk to the bus station that changed the course of the day. I have never felt more like a walking target than I did on the way to that bus station dressed in my tennis shoes, sweater dress, purple scarf and North Face jacket. I could see the fear of imminent danger reflected in the faces of people we passed on the streets: children stared at us as if in awe of their first tourist sighting; adults watched us like lost puppies about to cross a highway. We stopped to ask a young girl for directions to the bus station and, after pointing us in the general direction, she advised us not to go. She told us it was unsafe for us and said she might go, but she is Bolivian; we are not. We continued on, but we were so crippled by mal onda (bad vibes) by the time we reached the station that we decided to forgo our trip to Potosi and return to drinking beers, playing cards and relaxing with Agata and Kevin (who we would part ways with the next morning). I later received an e-mail from Agata reinforcing our decision to trust our instincts because they were almost robbed in a cab in Potosi the next day (fake police tricking tourists to abandon belongings in cabs apparently happens often there – luckily Kevin read about it before the trip and didn’t fall for it).
We talked about life and travel over beers in the park before flying to Santa Cruz on Sunday (Aug. 22). I watched the Bolivian children beg for money in multiple languages and wondered what their lives were like outside of the park. I’d love to see a documentary following the life of a shoe-shinning Bolivian child learning the ways of the world solely from the tourists he begs for money. More importantly, I’d like to see where that child is in 20 years! One of the children who offered to shine our (tennis) shoes knew the capital of almost every country (Agata stumped him with Poland), knew more about France’s president than we did (therefore outing Kevin for lying about being from France), showed us the change he had “collected” from all over the world and said he wanted to be Justin Bieber when he grew up (singing us part of Bieber’s hit song “Baby”).
our park in SucreOur night in Santa Cruz followed the recurring sketchy theme of the trip. After our cab pulled up to our hostel surrounded by what I’m inclined to believe were gang members and prostitutes, we rerouted ourselves to a new hostel suggested by the driver. Even there we immediately locked the door, pushed our beds together and ate crackers to avoid leaving for dinner. Perhaps Santa Cruz has more to offer than I give it credit for – we were only there for the night and clearly selected the wrong neighborhood – but it didn’t do much for me but make me crave Buenos Aires.
It felt incredible to come “home” to beds, showers and clean toilets after 10 exhausting days of carrying my 25 lb backpack all over Bolivia. While I was admittedly ready for it to be over… the impact of that trip will forever be ingrained in my mind and soul!
You may conclude by reading this that I found the trip sketchy and uncomfortable. Yes, at times. However, I mostly found Bolivia eye opening and unparalleled by anything I’ve ever seen. I was uncomfortable with the lack of running water on Isla del Sol (making for interesting toilet situations) but mesmerized by the sunrise over Lake Titicaca. I was frustrated by the packed, filthy streets of La Paz but calmed by the nightly orange and blue lights that blanketed the city in resemblance to something a Gator fan might create with a Lite-Brite (a personal childhood favorite). I was shocked by the disregard for safety regulations on the high-traffic tourist attraction of Death Road but experienced a rush of euphoric emotions while biking through the unedited trail tracing the edge of the unenclosed mountain. I was annoyed with the incessant begging in Sucre but entranced by the lives of those attached to the out-reached hands. My limits of personal comfort were stretched at times, but I loved (almost) every moment of it!
A few helpful lessons I learned in Bolivia:
- plans will change…adapt
- never hike unprepared (however short you may think it will be)
- rely on the unreliability of transportation
- be careful what you eat
- always carry toilet paper
- TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS
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