Peru is a Stomach Ache

Not too much to write about which will at least make this one a bit less of the novel that my last few entries have become.

Dan and I left Arequipa on a bus in which our seats just barely reclined...needless to say it was necessary to take a nap once we arrived in Huacachina. A little green oasis set upon a lagoon and surrounded by mountains of sand, Huacachina is the most "Savannah" like place that I've ever been. Uninspired, we sat by the pool and read until our 4:30 dune-buggy/sandboarding debut. Dune-buggies are fun, there is no doubt about that, and our ride was like a roller-coaster. Sandboarding is fun too, same concept as snowboarding but slower, a bit different technique, and harder falls. The three of us in the buggy came to the consensus that it was more fun to go straight down, head first and to see who had the courage to minimize their drag the most and therefore go the fastest. Then a great sunset over the desert (and a chicken farm in the distance...in the desert, our guide told us, to keep them away from disease) and we returned through darkness to our oasis.

Peru has a lot of tourist trap type places; the type of places that the guide says is good and people suggest, but only because there is nothing else that is more exciting to do. So we took off for Paracas, home of the "poor man's Galapagos," which was sure to be a let down and at least in that regard it didn't fail us.

Sea lions, thousands of birds, amongst which we saw a few penguins...and that was it. Let down and ripped off we started our journey to Lima. Only a 3 hour bus ride or so, but could have proved much worse.

I got on the bus and Dan stayed outside until our luggage was safely under the bus and locked away. As I got on the bus a guy passed and told me to put my stuff up top (we were so frustrated with Peruvians at that point that any word was taken with resentment and definite suspicion), then as I couldn't find two seats next to each other he asked a woman in the second to last row, without our knowledge, to get up so that we could sit there. A bit bewildered, we sat down with these guys (we found out later there were 2 involved) behind us. I felt a splash on the back of my legs and looked down to see that water had been spilled on the floor behind us. A few miles down the road Dan realized he'd put his backpack in the water and the guy's behind quickly suggested that some kid had peed on the floor and that he should put his backpack above his head (so they could steal it). A good scam, but we were well onto it by then and after exchanging a few strong words they got off the bus at the next stop...presumably to do the same scam on the way back.

And now we're in Lima, where a serious lapse in judgement from Arequipa has limited our weekend activities to movies, frequent naps, and staying close to the bathroom. Had I been alone I would have never eaten ceviche (raw fish) in a dirty market in an inland city...but Dan loves the stuff and I had yet to try it. So seeing as quite a few other people were eating it and having a bit too much confidence in my stomach...I got myself into the situation in which I now find myself. We splurged and ate some Fridays and Papa Johns, hoping American food would somehow clear things up...after the food coma that came along with eating Fridays, we still find ourselves entrenched in the apartment.

And that's it. Next move is it to the Cordillera Blanca (second highest mountain range) and Huaraz, then onto the largest left-hand wave in the world at Trujillo. I'll be in touch.

Won by a Landslide (Derrumbe)!

First I think I should start with two disclaimers. The first is that the atmosphere in which I write this is just a tad distracting--some mid-20 year old Peruvian guy is watching cartoons on full blast at the computer to my right, while my friend Dan is fighting back with a full blast of whatever is the worst music he can find on the internet. He just started singing.

Second disclaimer is that I´ve thought about not relating this story until I get home because of a particular close call that could potentially scare people...but seeing as this blog doubles as my diary of sorts, I´m just going to say that I´m being very safe whenever I do any of this stuff and rarely do situations like that that had happened, come up. Risk usually is held in my own hands, but with buses there isn´t much I can do.

So I´ll start somewhere near my arrival in Cusco. A beautiful city Cusco is, the heart of the once strong Inca empire which is evident by the Inca foundations and walls that still serve their purpose all over the city and the ruins that can be found all around the area. An interesting and ironic contrast can be found in the grand Spanish Cathedral that has crumbled twice in earthquakes, but always rebuilt on the same, sturdy Incan foundation. Cusco is also the launching off point for Machu Picchu, which is what brought Dan and I to meet there.

I had a few days to kill before Dan showed up, so by the time he got there I was ready to brief him on our options to get to one of the most famous ruins in the world. With the help of Willy, (a Peruvian/Brooklynite who specializes in screwing "the establishment,") as well as picking the brains of a few other locals, we pieced things together and formulated a plan to attack Machu Picchu. The reason for all of this premeditation is that they have made it ridiculously expensive to get to, from, and into Machu Picchu. For those of us "long-term" travellers, it´s not that appealing to pay such an amount of money for a couple of hours when we have learned how to stretch that same amount of money into about a month of travelling.

The most popular travel guide is Lonely Planet´s budget guide "South America on a Shoestring," I decided that we are rewriting a version that should be called "South America with no Shoes," or something to that effect. I´ll throw in some names for those of you who did or are going to do it. We caught a bus from Cusco to Ollantaytambo, saw the impressive ruins and had a good lunch there before catching another bus as far as the road went, to km 82. From there we were accosted by 3 tiny little kids 4 to 7yrs old) who told us that because it was prohibited to walk on the tracks there was a checkpoint which we could avoid with their help as guides. This rang true with some things we had heard before and the others on the bus seemed to agree, so we paid the little guys to guide us up the hill through some farms to meet up with the tracks a few km down the line. In retrospect it may have been a scam, we´re still debating this one, but anyhow it took a good chunk of time and once we got back to the tracks it was 27km (about 16miles) to go and not a bunch of daylight. The walk, however, was beautiful and while we still had light we were able to find paths that were above the tracks so as to avoid a few long tunnels and tight spots on the tracks. Also, walking on the railroad rocks is pretty taxing on your feet/joints/legs/body, a fact to which my buddy Dan is willing to testify. All along the tracks were homes and tiny villages, really interesting lives these people live with no roads in or out, amongst the ancient ruins. As Dan put it (although we debated the definition of reality for a while), it is very "real," by which I think he meant that it is a basic lifestyle in which people still plow using the family cow, aren´t caught up in the superficiality of our modern world, and living on the land is the reality by which they live. And the scenery, consistent with that of Machu Picchu, is breathtaking (as can be the altitude...)

So we had walked half of it before it was completely dark. The second half was less fun, and included hiding from 4 women who from a distance we were convinced were "ladrones" (thugs), avoiding holes in the places where small streams passed under the tracks (and therefore serious injury), screaming "TRAIN!," and complaining.

We arrived in Aguas Calientes (the actual base camp for Machu Picchu, which, judging by it´s name has one attraction that is a hot spring). Our plan, thanks to Willy was to head up the hill to reach Machu Pichu starting at 3:00am in order to get there by 4:30 while we could still get in the gate before anyone was awake (keep in mind that entering Machu Picchu for a day is half as expensive as getting a year pass to all of America´s national parks...and it´s in Peru). However we were too tired, so decided on a day full of hot springs and chess with the local kids instead of more walking. The next morning was to be up at 3:00, but thanks to me we started late, around 4:00 and even though we ran basically the whole way in about an hour, it was not quick enough and our free entrance was denied. Undaunted, yet slightly perturbed I decided I was going to take Willy´s second route which I´m pretty sure he had never done himself...and started the jungle climb (no trail, a bunch of vines that form an impenetrable web, and cliffs) that finally gets up to Machu Picchu. It took me about an hour of dead-ends and frustration to climb a seemingly minuscule slope until I finally got up to the Lost City. Along the route I ran into a lot of the yet uncovered Machu Picchu (20% has yet to be uncovered), which was really interesting and felt nice to be among a group that could not be very big who has struggled through the cliffs, the steep, slippery climb and those vines to see these ruins. Getting to the top was a great feeling, and seeing as I had yet to pay a dime...I won big time (as Alex would say).

An interesting side note here is that Hiram Bingham, the Western discoverer of Machu Picchu was a relative of mine and seeing it more in the way that he first discovered it was pretty cool. A bit of history about that...Bingham was a Yale Archaeologist (and the inspiration for Indiana Jones) who was looking for another lost city (that has since been discovered, although it is thought that a few still remain to be found) but then ran into what has become the gem of South America. He and his team were staying below in Aguas Calientes when a local boy told him that he knew of such a site as Bingham had described. When they reached the site, Bingham found that people were living amongst the ruins, but had never told anyone of them because they did not want to have to pay the Peruvian government to live on the land! This all happened in 1911.

As you may imagine, Machu Picchu was stunning--even when the throngs of tourists came through the gates at midmorning. As with many of the Incan sites, all one can do is marvel at how these people moved these thousand pound boulders and created stairways in cliff sides all with such craftsmanship that can´t be found today (blood, sweat, and numbers). Watching the day begin overlooking the site and the incredible scenery that surrounds it was pretty special...although the whole time I was worried what had happened to Dan (he packed it in since he´s coming back through in a month anyway...bittersweet).

Some Japanese guys who were an acquaintance of ours and that I ran into inside took the only picture of me and Machu Picchu...but then disappeared without an email address transfer...so just act like this is me in the picture although I don´t think I´d wear those bitty shorts with the hiking boots...or stand like that checking out my map of the obvious city below...


Dan and I had planned to head out at noon that day, so as it approached 11:00 I realized I had to run. We made it just in time to catch a 10km train ride and embark on what would become a 30 hour trip back to Cusco. From the train we got in a dump truck to take us to Santa Teresa where we crossed the raging Rio Urabamba in an "arroya," which is a metal cable across the river with a little basket on it. We both sat down in the basket and with ropes attached to the cable pulled ourselves across the river. It was fun! And I´ll put up a picture when Dan gives them to me.

Then it was a bus to Santa Maria (you can see that this is the round-about route, once again avoiding the expensive train) where we caught the first thing to Cusco that happened to be a converted cattle truck that was now shipping fruit to market with the people that sold it. It was a tight squeeze, but we were all happy. Then it started raining. The tarp on top was shut and we were officially cargo, with not even a glimpse of the road ahead of us.

The truck stopped and I dazed in and out of sleep for four hours thinking that we were waiting for a river to back down as we had in Bolivia. After 4 hours and claustrophobia setting in we knocked on the walls of the truck and yelled until they let us out. It was then that I realized that a landslide ahead of us had taken out the road. It wasn´t until the next morning that I realized that while we were climbing switchbacks, a landslide had taken out the road both above and below us and couldn´t have been more than 30 seconds from taking us with it. We almost got "landslid" (verb form), and later on I saw a truck that had actually been "landslided." Back to the night, the locals settled in for a good night´s sleep while Dan and I as well as a Chilean couple were left with no room to sleep in the back. As they were unwilling to rearrange things to help us out a little bit, Dan slept in the front of the truck, the Chileans slept sitting up surely uncomfortable, and I being the most vocal and fed-up of the group slept outside in the cold mud. None of us had much to say to the others in the morning and reluctantly helped them start clearing the landslide by hand as we saw no other alternative. Moving a landslide one rock at a time is a futile activity, and not worth the time nor the effort. This much was clear from the beginning, but it wasn´t until we saw some people walking by that we realized a walk to the next town might be in our best interest. Off we went, and past two worse landslides until we got to a town where we could wait for someone to come through and give us a lift back to Cusco.

Although it set us back a day, it was quite an experience on several levels and getting back to Cusco was made all the better for what we had gone through to get there. This area, obviously is heavily prone to landslides in the rainy season...which would have been useful information before the fact.

Now, we are in Arequipa where we had planned to visit the world´s deepest canyon (3200m, 10,500ft, about 2 miles) but once we got here decided that a 7 hour bus there and back isn´t worth it and are instead going to head out on another overnight bus tonight to the sand dunes, sand boarding and dune buggies of Huacachina. Deciding this yesterday could have saved us an overnight bus ride but that´s the way things go sometimes. A bit frustrating.

Dude next to me still hasn´t figured out what headphones are for and in the process he´s given me a headache.

Let the Peace be with you...

La Paz is one of my favorite cities that I`ve been to so far. Disorganized, indigenous, fast-paced, and set unlike any other city I`ve ever seen. La Paz is crammed into a very tight crater, with the offices and businesses at the lowest part of the crater and the houses climbing the steep crater wall all the way until the top. When driving in you start on the top of the crater where you get a glimpse of the city far below and the stunning snow-capped mountains (over 21,000ft!) off in the distance. The first day I spent just walking around and getting a feel for the city. Every type of market exists in La Paz for every necessity, honestly, there was a market for light bulbs that was about a block long. And food being sold on the street is everywhere, whether it is a hamburger or a 3 course meal...this, however, caused a few problems for me.

The second day we got up early to mountain bike down "El Camino del Muerto." I probably shouldn`t translate this for Mom`s sake, but, yes, otherwise known as "Death Road." After breakfast at the Hostel, a group of twelve of us, complete with guide, got in a bus and headed up to 4800meters to start the trip. 4800m is almost 16,000ft, land of llamas and snow. So we were all a little taken aback when we got out of the bus in our bike shorts and tops, chilly--we promptly added a poncho and windbreaker for the rain that was falling and started barrelling down the mountain. The first part which is actually the majority of the elevation is paved and not part of the Death Road, we got down this pretty quickly then hit the unpaved, and a bit more dangerous section. The road was given this rather notorious name because, and this may be obvious, quite a few people die on this road. Our guide told us that 30 trucks and/or busses (roughly 100 people) go over the edge a year...and when you go over the edge, that`s it...guaranteed. However, he also said that only 10 bikers have died in 10 years, which to me sounds pretty safe. Then again, a guy I met that went with another group told me that 3 bikers died last year alone...I have a feeling his guide may have embellished, or last year was just a dangerous one. Anyhow we headed down and it was amazing, who knows how this road was made. In many places the road was just cut into a cliff, with just enough room, barely, for a truck or a bus to pass.

The tractor trailers that drive this road are often loaded to the brim with lumber and are extremely heavy, especially those driving uphill towards La Paz. Because of this, uphill traffic drives on the left hand side, away from the edge (because if they get too close to the edge, the road could give and down goes the truck)...which meant we had to ride on the left side, right next to the cliff! And this explains the biker mortalities, people either loosing their cool in the face of oncoming traffic or getting clipped by it. Also, there are quite a few waterfalls that spill down the cliffs onto the road, which makes the ground soft, unstable and slippery. Anyhow, the bike ride was a lot of fun, everyone lived (but the two girls ended up taking the bus down...which I think would be a lot scarier), and towards the end of it the guide, Ben (a good guy and pro BMX rider), and I got a little competitive and raced the last bit of it. I think he may have neglected his duties a little bit, but it was a lot of fun--hopefully he`ll make it over again to ride in the U.S. and we`ll get to give it another try. We ended up at around 6,000ft, a big drop in a short amount of time. The altitude, coupled with some street food that I had eaten the night before took it`s toll (also during the ride, which wasn`t great) and I was immediately in bed when we returned.

The bus ride back was the scariest part, and I sat up front on the right hand side to get the full effect. The weather had turned so it was raining the whole time and when you looked straight down out the window it was usually just an abyss of fog that you saw. Scary. But worse for the people coming down the hill, who, when confronting us on the road had to reverse! until they could find a place to get out of our way. Some of these were tractor trailers with people riding in the back as cargo...imagine them reversing towards this cliff hoping the driver was doing a good job of judging the distance in his rear view mirror. Only in Bolivia.

The morning I was to leave La Paz I was waiting outside the hostel with my stuff when two guys walked by, one stopping about 10 feet past me to wait while the other acted like he was looking at the tour information that the hostel offered (while in fact he was just trying to steal my bag). He was clearly suspicious and I just stared at him inviting him to try while I stood there. Then, a third guy comes up who looks like he may be a bus driver with tickets in his hand, he comes over to me and reaches out to grab my hand in an attempt to distract me long enough for the other guy to get to my bag. Just then a guy who worked at the hostel came out and his presence for sure foiled their plan...but it was a close one and for sure a well organized attempt.

Out of La Paz and on to Copacobana on the shores of Lake Titicaca. What struck me as most amazing is that all of the land around the lake shows signs of it`s thousands of years of inhabitance. Every hill is terraced, stone roads and walls are everywhere and it is clear that every single rock and boulder has been moved into it`s current position by the use of a ton of human labor. The lake itself is beautiful, of course, and it was a treat to sit on it`s shores eating it`s trout (the largest species in the world) and watching a storm brew miles offshore. The scenery is amazing and at this altitude the light and reflections are all a bit different. This picture is taken (not by me) from a hill in the town with tombs on top, a beautiful view of Copa and the Lake from the top...

Another "Only in Bolivia" moment...while waiting for the bus today I decided to rent a dirtbike to see a bit of the countryside. $5.00 for an hour, no helmet or previous experience required, of course. Unfortunately the road I wanted to take was too muddy (slippery) to really get anywhere so I came back early, covered in mud. Lucky for them I realized how to use the clutch...I can`t imagine how long those bikes could last with people jerking them around all the time.

I find myself in Puno, Peru now, also on the shores of Titicaca but about 4 hours away from Copa. Right now are the fiestas, so the streets are full of parades complete with dancers, bands, fireworks, etc, no cut corners here. My buddy Stevie, from Scotland who I`m travelling with for a bit now, and I were taken to our hostel in tricycle taxi, cutting through the parade at times. The guy peddaling was sure to tell me that we were heavy...we felt bad between our uncontrolable laughter at how ridiculous the situation was that we found ourselves in.

Off to the floating reed islands tomorrow and then on Tuesday to meet my friend Dan, from Caracas, as we plan to travel Peru together.

Happy Valentine`s Day.

Poopó

Is a town that I won`t be going to, but languages are a funny thing, huh? That one is especially for Timmy and his NZ Halloween costume/mild obsession.

I say, Bolivia, give me adventure, and Bolivia does not shy away from the challenge!

But first, an "adventure" that is worth remembering from Argentina if only to avoid repeating it. Picture the scene, a dark bus ride back to Salta, hunger coming on strong, and a to-go-bag of assorted meats from the asado lunch we had had that day. The first bight comes out fine, the steak that I had expected to find. The second, reaching in for what I thought was the same piece of meat turned out to be less successful. The consistency wasn`t right, and judging by my facial expression my travel companion informed me without delay that I was eating a kidney. There is a reason we don`t eat "riñones" very often to ever in the States, and I now am privy to why.

I left off last time as I was about to head out to the salt flats of Uyuni. The whole thing was completely flooded with about 6 inches of water which turned it into an amazing mirror that reflected the sky perfectly for miles so much so that it could not be discerned where one began and the other ended. Good company of 4 Argentines and 3 Chileans made it especially fun, and I had my first (of now many) llama steak which was very tasty. Over lunch (in a hotel completely built of salt, including the stools and table at which we ate) it was fun to listen in on their political conversation which mostly stuck to the policies of Latin America, only stopping to spit on the States once or twice. One of the Argentines is currently exploring all parts of Europe by living for a while, then moving to see another, and the other three I ended up travelling with for the next three days.

As I`m trying to cut some time as I move through Bolivia, I got on a bus after the tour was over and we embarked on a bumpy, dark journey through a pounding rain storm. Finally, about an hour into it the bus came to a stop and seeing as the door to the driver (and the way out of the bus) was locked, we all sat in the pitch black stuffy bus wondering what had happened. A few minutes later we were told that the river was too high to cross and we were going to wait it out. I got out of the bus, and checking out the river with a fellow passenger joked that we were better off white water rafting to Potosì. We then agreed that this was actually true. The river was high, a full blown raging river 50 feet across and busting a good pace. Bolivia, once again answers the call to adventure. An hour or so later the river had subsided a bit and the rain had all but quit, so the driver turned the headlights on, locked us in our floating casket (to people screaming, at least open the curtains!) and we forded the river that turned us so that we were heading downstream before we reached the other side. Yes Bolivia! During the wait I tried to teach the woman next to me to play chess; this isn`t really significant other than me learning that it is never fun to teach someone how to play chess, then suggest their moves against you as you don`t want to beat a complete stranger in 5 moves.

We arrived to Potosì, the world`s highest city (one of many of Bolivia`s "world`s highest," which consequently is 3 times higher than "mile high" Denver) at the cheery hour of 3:30am when the drunks rule the streets of this mining town. One of the more amiable ones recognized me as "hermanito" (little brother) and tried unsuccessfully to guide me to my hostel. The others just yelled at the police while embracing each other for stability. Carajo!

Up bright and early the next morning just in time to join a tour for the prime attraction of Potosì, the mines! Potosì was once the largest city in South America as it`s Cerro Rico (Rich Hill) was loaded with silver, and still today remain zinc, tin, other minerals, lots of toxic gasses and asbestos! "Vale un Potosì" is the famous expression in Spain. Back when the Spaniards were on the scene, they actually had the Indians working in the mines for 6 months at a time (as in, without coming out once for sunlight). Needless to say, thousands died, and still today the working conditions are bleak, at best. The average life duration of a miner after entering the mines is 10 years due to accidents, or if that doesn`t get you, the pneumonia (somehow associated with silicon or silicosis, someone clear this up for me?) does. I met a miner who was 17.

The group got together, donned our jumpsuits, boots and helmets (no masks, unfortunately) and headed to the street market for the last bit of preparation. The miner`s market is where the tourists going into the mines, and the miners buy the essentials for mining. Coca leaves with your choice of catalyst, assorted soft drinks, 96% alcohol (to drink), whiskey, and last, but surely not least, dynamite. Yes it`s true, anyone can go and buy a stick of dynamite, a fuse and detonator for $1.25. We got one and before going into the mine our guide, an ex-miner himself, gave us a demonstration of it`s power. We lit the fuse and ran...a minute later a thunderous boom was followed by a mushroom cloudish ring rising into the sky. No joke, it was pretty cool.

After all of the mining troubles in the federally and state regulated mines of my home state as of late, it was a bit daunting to go into these mines which were regulated by....no one. Interesting tour, however, getting to know the amazing culture these guys share, climbing the rickety ladders to get access to recently blown out shafts (the same ladders they hustle down after they light 15 sticks of dynamite then...run), getting to know a new array of toxic gasses, discovering a white, cotton candy like stuff that I analyzed with wonder and tried to smell to see what it was--only to find out later that it was asbestos--at least I didn`t taste it!

After the tour and another llama steak, I headed out with a fellow yank to a crater/hot spring about 30 minutes out of town. Beautiful mountains and colorful rocks surrounding the volcano, a really stellar setting. He had read that people had drowned in the middle of the bubbling crater as a suction was created by the volcano below. Even after asking the man kindly collecting our five bolivianos at the crater whether or not there was any danger, he refused to give us any warning. The other people there, who ended up being acquaintances from Buenos Aires confirmed that they also had heard that the middle could be dangerous. And at 4,000meters it is no doubt that a swimmer should find himself short of breath.

That night I checked out the markets and was surprised to find that fancy cakes were sold all over the streets as if it was an everyday thing to have a huge, decadent cake (I guess it is?). So I got to thinking, and Katherine(by the way you are now the only sibling without a blog, geez, dork), what do you think about a Bolivian street wedding cake? I think it`ll only get better with time to baste in my backpack for the next few months. Let me know.

The next day I visited the Casa de Moneda where many of the famous spanish silver coins were made then somehow found their way either into a ship-wreck or a museum somewhere. After that, it was off with my 40-something porteño friends to Sucre, where I stayed for about a half an hour before I headed to Cochabamba...only again to find another form of transportation to Villa Tunari, where I now find myself. I`ve heard so much of this place from different people, so I had to come. It is an animal reserve, where people I`ve met have come and volunteered (two weeks minimum, which I was planning to do until the time ran short). The volunteer activities include walking pumas and jaguars through the jungle, and playing with monkeys. Pretty cool, and when I showed up today I saw that another person I had met while in Argentina is currently volunteering. Although I didn`t spot any of the big cats, I had a fun afternoon with monkeys jumping all over me, taking naps in my lap, unzipping my pockets and stealing my stuff, crawling into a whole in my shirt, and peeing on me. Cute little guys.

So the highlight of my night was getting bitten by a dog then to be told by the owner that it is because it has some word I didn`t understand. Hoping it wasn`t "rabies," I soon deduced that the little thing had just had a litter. All smiles! Please, don`t worry about my ankle.

I head out tomorrow morning bright and early to La Paz...

In the Third World...

...and loving it! I decided that I needed to sit down quickly before I forget all the things that I want to say about coming to Bolivia. I´ve only been in the country for 3 days and it is already so interesting. Walking across the border into Bolivia you can immediately feel a dramatic difference in the people, the culture, the infrastructure (haven´t seen a paved road since I left Argentina). But it´s all good stuff, the people on the whole have been really friendly here despite the ridiculously poor living conditions that most of them endure. They don´t seem angry at tourists usually, or angry with their plight, but more so happy in the little things that they have. It´s a really cool attitude.

So crossing the border into Villazón, I hopped on the next bus to Tupiza in order to better position myself to get to Uyuni, the world´s largest salt flats. The bus ride to Tupiza was three hours, but I really couldn´t even believe my watch because it felt like at least six. The bus grinded its way up the dirt road, stopping every little while for some kind of checkpoint, or to drop people off/pick them up. Most of the time I was thinking why are we stopping because there is absolutely nothing here, just desert. But people would get off the bus with more stuff than they could carry and start trudging off in the general direction of their mud hut.

And finally, it feels like the stereotype of South America is supposed to feel. The majority of the women wear the traditional dress, kids (or whatever is to be carried ) are wrapped in the colorful blankets and carried on women´s backs, the people are all short (a majority of Bolivians are pure blood natives, as is their president...for the first time), llamas are everywhere and sewage systems don´t exist anywhere but the cities. Argentina now seems like a European country transplanted to South America.

From Tupiza (7 minutes and 36 seconds for Google to load in an Internet cafe) to Uyuni, where I now find myself, was another interesting trip--in Jeep (really a LandCruiser but they always say Jeep) the whole way, packed full of people. Whenever the Jeeps or buses stop in a little village or by a home a flood of little kids, mostly girls jump into the vehicle trying to sell you any type of food or drinks. At one bus stop the girls even had roasted some kind of meat with corn and peas that they would throw up to you in a plastic bag for about $.50. Everything here is ridiculously cheap. Of course the trip in Jeep wasn´t complete without us breaking down once and having little kids vomit. In the Jeeps we climbed onto the Altiplano which lies at an elevation of 13,000ft. and above...in order not to get altitude sickness (which can lead to swelling of the brain and death, I´m told...regardless of your age, health status, etc.) you should drink lots of water. This plan isn´t quite as smooth as it sounds as 6 hours crammed in a Jeep on an extremely bumpy road while drinking 2 liters of water can backfire into a very painful bladder problem. Anyhow, we made it, and had a few laughs as the Porteños (people from Bs.As.) in the back playing cards kept asking when we were going to get to the interstate. The driver wasn´t amused.

Anyhow, Bolivia is an interesting place...deserved of more time than I have to give it. According to my trusty lonely planet, there are still people who live in the eastern rain forest that live in villages with little to no contact with the outside, "modern" world, and still attack neighboring villages with bow and arrow.

My plan is to scramble through the the southwest of Bolivia, hustling in order to get to Lima to hang out with my buddy Dan from Caracas before he heads to Argentina. In a few minutes I head out to the salt flats, then tonight right when I get back I´ll be on a bus to Potosí. Apparently the bus rides at night get extremely cold (summer, but we are at extreme elevations) run a pretty high risk of getting robbed, and are more dangerous as darkness already adds to the horrible road conditions (lots of cliffs) coupled with the rainy season...so this will probably be one of the few night time rides in Bolivia. Lots of time packed with adventures in Bolivia to come, I´ll try to write about them when I can!

Still forgot stuff.