My New Home

Sucre, the capital of Bolivia, is a beautiful city with some of the nicest parks and my favorite main square in all of South America. The extravagence of the buildings and cleanliness of the streets make you forget you are in the poorest country in South America. I had decided to stay in Sucre for a month and take a short break from the day to day movements and constant bus rides. A few Spanish classes, volunteer work, and a daily routine was just what I needed.

Everything fell into place within a week; I was aligned with the perfect apartment situated just to the side of a courtyard and owned by a lovely Bolivian family (I had my own bathroom and tiny kitchen and paid just $80 for the entire month); I set up 2 hours of Spanish classes per day; I found a job volunteering at a local savings and loan bank learning micro finance and helping to create better efficiencies in their processes; and I quickly made local friends. It was the perfect combination, however the job turned out to be quite the adventure.

My ¨interview¨ did not go well at all and I barely understood a word the banker said. If it werent for the fact I was a foreigner and the position was strictly volunteer I would have been kicked out the door immediately. I had the excuse of not being fluent in Spanish as my reasoning and I was given a 120 page risk management document (the bankers Bible I was told) to read within the next week. Each day following I was stationed at the computer and got to my daily reading. After 3 or 4 days of struggling through the material and using my Spanish to English dictionary, I was exhausted. When I returned the following week with my newfound knowledge I was told they were switching my project and I was given another 30 page document of credit risk to read for the next week!! At this point I had a strong feeling I was not being taken seriously. When I finally ¨started¨ work I only had about 3 days left, but had learned many new financial vocabulary words in Spanish. I ended up reading over some loan applications for micro finance projects and creating a spreadsheet that was supposed to maximize the efficiency of calculating their risk exposure and volatility of deposits and loans. I realized how far behind the banking system in Bolivia is. It was the first they had heard of using complicated formulas in Excel to calculate volatility and create graphs. I think I got a little out of the experience and offered some of my knowledge at the same time. The only regret I have is not having enough time to maximize the experience.

Another great aspect of Sucre was the food and fresh juices. I made a habit out of eating chorizo sandwiches 2 or 3 times per week and going to the local market for a fresh fruit juice or fruit salad almost every day after Spanish class. Sucre was turning into my favorite South American cities and as the month neared its final days I knew it would be a hard place to leave.

On the final Friday I had in Sucre, the unexpected happened. It began with the sound of fireworks and chants that echoes from between the historic buildings as more and more people arrived to the Plaza 25 de Mayo. It had begun earlier in the week with mild protests supporting the latest political grievence and was culminating on this particular Friday. The people were audibly showing their support for the recently ousted mayor of Sucre. He had been democratically elected, but didnt align with Evo Morales´ (the president of Bolivia) party. Issues were raised about past corruption, on behalf of the mayor, and a panel of 3 judges voted for change. The elected mayor was tossed from office and a replacement, who happens to align with Evo´s political party, has been sworn in as Sucres new mayor. In Bolivia the norm for such an event is to take to the streets with banners and chants to show their disagreement. Occassionally, these protests can turn hostile...

As I neared the square, I noticed a large gathering of people chanting and marching as tires burned in the streets. On one side riot police stood in formation. All of a sudden, without warning, screams erupted and the crowd scattered in all directions. Tear gas flooded the demonstration and sent people running down side streets in search of clean air. This was just the beginning. What insued in and around the main plaza of Sucre was not unlike a war of small proportions. Police were constant with their tear gas bombardment, while rioters threw rocks, shot marbles from slingshots, and launched fireworks at the Police. The bang from exploding fireworks and small pieces of dynamite echoed off the buildings, smoldering tires slowly burned in the streets, smoke from the tear gas and burning rubber filled the sky, and Plaza 25 de Mayo momentarily transformed into a war zone (but without real weapons).

I was caught in the mix and tear gased multiple time. Luckily I was offered vinegar (which helps with the stinging sensation in your throat and eyes) by locals. Roads became impassable due to burning tires and more and more smoke filled the sky as the day turned to night. The chaos finally settled down around midnight and the only sign that anything had happened was a deserted and destroyed plaza still filled with remnants of tear gas. For me, this was one of the most adrenaline filled days I have had in a long time, but for the locals of Bolivia it was just another ¨normal¨ day.

***Please take note (Mom): No sons were hurt in the production of this story. I will be home in 3 weeks and you can scold me.

A window gets broken during the riots

A local runs from surrounding tear gas canisters

Police vs. the Citizens

Police march on the plaza

Locals cover their faces from the smoke filling the sky

A couple friends from Sucre

Self explainatory

A Sucre side street (without rioting)

Into the Bolivian Amazon

I stepped off the plane and felt the thick jungle air fill my lungs. The mugginess felt good after many cold days in the frigid Bolivian alto plano. I was amazed at how much my world could change with a 35 minute flight from La Paz (12,000 feet) to Rurrenabaque (sea level). Immidiately after stepping outside we were bombarded by locals offering accomadation, rides into town, and restaurants. After bargaining between the bus, a motorcycle, and a private jeep as a means of transportation into town, we settled on moto transport for less than 50 cents. I hopped on the back and felt a moment of panick as we took off in a motorcycle gang of about 15. It would have been very easy to rob me for all I was worth, but the closest thing to a knockout punch I received was the wind whipping my face as we sped down the cobbled street.




Rurrenabaque is a popular tourist hub for either the thick jungle of Madidi National Park or the Pampas (savannah) region. My Canadian friend and I decided on the Pampas tour because it was possible to see more in less days. The three day tour ended up being amazing and included floating the Tuichi river in a canoe, searching the vast savannah plains for Anocandas (we found one!), eating incredible buffet style food, swimming with pink river dolphins and aligators nearby, Piranha fishing, and viewing an abundance of wildlife. I usually steer clear of organized tours, but this specific one exceeded my admittedly low expectations.





When we arrived back in Rurrenabaque the plan was to spend one night and catch a flight out the next day. However, when I awoke at 4:30am to the sound of monsoon type rain rattling the tin roof, I had doubts that there would be any flights. My suspicion was confirmed when the rain pressed on until about 11am. Plan B: A 17 hour bus on winding dirt roads! I wasnt thrilled, but had no other options... I was running short on money and wanted to get back to La Paz sooner rather than later. The bus swayed and bumped in route to La Paz and all was uneventful until about 11pm when, all of a sudden, we stopped. I looked outside and could see nothing but dark skies and wondered why we had stopped. After a few minutes half the people on the bus got off, while the other half stayed wondering what was going on. The engine rumbled and the bus lunged forward, tilted right, tilted a bit more, and suddenly I realized I was sitting in a death trap. We had slid slightly off the road and were stuck in the muddy embankment. As the driver tried to force the bus forward we had slid further onto the brink of an even worse outcome. Luckily, I realized this and scurried off the bus before we ended up sideways in the ditch. Needless to say, after a half hour or so of the crew unsuccessfully attempting to free the bus from cluches of Pacha Mama (Mother Earth), a passing truck was able to tug us out damage free. Just another normal night en route to La Paz.





We arrived the next morning and were greeted once more by the freezing cold of La Paz. I had to search for warmer weather. Next stop, Sucre, for some R&R, volunteering, Spanish classes, and, I hoped, sunshine and warmth...

Look at the teeth on this Piranha!


And the dientes in this Caiman

This is the motorcycle I rode into Rurrenabaque on

La Paz, Bolivia

Our crew standing on the death road outside of La Paz

Another stretch of deadly road

La Paz at dusk

Llama fetuses in the witch market

As the bus crept forward into the outskirts of La Paz, I could feel the cold air seeping through the window panes. Outside, the fumes and honks of rush hour filled the evening sky. The streets were flooded with people, buses, and cars, everyone going their own way, lost in their thoughts and routines. I, meanwhile, was contemplating the chaos around me, while I anxiously awaited our arrival. It had been another long bus ride and I was ready to stay put for a week or so. I remember thinking how ugly La Paz was and what the fuss from other travelers was about. It wasn´t until we reached the crest of one of the ridges that surroundes La Paz and began to drop down into the city that I saw the hidden beauty and marvelled at the way the city clings to the sides of the protruding mountains. It is a mix of modern infrastructure, old adobe houses with tin roofs, traffic, pollution, amazing views, nearby mountains that tower in the distance tempting climbers with their snow capped peaks, and crowds of people slowly living their Bolivian lifestyle.

Like most South American cities, La Paz is filled with street vendors selling everything from clothes and food to love potions and llama fetuses. Fetuses??!!??... you are probably asking yourself... and no this is not a typo. They actually sell llama fetuses to give as a gift to bring good luck when hung in a persons home. I couldn´t see myself getting used to the idea of a fetus hanging anywhere near my prescence, nor of anyone else I know appreciating such a gift, so I passed on the purchase. However, I probably could have used some luck for what I planned to do in La Paz... bike at high speeds down the ¨death road¨. The death road is a dirt road built into dramatic landscape with thousand foot drops, poor visability, narrow enough for only one car in places, and has claimed thousands of lives in it´s history. The road is now closed to traffic due to the number of cars and buses that have rolled off it´s steep cliffs, but has become a thrill seekers tourist attraction instead. Closing the road to traffic has slowed the death count, but not halted it completely as the occassional biker loses control and joins the growing number of tragedies.

The ride was one of the more dangerous things I have done here, but well worth the hair raising drop offs and narrow turns. I can happily report no accidents and beautiful views. From beginning to end we descended from 4,700 meters to 1,200 meters. All and all a good day!

The rest of my time in La Paz was spent strolling the markets and freezing in the high altitude winter. I had also planned a trip to Rurrenabaque, the portal into the Bolivian Amazon basin, by way of a 35 minute flight. I would soon be in the thick, muggy air of the jungle.

Boobs and S**t

There was one more stop in Peru before I would be in my fourth country (of this trip) and one step closer to the fate of my return home. Lake Titikaka, pronounced Tee Tee Ka Ka, is one of the highest lakes of it´s size in the world and a sizeable portion rests on the Peruvian side of the border, with the rest ¨owned¨ by Bolivia. While the literal meaning in English is cause for a few chuckles, the real meaning is derived from the two indigenous languages of the region; Quechua and Aymara; and is translated to Grey Puma. The Puma, along with the Condor and Serpent, is a very important symbol to these cultures. Naturally, I wanted to visit the lake in both the Peruvian and Bolivian territories.

Puno rests on the Peruvian shores and was the next stop as a gateway to the floating islands of Uros. This civilization goes back many years, still exists in its true form today, and is just as it sounds. It consists of numerous islands artifically constructed from mud, wood, and the reeds that grow from the lake. Each island is tied down using wooden stakes pressed hard into the bottom of the lake to prevent the inhabitants from being pushed by the will of the wind. Each family lives on their own island and hunts (mostly birds) and fishes for nourishment (with weekly trips to Puno for rice, corn, bread, etc.). The entire community shares a school, church, and medical facility, which all exist on a seperate community island. It was very interesting to see this unique way of life. Unfortunately, the culture seems to be dying out as a new generation learns about the outside world and is tempted by its glamours and materialism. I would have loved to see more islands on the Peruvian side of Titikaka, but Bolivia was tempting me on the opposite shore.

After a short 3 hour bus ride from Puno to Copacabana, with a stop at the border for passport formalities (as an American I had to pay $135 for a visa and provide numerous copies of documents for the Bolivian government), I was in Bolivia! In general, border towns are always fairly similar to each other and provide an easy transition between cultures. Besides the change in currency and a few name changes on the local menu, Copacabana seemed much like Puno. In the sense that Puno was a jumping off point to explore the Peruvian islands of Lake Titikaka, Copacabana served the same purpose on the Bolivian side; specifically the beautiful Isla Del Sol (Island of the Sun). The traditional route to the isla is on-board a very touristy passenger boat that leaves from the shores of Copacabana. As a tourist, I like to explore the road less traveled and, ironically, steer clear of these tourist traps. Thus, my friend and I decided to walk 4 hours along the Peninsula to take another, most likely more expensive, boat. Our decision automatically came to fruition when we were politely stopped along the path by some locals who were enjoying Bolivian spirits at 10:30 in the morning. It was immediately brought to our attention that it was the last day (out of 4) for the Ascension of Christ celebration. On a side note: every holiday in South America seems to be centered around Jesus, with the majority of celebrating focused around drunken merriment. Anyways, it was only polite that we should have a few drinks with our new found friends. Sure, it was 10:30 in the morning and we had a few hours of hiking ahead, but our Bolivian friends were adament. After a few beers, some chit chat, and a few jokes that were over my head, we were on our way again. We were stopped two more times before reaching our destination, both times by cheerful Bolivians that wanted to know where we were from and what we thought of their country. The second time was admittedly a precurson to a sale. The friendly Señor wanted to sell us a trip to Isla Del Sol on his private boat. We were headed there anyways and our feet were weary so we negotiated a fair price (we could have taken the cheaper boat, but would have had to paddle ourselves) and jumped aboard.

Isla Del Sol proved to be as beautiful and unique as rumors had indicated. Despite it being a common tourist destination, there was enough space to avoid the crowds and enjoy the journey back in time. All the locals wore traditional dress and the town had a very authentic feel. We were even lucky enough to witness a Bolivian wedding with it´s unique music, tradition, and many cases of beer. Also, the views were amazing! Some of Bolivia´s highest peaks (many over 6,000 meters) rise majestically out of the lake to pierce the sky with their snow covered summits. The terraced farm land of the island glows green in the setting sun, as the reflection bounces off the waters below. A crisp breeze arrived in the evening that gripped the island tightly as the unaccostomed visitors hurried towards the shelter of hostels or restaurants. As I watched the wedding festivities and the cold began to rattle my bones, I too had to seek refuge inside. So, after a long day, an early night, and a good sleep, it was time to explore the island, which meant (as my followers are accostomed) more walking. It took 3 or 4 hours to walk from one side of the island to the other before we settled on the opposite shore to find a boat back to Copacabana. After a long morning I just wanted to hop in a boat and head back, but the strong winds had prevented the normal entourage of boats from arriving. After an hour of arguing over the capacity in a private boat and the price, we agreed to an over inflated price to go only as far as the Peninsula (Copacabana was too dangerous for boats due to the high winds). Having no choice, we boarded and rode the rough(ish) waters back to the main land before boarding a mini bus to Copacabana, and another onto La Paz.

Some Inca ruins on Isla Del Sol

Our private boat transport friend nourishing the engine

Wedding festivities with plenty of beer

The high snow capped Bolivian peaks rising from Lake Titikaka off in the distance

Pit stop along our hike

Two kids buy sweets at the local store