A week ago I was spending the last of four nights in LaPaz, Bolivia, having spent that day mountain biking “the most dangerous road in the world,” and packing for the next day’s journey to the world’s highest ski area and the long set of flights back to Oregon. My 5th floor hotel room looked up at the city
climbing the walls of a thousand-foot deep ravine, down at a street bustling with sewer construction, dozens of street vendors,
and an endless parade of honking taxis and minibuses, and far away to the triple peaks of 21,125-foot Mt. Illimani.
“The most dangerous road in the world” is no longer so, since a new highway opened last November to remove virtually all the
traffic. The ride remains spectacular, however, dropping 11,000 feet from a dry treeless mountain pass to a humid wooded
jungle. The ride was slightly disappointing, mostly because I was with a group of high-speed Israelis and I could only make a few brief stops to photograph the passing landscapes. A 20-second stop would put me nearly a quarter mile behind. Ironically the most dangerous part of the journey was the drive back up. After it had been established that Bolivian drivers assume there are no cars coming the other way around blind curves until they are actually visible, we drove for miles through thick pea-soup fog above cliffs of undeterminable height on both sides.
The highest ski area in the world was not a disappointment in any way. The view of the peaks of the Cordillera Real de LaPaz was breathtaking, especially nearby 19,975-foot Huayna Potosi, even
after clouds started overtaking some of the summits, including ours. My altitude record of 14,495 feet had fallen the day before at the 15,230-foot summit of La Cumbre Pass, shortly before pulling off to prepare for the bike ride. The hike to the higher peak of Chacaltaya took me to 17,850 feet. I would have been content with the 130-foot lower first peak, but that Marta, a pretty and
charming woman from the north coast of Spain, decided to go on to the next peak. She spoke English well enough that we could converse, even as we shared a taxi to the airport that evening and chatted while I waited in line in the terminal. Alas, she was flying to the jungle to stay with her boy friend and we didn’t get to say a proper farewell, as we unexpectedly had to go through separate security checks to get to our respective gates.
Airports were the most common place for things to go wrong for me. I was ripped off by a taxi-seller from the Lima airport who used my inability to think clearly at 5 am after a night of not sleeping on an airplane to convince me that I had only exchanged $3 worth of currency rather than $30. Outside of airports, everything went far smoother than you'd expect visiting developing countries. The nights before and after visiting Machu
Picchu were extremely uncomfortable due to digestive tract difficulties, probably mostly due to abruptly arriving at an altitude over 11,000 feet. Or perhaps it was a family curse - my mom wasn't able to visit M.P. the one time she went to South America because of altitude sickness. I wasn’t at my best during those couple of days, but it only slowed me down marginally. Otherwise the trip was trouble-free and full of fantastic sights and adventures.
Lima was nothing special, but after a couple of good naps, I found my way to the main square and the wide gravel pit that contained a small river, a narrow railroad, and a busy freeway. Though not beautiful, parts of Lima are very colorful. Like most tourists, I was glad to move on. Our flight to the jungle gave us a preview of the beautiful setting of Cuzco, which made the
departure from the idyllic jungle setting two days later easier to take. Our jungle home was the Eco-Amazonia Lodge, over fifteen miles down the Rio Madre de Dios from Puerto Maldonado.
Usually when you see wildlife, they are napping, grazing, or walking slowly. Not so the monkeys of the lodge’s private Monkey Island. Fighting, swinging, shouting, jumping on tourists, only slowing down to eat the bananas our guide, Heren, brings every late afternoon. It was the only good wildlife show of the entire trip but it was fun and memorable. The next day we hiked and
canoed to watch birds and turtles, then unsuccessfully fished in the tiny Rio Briolo. I went for the opportunity to swim in a river with piranhas and watch the moonrise and sunset over the main
river. That night I tried unsuccessfully to take pictures of the full moon shining on some of the jungle vegetation. I also walked a little ways into the jungle and turned off my flashlight for a while. At 2 am, I was too wired up to go back to sleep, so I laid in the hammock in the back room of my bungalow listening to the birds and insects and within a few minutes was relaxed enough to fall right back to sleep. I was woken up a few hours later by what sounded like very loud faulty plumbing but I soon realized it was a howler monkey calling to another howler monkey I could hear in the distance.
There have been plans off and on to make Cuzco home to Peru’s major international airport. This would make sense because Cuzco is far more inviting and popular than Lima. Nestled in a valley 11,140 above sea level, it is designed to remain an attractive city even as it sprawls down the valley and up those hillsides where water is available. New and rebuilt buildings must retain a certain basic architectural style. It is a lovely city surrounded by green slopes. The sunrise I watched the morning we left the city was
one of best I’ve ever experienced. I watched the sunlight creep down the hillsides while giving the mist amongst the trees on
the hilltops a spiritual glow. The Plaza de Armas (Main Square) is a lovely place to watch people and sunsets, surrounded by a cathedral, an impressive church, and balconied restaurants and shops, and adorned by a variety of flowers, including golden poppies.
As lovely as Cuzco is, it is still mostly used as a base for explorations into the Quechua and Aymara historic sites (Inca actually only refers to the king of these ancient native peoples). The most famous is of course Big Mountain (Machu Picchu). As is often the case the most highly touted destination was nowhere near my favorite place of the trip. I won’t say I was disappointed but I will say the somewhat flat mid-day lighting, the occasional crowded areas, my often grumbling stomach, and my mistrust of anything over-hyped, prevented it from making my list as an all-time favorite location. I was mostly impressed by the setting. Although we were about a thousand feet straight up from
the river, you could look in every direction and see even higher mountains rising straight up out of deep canyons. I enjoyed the previous day’s journey through the Valle Sagrado more. The walls
of Sacsayhuaman (it’s okay to call it sexy woman) just above Cuzco were more impressive, the cliffs and valley views of Pisac
more lovely, and the late afternoon lighting of Ollantaytambo more photogenic. We returned to Cuzco after visiting Machu
Picchu, riding in a van in the dark with views of clouds beautifully lit by the rising full moon and the town of Urubamba as we switchbacked above it.
Most people seem to look at flights and bus rides as merely a way to get from point A to point B. In most cases, I see them as a way to see more scenery. Such was the case with the bus trip from Cusco to Puno, then three days later on to LaPaz. Upon leaving Cusco, we briefly descended along Rio Huatanay, then ascended a tributary through canyons and valleys scattered with
towns and ever-decreasing dwellings to a 14,150-foot pass, Abra La Roya. Then we descended through a surprisingly wide valley to the shores of 12,500-foot Lake Titicaca. We ascended to a
rocky pass, then entered Puno, tied for the highest port town in the world, descending through the hilly north part of town in a magnificent thunderstorm. Several bright flashes were followed closely by loud thunder. Then a flash was accompanied at the exact moment by a strange metallic cracking sound, followed by the more customary thunder. I surmise the lightning hit a building just as we were passing it.
As in the jungle, boats became our principle mode of transportation for a couple of days. We visited the floating (yes,
really) Uros Islands, then slowly motored to Amantani Island, where we were assigned a host family. Adrian, a rock climber from near Manchester, England, and I followed our “sister” (the “mother” apparently was busy with other things) to our home for the night. We had a lovely simple lunch, walked and rested a bit, then got involved in what will unexpectedly remain one of my fondest memories of the trip, a soccer game at nearly 13,000 feet elevation. I played goalie, but with the raised audience of 30-40 people and European teammates and native Peruvian opponents giving it a feel of a real “football” game, I was inspired to aggressively go after balls and dive on the cement. I was often winded, wondering how my teammates could do that much more running around. Despite their definite homefield advantage, we gave the Peruvians a good fight until a rebound shot over my prone body gave them a 4-3 win. We then hiked up to the 13,500-foot summit of the island for a cloudy sunset with distant lightning and in the evening danced to native music in costumes provided by our "families." (photo courtesy of Kate & Guillaume)
As the trip progressed I made more and more a point of seeking sunsets and sunrises. A beautiful sunrise from the window of my room on Amantani, followed by a dramatic sunset from the
condor, 600 steps above our hotel in Puno (I had my camera but my batteries were dutifully charging in my hotel room), then a nice sunrise from 300 steps below the condor (enough uphill
walking already). Another nice bus trip, an easy though slow border crossing into Bolivia, the bus running out of gas because of a leak on the outskirts of El Alto, LaPaz’s plateau-top suburb, around a freeway cloverleaf and suddenly the plateau tumbles over a cliff and the city follows it down the cliffsides. Such is the first view of LaPaz.
By all rights, I should’ve hated LaPaz. Crowded, noisy, sometimes smelly, often hazy, narrow streets and sidewalks, disorganized chaos ruling all motor and pedestrian transportation. But in fact I loved it. It was the elements of Cusco and Lima brought to their extremes. I would call it the antithesis of America’s Walmart monopoly society. On many streets, vendor after vendor, often selling almost the exact same things: food, drink, jewelry, wallets, sweaters, pirated cd’s and dvd’s, statuettes to ward off evil spirits. Incredibly inexpensive. A bottle of water or a candy bar, one boliviano (12½ cents). A filling meal in a café, six bolivianos. A nice alpaca sweater, 57 bolivianos ($7). When I returned home, my car broke down and I had to get it fixed for what it would cost to eat well at restaurants for a year in LaPaz. Perhaps it is where I will retire.
As my time in LaPaz progressed, I became aware of the unique traffic laws. Right of way goes to the vehicle that honks first. A red traffic light is merely a suggestion that you might consider stopping. If you're walking in the street because the sidewalk is too crowded and someone honks at you, assume that the driver feels he has absolved himself of all responsibility. In the midst of all the chaos, I watched an old woman start to walk slowly across a busy street. A policeman left the island from where he was directing traffic and walked her all the way across the street. Then he returned to the island and turned a switch and the traffic light changed. Apparently he had set the light to stay as it was. So there is some order amongst the chaos.
My traveling companions were many and varied. Most were British. Most came and went within a few days or hours, including the guides. The only people with me for the majority of the trip were Guillaume and Kate, a lovely couple from central London (far end of boat in picture). We met on the way to the airport in Lima for the flight to the jungle and finally separated the second night in LaPaz, two days before they were to attend a wedding back in London. Jo, another Brit, was our unofficial guide to Cuzco, then Carla (hidden behind Adrian), a Peruvian, our official guide, took us to LaPaz. Others who were around for more than a day were a Belgian couple, two Norwegian men, Londoners (originally Australian, near end of boat) Dale and Melanie, and three rock
climbing friends (middle of boat) including Maria, wife of a member of the Australian Pink Floyd project. Apparently the fact that I haven’t heard of them is more a reflection of my ignorance of current popular music than their lack of notoriety. Besides not traveling with any, I rarely even met any Americans. Tourists were often hard to find in Lima and LaPaz and usually when I saw someone who looked American, they'd open their mouths and out came French or a thick accent. Apparently Americans prefer the shorter trip to Central America while for Europeans the distance is about the same and South America more appealing.
The long hours on planes were helped by generally clear skies. I saw lots of familiar sights in eastern Oregon, Idaho, Utah, and
Colorado going both ways. I saw lights from Cuba, Jamaica, Brazil, and probably Colombia, Venezuela, and Ecuador. Usually these lights would end at the end of the villages or cities and then all would be black (unlike America).
As time passes, it’s hard to say how this will rate compared to my other favorite trips. I can’t imagine it will overtake my first trip to Europe (mostly Switzerland and Austria) as my all-time favorite, but it should rate very high.
These last three taken by Carlos, guide on mountain bike trip.
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