Sorata, Bolivia

Ready for some rest , relaxation and warmth, we decided to head to the little oasis in the mountains, another hillside town in the Yungas region called Sorata  with the almost tropical elevation of 8,700 ft. The transportation system is quite straightforward- find a minibus (like a van with one more bench seat) with a big sign naming its destination and a young boy screaming that destination at the top of his lungs.

Our minibus to Sorata would have comfortably seated 8 adults. Instead, we had 17 people, a dog and a cat. It was cozy, to say the least. The drive was an event in and of itself. After going over a pass outside La Paz, we careened down a winding road at the rate of roughly 100 to 200 feet every minute (courtesy of Michael´s altimeter on his watch). The little boy next to me made all the responsive exclamations I suppressed. We were happy to arrive safely, with our luggage still secure on the top of the minibus.

We made our way to an Ecolodge about 15 minutes from the town´s center built by a man-wife team who have lived in Europe and America for several years previously. It was full of character – tons of colorful flowers, vines, fruit trees, little sculptures in the organic garden, and hammocks swinging by the swimming pool. There´s a pack of friendly dogs, a loud Macaw parrot, a cow, some chickens, and a mischievous cat. The rushing river below this hillside oasis creates a beautiful background noise, punctuated by beautiful bird songs. There´s a restaurant there too, so there´s really no reason at all to leave…

Unfortunately, the rainy season persists and the views of the Andes that Sorata is known for have so far eluded us. But we´ve slept more than we could possibly need to, and we´re ready to move on to Lake Titicaca.

Conderiri Trek and Climbing Huayna Potosi, near Tuni and La Paz, Bolivia



Our first camp under the Condoriri mountains



Our second ¨camp¨ under the massive South face of Huayna Potosi (it looks small in the picture)

After looking at the calendar and realizing how much more we want to do, Michael and I decided to leave the very next day after Death Road for a 3-day trek across the Conderiri, a beautiful area of the Andes that starts from Tuni, about 3.5 hours outside of La Paz, and ends about half an hour from La Paz. Having no idea how to organize mules to carry our stuff, find the right trials (there are NO maps in Bolivia!), or what food to eat along the way, we decided to have our first trek guided.

Our guide was Franz, a good-natured Bolivian who kindly tutored Michael in all Spanish climbing terminology. Michael may not yet know his colors, but he knows how to say ride, face, camp, ice screw, ice ax, picket, rope, and all sorts of other technical words. Over the course of our trek and later climb with Franz, we exchanged valuable phrases such as “Okie Dokie” and “this weather is shit.”

We left from Tuni, a mountain village of about 15 families who live in mud and brick houses near a lake looming beneath the Andes. Live seems to revolve around llamas and mules – I don´t think much has changed for these families in several hundred years, except the increase in tourists who come and pay to use their livestock for trekking.

Thank goodness for those mules! I couldn´t thank them enough for taking my huge backpack as I panted over the 5,000 meter pass (roughly 16,400 feet). The mule driver was a traditionally-dressed woman named Veronica, who covers these mountains regularly in slipper-like shoes, a huge skirt, and a brightly colored large cloth that wraps around whatever she needs to carry and is slung over her shoulder like a backpack. Side note: women all over Bolivia wear this and, while I love all the bright colors, I can never figure out what they carry in those huge clothes! It could be flowers, fruits, wood, a baby… the put the cloth over the top to protect the load (or child) from dust, sun, or rain, so only when some stray part (a little hand, or a flower stem) emerge from the cover can I guess the contents of those mysterious packs.

Veronica has clearly spent her life in these hills and looked anywhere from 35 to 45 years old. I think we were both shocked to discover that we´re, in fact, the same age. What completely different lives we have.

The trekking itself was phenomenal . We had drastic and powerful views of snow-capped peaks with the constant company of curious llamas. Our first night was spent in a refugio (a hut with basic cement walls and a roof), which was opened via the far-side window (that instilled a lot of confidence, but no one showed up to kick us out), and sat over a gorgeous glacial lake seemingly crowned by the circle of peaks around it.  The second night´s refugio was almost as outstanding… the location, not the building itself… but it´s so difficult to describe this beauty with words. I´ll just have to wait until we can post Michael´s pictures.

I was personally fascinated with the owner of the second refugio, an elderly lady (goodness knows I can´t guess how old!), who lives in those mountains with her llamas, setting them free to roam at dawn and herding them back at dusk in that long skirt and slippers, through rain, sleet, snow and sun. Her life story should be in National Geographic – but they´d have to find a local translater, because what she speaks is far from Spanish. It took me by surprise to hear so many clicks and swishes of her toungue, with her expectant face and smile looking up at me. I was so confused and had no idea what to say… so I smiled back and yelled for Franz. She shared some of her llama with us that evening, butchered by her hand that morning.

Three days and many photos later, we emerged near La Paz, but we weren´t ready to leave.  So we talked with Franz about a 3-day climb starting the next day. Our plan was to climb two of the peaks over the lake near our first refugio on the trek. So we left for Tuni again the next morning. Unfortunately, the clouds had come in and it rained and hailed the entire drive to Tuni. Perhaps we should have stopped sooner, but we kept thinking it would get better. It didn´t.

Just outside of Tuni, our taxi came across a river that it apparently expected to drive through. We were skeptical that this little Toyota, older than myself, would make it. The driver seemed so also, so we sat in the little car for a good while, watching the windows steam up and the freezing rain pelt the outside of the car. If we wanted to do this, we´d have to wade across that river with our stuff, making the next 4-hour walk extremely cold and uncomfortable (the temperature couldn´t have been above freezing). We would have no fire, no heat, and really no chance to warm up for the next three days until we got back to La Paz. Michael could have gone forward, but, at that moment, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and curl up in a down comfortable with my kindle. So my chivalrous husband told Franz we wanted to change our plans and turn around.

Of course, we´d already paid for a three-day trek, had everything ready, and we would never see that money again. So instead of finding that hot shower, we switched mountains in the hope that the weather would clear by the time we wanted to summit. We set our sights on Huayna Potosi, a prominent mountain close to La Paz, towering above the city at 19,974 feet – just shy of the 20,000 ft mark.

We stayed just off the road in some government hydro-electric plant building (how does our guide know these people?), and hiked up to base camp (Campo Rocka, or Rock Camp) the next day, just above the snow line and beneath the glacier we would ascend. Rock Camp was one of the better refugios, with actual bunk beds, somewhat comfortable cushions, and a wobbly table – more furnishings than we´d seen in a refugio yet. The day passed unremarkably, resting in dense clouds and occasional rain before our summit attempt the next morning, hoping the skies might clear.

Our prayers were answered and sometime before our 1 am wake up call, the stars emerged. There was a very slight moon, making the early morning sky feel so close that we could touch the stars. The sky was big and dark, with a beautifully pronounced milky way and shooting stars. It was truly magical.

We summitted just after a gorgeous sunrise, around 7 am. Michael´s body was coping a bit better than mine with the altitude. I was dragging by the time we hit the final ridge, taking at least two breathes per step, fighting waves of nausea and some vertigo. But we took it slow and, step by step, we both made it to the summit in relatively good spirits.

Being at that altitude and feeling its effects has given me a new appreciation for those people crazy (and rich) enough to climb Everest, another 10,000 feet or so above where we stood for a few moments. At one point, Michael got a bloody nose, perhaps induced by being freezing outside and then drinking hot tea. It was epic. I couldn´t stand to see so much blood… and it lasted for about 5 hours. I was about sure something had erupted in his brain and we were bound to be helicoptered out, but Michael insisted that there simply wasn´t enough oxygen for his blood to clot quickly. Of course, he was right, and it eventually subsided.

Our descent was quick, easy and extremely bright. My 70 SPF sunscreen, hat and sunglasses couldn´t compete with being that close to the sun and, yet again, I got sunburned. My nose may never be the same after this trip.

By the time we got to Rock Camp, the clouds were moving in again. We may have hit the only time within 7 to 10 days that we could´ve summitted the mountain with a view. We headed back to La Paz and found my long-awaited hot shower.

"Death Road," La Paz to Choroico, Bolivia



The very top of the ¨Death Road¨

The ¨Death Road¨ roughly 8,000 lower than the first picture above

¨Death Road,¨ aka ¨The World´s Most Dangerous Road,¨ is one of the more popular tourist attractions out of La Paz for whatever odd reason. The road is about a 40-mile mostly-dirt road that starts outside of La Paz, twists and turns its way through a large canyon, descends a total of 11,000 feet, and ends near Choroico, a small hillside village in the Yungas region, on the way to the Amazon Basin. Between the guide´s Spaenglish and my own observations, it´s my understanding that this is the old road primarily used to haul resources like timber from the Yungas region to the more-populated La Paz area. In other words, huge trucks passing in the night on this road with frequent blind-turns and sheer-cliff drop offs…. hence the memorials alongside the road and its name.

But somewhat recently, the government undertook the outstanding endeavor of building a new road, leaving Death Road to us tourists. I can´t imagine many of us have added to the death toll. Despite the lack of any cars or trucks (besides our support minivans), we were outfitted in more protective gear than I´ve worn in my life including elbow pads, knees pads, special pants, helmet, biking gloves, etc. I´m not sure how knee pads would help anyone falling off of a cliff, but, regardless, you would have to be very stupid or very out of control to actually hurt yourself on the road.

The new road, which we drove back on after our expedition, was one of the most incredible feats of construction and engineering I´ve seen. It´s a remarkable work that runs along ridges, tunnels through mountains, and staves off massive landslides. For the effort and money the government put into this single road, they could have paved every other road in Bolivia.

The bike ride itself was equally incredible. The views were breathtaking. We started about 15,200 feet, freezing, with snow-capped peaks surrounding us. Over the next 6 hours, we descended through the canyon, through various small rivers, under large and small waterfalls, along (but not too close to) the cliff drop-offs for which the road is notorious. In total, we descended over 11,000 feet into the warm and humid tropics of Choroico.

The plan was to coast downhill to a hostel with a nice, cool swimming pool and a big lunch. Turned out , the last 10 minutes (still outfitted in my winter and protective gear) were straight up a muddy incline where small mosquito-like insects swarmed my legs, biting in such a way that instantly draws blood and itches for 5-7 days afterward. Chlaustrophobically warm, legs bleeding from bites, I made it to the hostel and the first thing I saw was… an empty swimming pool. That was a low point.  But a cool shower and large beer lifted my spirits, and, overall, it was a great day.

The Salt Flats, Uyuni, Bolivia

The rumors are true: the roads here are terrible. Riding a little red wagon down a cobblestone street would be smooth sailing compared to the bumps and kicks these “roads”  have to offer. Both in the overnight bus from La Paz to Uyuni and during the countless hours spent in our trusty carriage, a 1990 Toyota Landcruiser, during our 4-day tour of Salar de Uyuni, I was taken back to my last trip to Disneyland and the antiquated “Mr. Toad´s Wild Ride,” except there were no bars (or seatbelts) to help you stay in your seat. But I can´t honestly say it wasn´t fun, at least for the first few hours.

Uyuni, as a city, is nothing to write home about, so I´ll move on. We spent a day organizing our tour plans and left early the morning after we arrived. Our first stop was the “train graveyard,” a glorified junk yard that´s only interesting because of its link to the rich natural resources of Bolivia and the amazing effort that went into exporting them in the past.

Thanks to some English tourists we were with, Michael and I had our first experience chewing coca leaves. Michael experienced a slight numbing of the cheek in which he stored the chewed leaves; I felt like I was chewing a bunch of leaves. While I don´t personally understand the national past-time of chewing coca leaves, I have to agree with Bolivia´s stance that coca leaves in the raw are a completely different substance than the cocaine that (with many chemicals and much environmental harm) can eventually be manufactured from them.

The main event was our first afternoon and evening at the Salar de Uyuni, the largest salt flat in Bolivia (and possibly the world). At this time of the year (the end of the rainy season), the salt flat is covered in 2 to 3 inches of water. When we visited, the sky was bright blue with some dynamic clouds, and the surrounding mountains were still snow-capped. Pink flamingoes dotted the landscape, both near and far. But for the slight wind, the landscape was almost perfectly reflected in the water, making the horizon difficult to distinguish. It was truly a magical, surreal world.

We stayed the night in the Playa Blanca, a hotel in the middle of the salt flat made almost entirely out of salt: salt walls, salt bed frames, salt seats, salt statutes, salt tables…  I was truly missing pepper. Both Michael and I agreed it was one of the most special places we´ve ever been. The hotel is run by a family with two energetic young boys that crawled all over the salt statutes as if they were their personal rocking-horses. What a crazy way to grow up. The Israelis gave way to the Japanese in this little oasis, making Michael and I (again) the only white folks of the group.

The sunset was a photographer´s dream that Michael took full advantage of. I went along as assistant and prop until I couldn´t take the freezing cold water and wind anymore. I cannot wait for Michael to show off his pictures, which probably won´t be until we return this summer, but just as a teaser, they are truly amazing. After the sun went down, we had a hearty communal meal of flamingo soup and quinoa, a delightfully local dinner.

The next afternoon we left the world of salt by joining a typical 3-day tour of the Bolivian altiplano (think the exact opposite of the jungle). EVERYTHING we owned was covered in salt, which turned harder than cardboard after it dried. We´re crossing our fingers that the laundry ladies in Uyuni have better luck extracting salt from our shoes and clothes than we did, or we may have to replace a fair amount of stuff.

The next three days were spent in the company of our Bolivian driver, a Dutch mother-daughter team, and two solo men from Argentina. The seven of us packed into the dilapidated landcruiser and headed South to within a few kilometers of the Bolivian-Chilean border. The driver took us to numerous lagoons, all with different bright colors including blue, green, white, and red, all with flamingos. Laguna Colorado was especially intriguing, being bright red and home to over 70,000 flamingos. We also got to see some colorful mud pots and geysers and lounge in a natural hot springs next to a blue lagoon, with the huge sky above us and 20,000-ft snow-capped mountains in the distance.

“High dessert” is one of the greatest understatements to describe this area. Most of our time was spent at an altitude equal to or higher than the highest point in the continental United States.  We even surpassed 5000 meters – roughly equal to 16,500 feet (the highest Michael and I have ever been).  Michael was especially excited about this. However, the altitude, when combined with the unfettered sun, is not a good combination for sensitive skin, as my now-bright-red nose and sun-burned legs can attest. The endless stretches of sand were periodically obstructed by huge rock formations that we constantly tried to make into different objects or animals, like you would with passing clouds. Other than these rocks, there was no shade within miles.

While there is not much vegetation in the altiplano, there is a surprising amount of animal life, including many llama and vicuna (a gazelle-like animal), along with weird rabbit-like animals with curly rat-like tails.
The altiplano is a wild, barren place – a land of true wilderness and many superlatives.  There is likely no bigger sky in the world than here.  It is a dreamscape for photographers and bird watchers.  However, Michael and I miss water and green, and will be happy to return to a place with a bit less exposure…God did not make the altiplano with human beings in mind.

We´re taking the overnight bus back to La Paz tonight, and aren´t entirely sure where we´ll go to next. Michael has been in-and-out of extreme sickness, likely caused by hours of taking pictures in the freezing temperatures of the Salar and our often less-than-fabulous meals on the road. I expect that a few days of resting in La Paz are in order, and then we´ll be off to… somewhere interesting.

The Amazon Basin, Rurrenabaque, Bolivia

Going to the Amazon Basin did not help my dislike for creepy-crawly things. Nonetheless, I´m really glad we went.

There are two options for getting from La Paz to Rurrenabaque (“Rurre” for short), the tourist hot spot of the Bolivian jungle: a 18-hour to 3-day bus, depending on how many times rivers wash out the road, or a 45-minute flight. We booked the flight. The plane held about 15 people and the interior was, at most, 4 feet high…like a miniature self-propelled rocket packed full of people.  The flight was a bit dicey, but we landed safely on the only paved stretch of road in Rurre and taxied along grass and brush to the “airport,” an open-air run-down building five minutes from town.

Rurre is home to roughly 14,000 people and is situated along the large Beni River, one of probably thousands of tributaries to the mighty Amazon. Our hostel was a little oasis with a beautiful, tropical courtyard with hammocks and a tree bursting with starfruit. The temperature was perfect, not too hot or humid, and (amazingly) mosquitoes were few and far between. We happily slept the day away.

Michael and I booked a tour of the jungle. Our tour started with a 3-hour boat ride up the Beni river, one of our highlights. Unfortunately, our group consisted of Michael, me, and 8 extremely chatty Israeli guys, so in addition to the squacking of jungle birds, roars of wild boars, screaming monkeys, and buzzing insects, our experience of the jungle also unexpectedly included incessant Hebrew.  Side note: Israelis have taken over Bolivia, at least the tourism culture. All the menus and signs are in Spanish and Hebrew (although I´m told the Hebrew signs are frequently upside down), and the tour guides often know more Hebrew than French, English, etc.

We spent three days exploring the jungle on foot, faithfully following our guide who prides himself on never getting lost. I was lost within seconds of leaving camp. It pretty much all looked the same to me: big leaves, tall trees, tons of vines of all different shapes and styles, and then a bunch of the more unusual things of nature. These included poisonous trees that leak a highly-toxic milky substance; trees with 2 to 4-inch spikes on them; “24-hour ants,” named because one bite from these gigantic insects will cause severe bodily pain for 24 hours; millions of leaf-cutter ants working their way up the trunks of large trees with leaves many times their size on their backs; “fire ants,” used as an old torture device, that live inside a tree and, responding to the smell of human flesh, can kill a person within 2 hours; huge caterpillars and centipedes of seemingly unnatural colors; monstrous-sounding pigs; and brilliant butterflies. On a night walk, Michael ate some termites which he reports have a slightly minty flavor.

It rained the entire first night and most of the next morning, which was possibly one of the most entrancing and peaceful sounds I´ve experienced. Unfortunately, we wallowed through mud the rest of the time until we were so caked in it we no longer cared. It just added to the adventure after a while.

After we escaped from the jungle, we spent one more day in Rurre lounging in our hotel-paradise. We decided to go for a hike late in the afternoon to a lookout and butterfly pond, but took a wrong turn somewhere and found ourselves hiking up a river, alongside various waterfalls, to the city´s water supply.

While we missed the butterfly pond, we took advantage of having the warm swimming pools to ourselves anyway, ending our trip on a high note. 

La Paz, Bolivia

La Paz

Llama fetus anyone? It brings good luck!

After 24 hours of traveling, Michael and I arrived safely in La Paz, Bolivia. As we descended into the airport we caught a glimpse of the beautiful mountains surrounding this city and it took our breath away. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the customs line, that breathless feeling became more permanent, less pleasant and even a tad queasy. Trying to learn Spanish and navigate a new city was a bit more challenging given our dizziness and lack of oxygen, but everyone here has been just downright pleasant and helpful. I think we're going to love this country.

I didn't appreciate what it would be like to carry a 42 lb pack (or 50 lb for Michael) uphill through narrow cobblestone streets at nearly the same elevation as the top of Mt. Rainier after living at sea level. It's definitely going to take a few days to acclimate and be ready for any longer trekking. Do you know how many sidewalks-turned-staircases there are in this city? Neither do I. But it is a lot.

La Paz has been a busy and wonderful city to explore for the last two days. For better or for worse, we arrived the morning after Carnival and all was quiet. It started to wake up again last night - I think the city is finally getting over its hangover. There's no end to food options: Italian, Indian, Mexican, Thai, or Pizza. Other than bread and fruit, I'm not sure what "Bolivian" food is, but I think we'll find out when we get to el campo (the countryside). The city is extremely clean. It's not uncommon to see government workers sweeping the sidewalks and shop-owners mopping their stores out. There are public trashcans everywhere that are actually used! I get the sense that the people are very proud of their city.

There's a strong llama presence. Well, not actual llamas, but lots of llama meat, alpaca sweaters and hats, and um... dried llama fetuses. Apparently llama fetuses bring good luck if you bury them under your house. I think I'll take my chances.

Michael and I spent the last two days exploring La Paz and talking with tour agencies about what to do. We spent a long time talking with an older climber, now manager of a trekking/climbing company. His words (paraphrased): "Bolivia is the perfect place for climbing, except there are no roads and no maps." Excellent.

We decided to find the best lookout over La Paz for sunset yesterday evening, which took us across a huge walker's bridge (over a bike path and a separate jogging path) that overlooks the valley, through a really nice playground/park where the sun came out and ice cream was aplenty, and finally up a gazillion flights of stairs to the top perch over the city, right in time for sunset. It was absolutely beautiful.  Michael and his camera got some solid quality time together at the lookout.

The city-scape's central feature, of course, was the ongoing futbol (soccer) game, which I convinced Michael we HAD to go to. We made our way there thinking we'd be in time for the second half and then have a late dinner. Hungry and unable to wait, Michael gravitated toward a delicious smelling food stand with potatoes and meat cooking. I asked the lady what kind of meat it was only to discover it was, indeed, llama heart. Michael eagerly bought one and enjoyed every last bite, although he was still chewing the meat some 20-30 minutes later (turns out llama heart is somewhat similar to gum). When did I become the picky eater?

The soccer game was packed - it was La Paz vs. Bolivia. "Viva Bolivia" was a frequent chant, along with the Wave, and children walked around with gas containers yelling "cafe caliente! - hot coffee!" I was surprised by the number of police and pets present and the lack of alcohol. Apparently pride and coffee alone bring enough enthusiasm. It was all well and good until half-time when we decided to take off and find
some dinner (about 8:30pm), only to discover the gates were locked and no one was allowed out. We stood with a mass of wailing mothers and babies crying "Queremos salir! - we want to leave!" for over half an hour wondering what on earth we had gotten ourselves into. Apparently we were expected to watch the acrobatic half-time show; about 5 minutes into the second half they finally opened one door of one exit, and we funneled ourselves out with the mass of people out, trying not to trample small children underfoot. With a sigh of relief, we found a restaurant still open and made our way to our hotel.

After exploring our various options, we've decided to ditch the cold for the jungle first. We could either take a bus that, best case scenario, would take 18 hours (more likely 3 days due to flooded roads), or a 45 minute flight to Rurrenabaque in the Amazon Basin. We opted for the flight, and we leave this afternoon. Tomorrow we begin our jungle tour and then plan to hang out a few more days in Rurrenabaque before returning to La Paz.

So far, we`re finding that Bolivia is a stunning and diverse country that has yet to feel the negative impacts of rampant tourism.  And we´re not even out of La Paz yet!

To the jungle!

Taylor and Michael

Leaving on a Jet Plane...

I just ate the last In-N-Out burger I will have for at least 4 months and I savored every bite. I'm savoring the soft bed, clean carpet, healthy animals, fresh salads, drinking tap water, and texting... just some of the things I expect to miss starting Tuesday at 6:00am when Michael and I leave most of our worldly possessions in Oregon and head off to La Paz, Bolivia, to celebrate graduating from law school and to take advantage of our youthful desire to spend 3.5 months in relative discomfort.

In December, we finished law school. In January, we studied - a lot. In Febraury, we made it through taking the Oregon bar (cross your fingers that we passed!). In early March, Michael and Matt Ellis took off for a very cold (high of -4 degrees F cold) skiing and ice climbing trip in the Canadian Rockies, while I came down to Fresno, California, for a laid back visit with my family. In two days, we will be flying from Portland, Oregon, elevation 50 feet, to La Paz, Bolivia, elevation 11,942 feet, where we will get oriented, acclimated and brush up on our Spanish for a few days before heading off to... um... somewhere. We have our tickets home (on June 21) and have no other plans yet. After the structure of law school, the freedom of having no plans is very appealing.

So, dear friends and family, please wish us safe travels! I hear it's hard to upload pictures (and we're going low tech - aka, no smartphones or computers), but we'll try to update the blog whenever we can. While I am excited to leave, I am also looking forward to coming back home again...