Then I signed up for a full day descent by bike of the "world’s most dangerous road." Until last year when a new road was built, this stretch of road that drops over 11,800 feet into the Bolivian jungle caused more fatalities than any other road in the world. There was plenty of room to stay away from the edge on a bike, but when two buses are passing, it is a different story. Needless to say, I survived and collected my complimentary t-shirt to prove it.
Next, I headed to the small little town of Sorata thanks to the recommendation of a good friend. This town is usually about 5 hours away (for me it was 9 thanks to a flat tire and a lot of rain on a dirt road) and hangs on to the steep mountains that linger above. I wanted to do some backpacking is this area, but quickly learned that the rainy season limits your options. But I just as soon ran into a young local named Felix that said he would guide me (going alone was not really not an option as trails are unmarked and go in every direction- including straight into a cloud) high up into the mountains above to visit his small town and some lakes and glaciers for the next 3 days. The price was right so we agreed to meet early the next morning...
...Well overnight he got sick and in the morning I was met by his father, Hilarion, who told me he would be my guide. It couldn’t have worked out better. For the next three days, I followed him and his mule around and got a glimpse of the rural and high (his home was perched at 13,200 feet) Bolivian life. This 60 year man could climb up and skip down uneven trails like a mountain goat, all while tugging on his mule and wearing rubber sandals. I got to stay at his home for two nights and meet his wife who didn’t speak spanish. The local language is Aymara, and spanish is a second language spoken by the "city folk." Lot’s of rain, but that meant more time in his humble home talking about life and the differences and similarities we shared. Boulder seemed really far away as I sipped coco tea and ate boiled potatoes.
Lastly, I headed to Lago Titicaca, the largest lake in South America, and a place steeped in the roots of the Incan culture. I spent a day walking along to the lakes shore from Copacabana to Yampapata, where I jumped in a tiny boat and cruised over the Isla de Sol- the birthplace of the sun. I spent the night on the island and spent the next day visiting the Incan historical sites, including the sacred rock that gave birth to the sun and the sacrificial table where a fair amount of blood has been spilled over the years. Now people stop and have a snack there.
So now I am in Cuzco, Peru after a bus ride that has a story better fit to be told with a beer in hand. I am going to do an alternative 4 day route to Machu Pichu starting tomorrow that steers clear of the crowds that do the Inca Trail. But that story will have to wait until my next entry...
Much love to all!
Arriving into sprawling La Paz, set at a mere 12,078 feet.
Everywhere you go, there are the "shoeshine boys," wearing robbers mask hats and pleading to give you a shine. This girl was too cute not to sneak a photo.
Whole Foods, La Paz style...
Produce...
Carving out a lamb brain while talking about the La Paz weather.
On bikes, you can steer clear of the edge...
I didn´t take this photo, but it gives appreciation of the danger element of this "highway."
Flat tire on the way to Sorata. Nothing out of the ordinary.
My guide Hilarion, above his pueblo in the high Bolivian mountains- Lago Verde, around 14,000 feet.
Hilarion´s wife cooking up a meal in her "kitchen." Lots of potatoes. The compost went to the little rabbits they were raising under their bed (from where I took the photo).
Hilarion skipping his way back down to Sorata to drop off the gringo, before heading 6000 feet back home for dinner.
Lonely tree on a small island on Lake Titicaca.
Sacrificial Inca Table on Isla de Sol. I stopped to make a avocado sandwich. A local said no offense would be taken.
Sunset over Lake Titicaca above Copacabana, Bolivia.
