At long last. Better late than never at all. The final installment. From Sucre the MoWenck experience took an overnight, 12 hour, full-cama bus directly to Bolivia's proper capital La Paz. Nestled in a valley at the base of the Andes mountains, La Paz, at over 3800M, is the world's highest capital city. We arrived at the city bus terminal very early in the morning-0530-and while our hostal was only about a 400 M walk from the bus station (downhill, thankfully) it was way to early for us to check in so we huddled up at the bus station along with countless other packbackers and natives. La Paz in the fall before the sun rises can be extremely cold! Anyway, by 0730 we were hurtin' for certain and decided to walk down to our hostal and get out of the cold-even if our room was not ready.
We stumbled down the hill to the Adventure Brew Hostal, a very new enterprise started up by a Kiwi transplant and avid downhill mountain biker. As it turns out our room was ready and warm-well, warmer. The hostal had only been open 2 weeks and thus they were still completing structural improvemnets when we checked in. No worries though, the hostal also happens to be a micro brewery and to compensate for the inconvenience of on-going construction we received one free pint per night. Sweet, delicious beer. The mortal ambrosia. After a much deserved kip and a shower Amy and I opted to explore our new environs with a stroll about the city in search of the ever necessary ATM and a grubby lunch.
Central La Paz is situated in a river canyon just below a plateau. Up on the plateau is where most of La Paz's indigenous population (read: poor) lives in a part of the city known as El Alto. The city proper clings to the walls of the canyon all the way up to El Alto, with steep streets plied by unconventional taxis, buses, and cars to form a sort of public transport system. The Andes mountains provide a magnificant backdrop to the bustling city. However, the thin mountain air combined with the thick industrial pollution makes breathing in La Paz a challenge. Because of the altitude you have to breath 3 times as much as you do at sea level. The pollution index in La Paz is about 2 times worse than that of oh say, Los Angeles. That means any blue blooded Californian is breathing 6 times their normal pollution intake while in La Paz. Ouch! We walked down (literally) the main drag through the madness that has become La Paz in recent years. There seems to be a million taxis, a million minivan taxis (combis) with manual transmissions that seem to defy the laws of gravity and automotive mechanics, and a million smoke spewing buses. Mixed in are a few privately owned vehicles, the police and military vehicles (ever present) etc. The streets are crammed with traffic and to make matters worse (from a commuter standpoint...or sitpoint as the case maybe) there are tens of thousands of pedestrians and little to no traffic control devices. There are street vendors all along the sidewalks and it makes for a really mad third world scene. On top of all this there are the seemingly daily protests. Seriously, I think we saw a protest of one sort or another every day we were in La Paz but 1 (and that was some crazy dancing, parading, celebration day where they closed down half of the city anyway). The people of Bolivia love to protest and march in the streets. The protestors often march with 1/4 sticks of dynamite, sparking them off every 100 meters or so, making quite a ruckous and bringing traffic to a standstill. Just what they are protesting we were never really able to find out, often there were more than one group of protestors a day and violence was not uncommon, hence the military and police presence. Really nuts is La Paz. Anyway, we went for one of many walks through the city and eventually found a great little restaurant that served excellent sandwhiches and salads dirt cheap. The 100% Natural Cafe in the main packbackers section of town. We would have breakfast, lunch, or dinner at this fine establishment no less than 15 times during our stay in La Paz. From the cafe we wondered through the streets of the Witche's market and up into one of the largest street markets I have ever had the pleasure to walk through. We were getting kind of tired from the walking at elevation in pollution and decided to cut our exploration of the market short for the day. We figured there would be plenty more time to explore the market later.
Back at the hostal I checked my email and made plans to meet up with a friend of ours from Berkeley, Todd and his wife Fiona. They had been living and working in La Paz for almost a year, Todd as a volunteer with an NGO (I think) and Fiona as the AP reporter for Bolivia. Anyway, we agreed to meet them at an opening for an art show at a museum not to far from our hostal with dinner and drinks to follow. The art show opening happened to be for photography, and we were able to meet up and check out the show for about a half hour. We then made our way to a sushi joint that Todd and Fiona claimed was really good. I have to admit that I was a bit nervous about sushi in La Paz-we were quite a few hundred miles away from any ocean-but as it turns out the sushi was pretty good (lots of trout in place of salmon) and really cheap. Dinner was great with Todd and Fiona providing excellent company. Eventually several of Fiona's AP friends joined us at our table. We were a collection of a bunch of foreigners, many working as correspondants, it was like being at a cafe in Paris with Hemmingway, Pound, and Joyce. Well, not really, we were in La Paz after all and none of us has written anything on the level of a Joyce or Pound, but you know what I mean. It was a good night out.
The next day we dedicated to planning our final 15 days in Bolivia, our final 15 days on this globe trotting adventure. There were a few things we wanted to do in La Paz: visit the Coca museum, visit the world famous San Pedro prison, visit the markets, maybe do some walks in the hills above the city, maybe a mountain climb up over 6000M!, maybe a trip out to the Aztec ruins at Tiahuanaco, but I definitely wanted to do a bike ride on the World's Most Dangerous Road (WMDR). We also wanted to make a trip out to Lake Titikaka and the sleepy village of Copacabana and the Isla del Sol. Finally we had designs on a visit to the jungles and pampas of Rurrenabaque to the North. So much to do and so little time, especially when you consider that transportation in Bolivia is never a sure thing and rarely very fast. Todd convinced us that we should definitely fly to Rurrenabaque-the flight is supposed to be awesome-and advised us not to expect to be there for any less than 1 week considering the flight delays and cancelations. Ugh! By bus it would take even more time so we decided to investigate the flight. We also needed to find out about the WMDR.
Ever since I met this crazy German backpacker in Auckland on Christmas eve, I have been wanting to do this intense downhill mountain bike run on the WMDR. Christian, the German, told me I had to do this ride. Basically, the WMDR, is just what it claims to be. More people die traversing this road than on any other road in the world. It is the main ground link between La Paz and Brazil but that is not what makes it so dangerous. The road starts high in the Andes Mountains some 4300 M above sea level and then winds its way down through a valley via a narrow, gravel, pot-holed, at times 1-lane road to the cloud forest tropical paradise of Coroico at 1100 M above sea level. That's right, over 3200 M of elevation loss over just 64 K!!! Insane. But wait, there's more! The road is narrow as I mentioned but it also regularly has cliffs with sheer drops of over 800 M. Guard rails, HA! Not even all that is what makes it the WMDR, no siree, what makes it so dangerous is the people who drive on the road. Bus drivers in Bolivia are notorious for drink drive.* The drivers on this road are infamous for it-not just the buses but the trucks-they need the drink 'cause they are worried some drunk might smash into them or push them off the cliff. That's why they drink and drive I suppose. Well, when a bus goes off an 800 M cliff, no one survives. Every year a few tourists die bike riding the WMDR-usually a result of bad breaks and going off a cliff. Despite this fact downhill bike riding the WMDR has become one of the big backpacker tourist things to do in La Paz in recent years. There are no less than 50 tour operators making the trip daily. As is always the case, some operators are better than others. Todd and several other people recommended Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking (also recommended by the bible-the Lonely Planet-and owned by the owner of our hostal). We made a trip down to their offices, read everything they had to present, talked with several people-guides, tourists, etc.-and determined that while Gravity Assisted was a little more expensive it was definitely the best tour operator in town. We signed up for a ride on that Friday. In the mean time we would explore La Paz and make flight arrangements to go to Rurrenabaque for the Sunday after the bike ride (we wanted to spend a night in the village of Coroico). Once we got back from Rurrenabaque we would hop a 3 hour bus out to Cococabana and Lake Titikaka before returning to La Paz for some final shopping before our 15Jun06 departure. A man, a plan, a canal, Panama.
We spent the next few days arranging our flights and doing the tourist thing. We went to the coca museum where we learned the history of the coca leaf and the roll it has played in South American history. It was quite interesting to learn how the native people had incorporated the leaf into their culture and when the civilized honkeys from Europe arrived they demonized the leaf. It did not take long for the Europeans to realize the value of coca as a stimulant, they even managed, through chemical processes, to improve on its pharmaceutical properties and made the drug that is commonly known as cocaine. It is a typical story of how the god fearing Christians came from Europe and screwed up the lives and culture of the heathen indigenous populations. A story that repeats itself throughout history and continues today. Blah!
We also paid a visit to the world's strangest prison (San Pedro) where many of the convicted cocaine trafficers serve their sentence. The prison is unique in that the prisoners have to pay for everything during their "stay". The prison is a community within a community. Some prisoners have their whole families come and live with them in prison. No shit! There are over 300 kids living inside the prison walls. The kids and wives are free to come and go as they please, only the prisoners have stay inside. Within the prison walls there has developed a whole economy: prisoners have to buy their cells (apartments in some cases even coming with carpeted floors and a hot tub!) and pay for their meals. Few can afford to do so and thus they work on the inside: shining shoes, providing protection, etc. The most popular way to make money on the inside is to sell cocaine. Rumor has it, the best cocaine in the world can be had at this prison in the middle of La Paz. For many years the prison was a favorite destination of foreign tourist seeking out the white powder or just curious to see this unique prison (yeah, right!). Anyway, a foreign journalist wrote a book about the corruption and drug trade within the prison^, that did not shine a positive light on the government of Bolivia who recieves lots of money from the US DEA to fight the war on drugs. After the publication of the book, foreigners were banned from visiting the prison. However, with the right words (and some backsheesh) a tour is supposedly possible. We decided to give it a shot. As we approached the front gate there were many Bolivians coming and going but the guards grabbed us and would not allow us in unless we could name who we were coming to visit. Finally, they sent us around the corner to the back door where we talked to a sargent who eventually agreed to let us talk to one of the foreign prisoners-a bloke from Holland. We walked through a few doors into an office where we met up with the kid and talked to him about life on the inside and tried to determine if we could get a tour. The short story is that there was no way for us to get a tour, not unless we paid $20, and so we gave the Dutch kid some money for his time and left the prison. Quite an interesting experience.
On Friday we got up early and made our way down to the meet up point for the WMDR tour. After a morning coffee and some eggs we hopped on a bus and headed up to the start point. After getting our safety gear and bicycles and a brief demonstration on proper mountain biking technique, we headed out. It was awesome! The first third of the road is paved and thus you can haul arse. I was riding in the lead group constantly pushing the guide to go faster. Mo was trailing back a bit but not too far behind. Ever few miles the group would stop and the guides would discuss the section of road ahead and off we would go again. Well, after a section we stopped and I was waiting for Mo to come around the corner and pull up. No Mo, No Mo, No Mo and the whole group is now on the side of the road except Mo and 2 of the guides. Panic. Where is Mo? Then, one of the other women on the ride says that Amy had an accident. Shit! I ask if she is all right and the lady says Amy was in shock and that she thought that Amy had broken her collarbone. Fuck! I go to the guide and ask him what is happening. He informs me that Amy has indeed wrecked and that she requires medical attention. He proceeds to tell me that they are taking her to the hospital. I request to accompany her on the ride and the guide tells me that they have already turned back and are on their way to La Paz. I express a strong desire to ride with her to the hospital but the guide tells me it is not possible, I will have to ride the rest of the day and see her when I get back, in 8 hours. WTF!?! Tyler is about to go ballistic. I force the guide to call back and have the van turn around and come pick me up or there was going to be a need for more than one hospital bed (this is all being communicated in Spanglish). Finally, the van comes around the corner and our mountain biking day is over. It took about 1.5 hours to get to the hospital where x-rays showed a severely broken collarbone very distally. Damn! Options: surgery in Bolivia the next day or fly back to the US immediately and have surgery there in the next 48 hours. We decided to admit right there and get the surgery done in Bolivia. The next few days would be very intense for both of us. Amy received excellent care and I was forced to deal with insurance companies, doctors and nurses, etc. It was not cool. I will not go into all the details here but basically, Amy had the surgery where they inserted a metal plate that would have to be removed when we got back to the states. Everything went well, the hospital was private and everyone was kind and helpful. Insurance approved having the surgery done in La Paz or to have Amy flown back to the states to have the work done (swell and everything, it just took them 72 hours to let us know about the latter option). Needless to say the accident made a lot of changes to our plans. Rurrenbaque was out. La Paz was in.
So we spent the next few weeks in La Paz with an abrieviated trip out to Copacabana and Lake Titikaka (against the doctors orders). There are worse places than La Paz to be stuck (see Dahka) and the good thing was that Amy was able to do a lot of things. The great thing was that the world cup started and we were able to watch lots and lots of football with lots and lots of European fans. Other than the USA sucky performance (embarrasing really) we managed to have a good time and enjoy ourselves for the rest of the time we were in La Paz. Finally the day came for us to fly home 15Jun06. With the WMDR experience both Amy and I were ready to end this long strange trip. Our flight to Florida was uneventful. Our stop in Iowa to visit my grandfathers was swell. Our return to California brilliant success. 2 years and 2 months on the road. 21 countries. It is good to be home. Oh, and yeah, Amy has had a surgery to remove the plate from her shoulder and repairs done to her tendons, everything is looking good on that front. Now if only I can find a job.
NOTES:
* I will provide an example. At Lake Titikaka I met a kind Texan backpacker who told me about his first bus ride experience in Bolivia. He described a typical beat down Bolivian bus with uncomfortable broken, stinking seats. A toilet that was foul and unapproachable and a long (all bus rides in Bolivia seem endless) overnight haul. Well, he got to drinking a lot of water and in the middle of the night he required a pit stop as the on board commode was not serviceable. He stumbled towards the front of the bus where the door separating the driver from the main cabin was tightly closed and locked. He looked through the window of the door and could see the driver, head tilted back with beer to lips, chugging down a 20 oz brew. The bus steward was DIH pissing out the window while the bus roared down the road at about 75 K/h. Our Texan friend decided to swallow it and hold off on relieving his bladder and stumbled back to his seat unable to fall back asleep on a Bolivian bus ever again.
^ The book is titled Marching Powder and is by Thomas McFadden