Let it Snow

I woke up in the overnight bus from La Paz, and slowly meandered to my fate for the next 3 days, and the tour company that controlled it. I rented a (more than slightly) used sleeping bag for what would be the hellaciously cold second night of the tour and then had to sit around for two hours until the guide and vehicle arrived. This, of course, left me with plenty of time to stroll around the small, dusty, tourist-agency plagued town of Uyuni and grab a little breakfast.

As time wound down, I got to meet my group--two Argentineans of my age and three members of a nine person Bolivian family from Sucre, the Bolivian capitol of tension. They all seemed nie enough, but I'll openly admit that after having spent so much time with English speakers over X-mas, I was feeling pretty intimidated by the demand for me to speak Spanish.

After overcoming little fears like this, you start to get a buzz, thrill, etc. from everything. After you realize that what you think you won't be able to do, you're doing or have done, you start to get a kick out of absolutely EVERYTHING. Even music from the 80s (which is actually my vice anyway...).

Anyway, maybe its needless to say, but I made friends with the Argentinians--Agostin and Maria--in no time, and now have some friends in Buenos Aires, which has heightened my excitement for my extended period of time in BA. In short, they got me really excited to drink Mate, watch the Tango, eat steak, drink wine, and really do nothing more... Though I may take more Spanish classes. In fact, they actually ended up knowing a lot of English, which helped me learn quite a bit more, and upped my feigning dedication to learn the language... But I digress (Remind me to tell you stories later...)

So, the tour actually did start once our guide--if you could ever actually call him that--tossed our belongings on the top of the 4x4, strapped em down, and took us to the Train Graveyard.


The Train Graveyard, no longer operable after a change in fuel systems...

We swung back through town, picked up our cook, and headed out towards the Salar de Uyuni--the worlds largest salt flat.

You drive and drive, feeling like you get nowhere because all you see is white, accompanied by the occasional volcano in the distance. Eventually the tour runs you smack dab into one of many islands that dot the Salar. Isla del Pescado was the site of a much needed lunch, and hundreds of giant cactus. We eventually got back on, well there is no road, but we started driving again. Aside from the sheer beauty of the flats, the highlight of the day whas when our driver started playing the Clash and my exciteable buddies started singing along with their Spanish accents. As the days continued, the music dove deeper into the 80s, and drove us closer to insanity. Yet another story that can be told at a later date.

We got to San Juan, ate, explored the city, chased some "Shamas," and passed out in order to wake up early for Laguna Colorada the next day.


The entirety of San Juan, and my shadow.

The second day wasn't much to rave about, with the exception of Laguna Colorada, the other 1500 colored lagoons and a whole lot of flamingos. Oh, and who could ever forget that absolutely coldest night of my 23 years of life. Thank God for that ratty, torn, used sleeping back--it saved me some toes, even if I was kicking myself for not just buying my own sweet Chilean made Doite brand sleeping back that keeps you warm up to negative five degrees Centigrade.

On the third day, you wake up at 4AM to travel to the guysers before the go off. Of course, our guide didn't tell us that, and we woke up at 6AM instead. It was alright, because the fields were still one of the most amazing things I have ever seen, especially once the sun started to come up. The guysers are spouting, and meanwhile the sun is slowing waking, causing eerie shadows to sprawl all over the landscape. And your toes are still freezing from the night, despite the wool socks your Mom bought you. It was cool though, as our next stop was the hot thermal pool, Termas de Polque.



Without prior though, I stripped down to my underwear and jumped into the warm pool, not realizing that my stocking cap was still on. It probably would have made a great photo, but you'll just have to picture it for yourself. I got out, dried off, ate breakfast, and with full bellies, the Argentinians, Bolivians and I drove to our final destination--yet another Lago Verde, or Green Lake. It was here (see below) where the Bolivian children heckled me until I threw a rock into the lake from the vista... Thanks to thin air, I was able to make their dreams come true.


The volcano in the background, as I have been told, is shared by Bolivia, Argentina, and Chile...

We then proceeded to drive and drive for about another eight hours until we finally arrived back at Uyuni. The tour was done, and my life was changed a little bit more--well, sort of. By the time we got back, I was more focused on sleep, and returning to my beloved La Paz.

Do you think that anybody in the US has ever thought about naming a city "the Peace." Think about it...

I said goodbye to my Argentinian friends, the Bolivian family, and some Aussies I had met before and got on that bus to Paradise. On the ride home, I thought about where I have been, where I will go, and all of the things I will never tell anybody about my trip... Only because there will never been enough time.

Oh, Bolivia...

There are places in life that are great to visit, and then there are those that you could seemingly stay a lifetime. I don't know if my short three'ish weeks in Bolivia were enough to let me know, but it certainly heightened my curiousity.

I will post something on my trip to the Salar de Uyuni a little later.


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

And to All a Good Night

Of all the times of the year that I thought I would be homesick, Christmas would be it. For the last four years, it has probably been the time that I have been most likely to put away my Blackberry or Black MacBook and enjoy my family the way that they should be enjoyed (That is a public admittance to the fact that I have taken much more important things for granted). Regardless of whether or not you think X-mas is overly commercialized, its a perfect opportunity for me to see my family, eat, cook, and give--in a lot of ways. It has also been Christmas, in combination with my ongoing thoughts on culture, to realize how many traditions my family actually has--those related to Navidad and those not.

This year, I spent my first Christmas away from home--the people, not the place--in the bustling metropolis of La Paz, Bolivia. La Paz is an unbelievable city filled with joyful citizens (maybe because they have a tradition called the 13th month of pay!!!), pretty safe streets, and really cheap accomodation. The accomodation is so cheap, in fact, that three of my new traveling buddies and I were able to rent an entire apartment for four days, so we could watch football (of the international sort), reruns of American shows with spanish subtitles, and cook a proper Christmas dinner.

I spent the first couple of days crammed into some party hostel that I didn't think was a party hostel. It reminded me of yet another question I was asked during my Bonderman interview--"How are we going to make sure that you aren't just going to spend all of your time partying with Australians, Brits, Americans, etc.?" I can't remember what I said, but the folks on the committee can be assured that I won't, because I hate it. There is nothing rewarding about going to a bar in your hostel, drinking until you puke, waking up everyone in your dorm, puking again, and then yelling at the people who wake up in the morning on a normal schedule because they woke your hungover-self up (as I have seen almost everytime I have ever stayed in a hostel like the awful one I stayed at in La Paz). The bright side of these experiences are, if for some reason I ever decide to start a party hostel, I will know the proper way to do it...

After the second night of Hostel X, a few of us busted a move out and away, into the sweet oasis that is Hotel Continental. After we got settled, we made a list, checked it twice, and headed to the market to find what we needed for Christmas dinner.

All it ever takes for me is about 5 minutes in a market place, and I am instantly reminded of why I enjoy traveling. A market is the heart of the city, and the quickest way to knowing a country. Identity spills out from the stalls--the vendors, the food, the clothes, and more. I highly recommend going to the market as soon as you get to a city... It will make you excited to be there.

After acquiring all of the necessary ingredients, we returned to our humble abode to relax... Though, it did take about two days to find everything...



Dinner was great. Four courses, plenty of swearing at baked goods, an oven that didn't heat up past 250º, a full bodied chicken resembling the goose from 'A Christmas Story,' chorizo sausage stuffing, and an opportunity to put all of those skills gained by watching the Food Network late at night to use. We even found a french press to make real coffee!!! Plus, even though I was four time zones from home, and who knows how many miles, I was still able to (sort of) surprise my mom and book her tickets to come visit me--all with the air miles I have accrued thus far.

It was a unique way to spend the holiday, though I don't think I would have traded it for being with my mom, brother, uncles, grandparents, and girlfriend, going to Pike Place, the movies, walking around Greenlake, getting coffee, baking cookies, eating guacamole, and all of the other traditions we have developed over time.

But some of the greatest things that you learn come as a result of being away from the things and people that you love the most. Like learning that maybe you should put away that Blackberry for a really long time...

I didn't get any snow in La Paz. So I found the second best thing in Bolivia--salt. I will explain more after I get back from the Salar.

Thoughts on Floating Islands

So, as I mentioned earlier, Oscar got me to think a lot about the roles that children play in the places I have visited--and the long-term effects on their families culture--particularly with regards to making money (in some cases work). I think that I've started to develop some opinions on the subject, but really just wanted to sit down, type things out, and throw out some questions in hopes that anybody who reads this will either come back with some questions or thoughts of their own...

Before you go on, I warn you that none of this may make sense. It is really just for my own sake that I type this out.

Oscar wasn't the only thing that made me think about this topic... It actually all started a while ago when I read about the floating reed islands of the Uro people located on Lake Titicaca and accessible from Puno. I probably should have gone to see it for myself before I really start to formulate any thoughts on the matter, but after hearing things from a lot of travellers, guide books, etc. I couldn't have helped but develop some opinions... Most of the travellers that I have spoken with, and the differing guide books have suggested that thte islands have become overwhelmingly commercialized. One person told me it was, "a fully overblown tourist attraction with a taste of culture--however compromised." I know, what in the hell does this have to do with kids and making money? Well, its really about what the kids or families do in order to earn the money, and what kind of affect it has on not only the kids future, but also the future of the entire culture (Culture is also a common theme amongst all of the places that I have visited thus far, and since the education--of all sorts--of children affects the future of the culture, I thought it all to be relevant).

As I have traveled through Guanajuato, Mexico City, Quito, Otavalo, Guayaquil, Cusco, Huayllacocha, Puno, Copacabana, and now La Paz, I have seen a common thing with regards to the culture--an obvious one at that--kids working in some way, shape, or form. The how and why differ greatly amongst all of the places, and none of them--to my knowledge--are forcing the kids to do overly demanding labor... In Mexico, not a whole lot of kids seemed to work, unless it was in their family shops or bakeries. The same was the case for Otavalo and Quito. In Copacabana, Cusco, and La Paz, kids work--though the degree and method seems to vary greatly. In Cusco, and as I have heard with regard to the floating islands, kids are put on show in order to get photos taken for money, i.e. dressing in traditional garb and posing with Llamas. Here in La Paz, mothers are telling their children to walk up to white people, put on a cute face, and beg for change (I don't find anything wrong with asking for money, but having your kids ask for money--in my opinion--is teaching them something far less important than most other things that kids need to be taught... And I am aware that in a country such as Bolivia, where the economy isn't doing so great, people are going to be down, especially without a primary education in many instances) ... Conversely, in Copacabana kids are working in restaurants during break in order to help out the fam. Or, in Oscar's case, they are trying to guide around obviously confused tourists in order to make a dime. In all cases--I hope--kids are learning things and they are using information that they have either learned from their parents or school.


And here come the questions...

So which kids are going to have a more prosperous future? Which kids are also most likely to maintain cultural traditions and cultural integrity--whatever that may be? In Oscar's case, I wouldn't be surprised if he learns English, moves away from the island and still maintains traditions held on Isla del Sol--though with adjustments, or compromises. In converse, what will happen to the kid on the floating reed island whose culture may--or may not--be compromised by the thousands of white tourists that pay big bucks to come watch the same routine? The kid is learning that you can make a living by sharing your culture with people, right? Is that a bad thing? What will happen with that kid if Lake Titicaca ever dries up? Will he have the skills necessary to make a living then? What about his kids? How about Oscar's? If, in each scenario, the culture adjusts to accomodate survival, what is the big long-term difference? It is entirely possible that the mother on the streets of La Paz will use the money she gets to ensure that her kids get an education and never have to panhandle again...

And some bigger questions...

Will the respective cultures fade away regardless of what happens in the 'opposing' situations? Does the long-term adjustment of culture, via a blend with commercialization, mean that its not the same? Is culture ever the same from generation to generation? Can you ever deem which parts of a culture are the most important?

Kind of a long rambling post, but these are the things that I think about as I move from place to place. In many cases, they're also the things that we aren't always faced with in the states... I don't know. What do you think?

Copa, Copacabana

Copacabana and Lake Titicaca from above

Copacabana is a small town situated on a big lake. The people are nice enough, and the town is perfect for relaxing, with just enough activity to keep you satisfied for a few days. And, unless you are willing to pull out a couple of hundred dollars in advance for your stay, you can only stay for exactly that--a few days. Copacabana, you see, has no ATM, which I believe allows it to maintain its integrity despite the thousands of tourists that visit it each year. All in all, it was a great place to relax for a couple of days after having been ot the Galapagos Islands and then almost immediately heading out on the Inca Trail in Cusco...

When I arrived the power in the entire city was out. It's apparently something that happens quite often--multiple times during a day, week, month, year, etc. I didn't even know if the power was on in my room until I woke up at four in the morning with all of the lights on--those damn left to right switches can be quite confusing. I couldn't get back to sleep, and I just lied there in bed, thinking about what in the hell was going on, what I was doing, and the like. I decided that I really wanted to go kayaking in the morning. Seriously, how unbelievable would that be? Kayaking on Lake Titicaca...

I arose shortly after sunset and took the first hot shower that I had had in quite a while, meandered off for breakfast, and decided that it would be this exact morning that I would go kayaking. I made my way down to the beach with my Bolivianos ready to pay the approximately $2.50 needed to go kayaking for an hour. They tossed me a life jacket and I was ready to go--I just needed a kayak. I tried the first one, but unfortunately couldn't fit. I tried a second, a third, a fourth, and finally a fifth. I was too big (I know what you're thinking and no, I am not getting fat). There wasn't a single kayak that worked. Not one. It sucked.

I trodded back to my room, slightly defeated, but still positive as there were plenty of other things I could do in Copacabana--like hike more.


Alone on the island after our guide Oscar left us for the day--his aunty told him not to go too far...

Aside from being what is maybe the first most visited village on Lake Titicaca, Copacabana is also home to the jumping off point for Isla del Sol--the birthplace of the sun in Incan belief systems. Despite the fact that I couldn't fit in a kayak, I could still take a boat out on the lake with a bunch of other Gringos to see this historic island. A couple of traveling buddies were on the boat too, which gave us ample time to complain about the traveling habits of other tourists, figure out how to say certain things in Spanish, and bemoan the cold. There is nothing like bemoaning the cold with good comraderie... There is a lot of cold in Copacabana too...

We jumped off the boat and hopped onto the island. While everybody else went with some overgrown tourist guide, we decided to venture off on our own. We had the Bolivia Lonely Planet Guide and figured we could read what was what just as easily as somebody could tell us. Listening to guides gets really old after a while too... After a while, we walked up the path and were met by this 10-year old entreprenuerial lad named Oscar. He was on break from school for Navidad, and figured he could earn a couple of Bolivianos (Bs) from us Gringos. We started to brush him off, but he would stop us and tell us a few things here and there... We started to fact check him, and everything he was saying was at least as true as the guide book. Finally, we gave in, and allowed him to give us the full-blown explanation to everything.

He took us to the Titi Kahla--the sacred Incan rock with features of a Puma. He proceeded to tell us of Llama sacrifices, explained how the Incans knew all of the cardinal directions (displayed via stone organization), and helped us brush off people trying to sell 'fossils.' The kid had his act together, and actually reminded me of another young boy who used to sell golf balls to old codgers at the golf course across from his Grandparents' house. I was impressed.

We started walking back toward the southern side of the Island and Oscar stopped us... He could go no further. His Aunty had said so. We collectively ended up giving the kid an ample amount of Bs, and he happily scooted off. I think it was one of the first times that I really started to think about the different ways that children work in South America... the differences between what is good for the individual, the culture--long and short term--and how the future will unfold for all of the kids in the cities or countryside down here...


The only flower on the entire Isla del Sol... Not really, but the only one like this.

We meandered back across the island and eventually made our way back to the best hotel in Bolivia--La Cupula. The next day I set out to discover the Incan monolith, Horca del Inca, and captured the pictures featured at the beginning of this post. A couple of kids tried to guide me up there as well, but I think Oscar might have ruined it for them. The kid got me to really start thinking about child labor down here, and I'll probably post something on it here in a little bit...

For now, Happy Christmas Eve. I miss my family and friends... So much, that I might even make a list of things I would like to do today. Odd, huh?

Another Year

These were not on my birthday cake, in case you were wondering...

Last week, as I was preparing to leave Cusco on board an overnight bus to Copacabana de Bolivia via Puno, the lights went out. All of the lights in the entire city of Cusco--gone--for about 30 minutes. That simple lapse in light made me too tired. I didn't care if the next day was my birthday, I couldn't force myself (literally in Peru) into the bus. I headed back to my hostel, snagged another bed for the night, and decided to take off in the morning--to Puno, not Copacabana. In hindsight, it was probably the better decision. I got a full nights rest and was able to get all of my paperwork for the newly required Bolivian visa for American citizens.

I went to the bus station in the morning with Alan and Stephanie, a couple that seems to end up in all of the same places I do (something that actually happens quite a lot). I handed the man my ticket, he proceeded to freak out, give me a hug, and yell "HOPPY BIRDAY!!!" I'm not gonna lie, that is probably the most excited that anybody has been for my birthday in a long time. We boarded the bus, and I tried to go back to sleep, until the guy then got on the intercom and started singing happy birthday. He was seriously very very excited.

Anyway, after a long and beautiful four hours on the bus, we found ourselves in muddy Puno, home of the tour that takes you to the home of the floating reed islands (the reed islands, or at least what I have heard, have become a recent fascination of mine, as well as a hot topic of discussion). After shaking off some hecklers, a cab was snagged and I found myself taking happy birthday shots of homemade Peruvian liquor with the hostel managers (it was pretty tame stuff though, Mom). I went to get some dinner shortly thereafter, and returned to find birthday cake waiting for me... All of the niceties were starting to make me feel sad that I was leaving Peru. Though, there has certainly been a trend between the Andes and absolutely unbelievable hospitality, only rivaled by that of Nebraskans. At least, that's what I've found so far, in my short 23 year old life.

I woke up the next morning to take the early bus to Copacabana--my planned refuge and place of relaxation.

The Bolivian Border is a Joke

Considering what Bolivians have to go through in order to get into America, I could easily understand the reciprocal thinking involved when the Bolivian Government implimented the new visa requirements and $100 fee for Americans (More info can be found here). In short, Americans are required to present the following information at a point of entry or Bolivian consulate:

1. The sworn statement for visa application form
2. A passport valid for six months
3. Hotel reservation or invitation letter
4. Photocopy of roundtrip ticket or travel itinerary
5. Economic solvency
6. Payment of $100 visa issuance fee
7. International yellow fever vaccination certificate

As we approached the border, the stuard on the bus proceeded to tell me that I was the only American citizen on board, and that I would be issued a $40 exit fee from Peru. I called his bluff, and asked for paperwork... He tried to explain to me that the $40 would normally be split between all of the American citizens on the bus, but I was the only one--poor me. Of course, I asked to see the passenger list, discovered that there were two more Americans on the front of the bus, which made me think he was even more full of it than I already did. I told them not to pay anything until we saw official documentation of such, and got focused for the border... Since, of course, being the socially conscious and upstanding American that I am, I needed to have all of my paperwork organized and neatly folded in an envelope.

After brushing off the $40 "exit fee," I was grouped with the other Americanos and headed to the office for visa issuance... It was there that I found out--to no surprise--that the other Americans didn't have any of the paperwork and didn't even know about the new requirements. I couldn't help but be embarassed for the 49% of my country that tries to stay on top of things like this. We got ushered through, the guy didn't look at half of my paperwork, was convinced to not bother with taking any paperwork for the other Americans (with exception of our money), got our visas, and that was that. I'm pretty sure that it was hardly what Bolivian President, Evo Morales, had intended. I thought that maybe it was just about the money. Though, I still refuse to believe so...

I eventually made it to Copacabana, and well, the power was out. I was kind of happy about it... I shrugged my shoulders and took a nap.