Home | Bolivia | La Paz

Disclaimer: This update is from Jonathan; you might also receive one
from Bryan. You are under no obligation to read both.
Greetings from La Paz, Bolivia! The journey continues....
First, an update on our inquiry into the most pressing of all
questions known to modern science: exactly which way does the toilet
flush south of the equator? We have been diligently researching this
topic, partaking of flush toilets whenever available and carefully
observing which way the water swirls when we finish. Unfortunately,
our results have so far proven to be inconclusive; we must be too
close to the equator. We will continue to investigate this phenomenon
as we head further south, and publish our results, let us know if you
want a copy of our paper: Investigation into the Coriolis Effect and
the Chirality of Aqueuous Sanitary Expulsion.
In between toilet flushes weve been quite busy since the last update
from Quito....
We stopped by the Equator Visitor Center, La Mitad del Mundo, to buy
some saltwater taffy and see the painted line for ourselves. There
really is a line painted on the ground, but somebody made a mistake
and placed it about 200 meters south of where it should be. Oops.
Another interesting fact: your weight at the equator is less than your
weight at either of the poles due to the equatorial bulge of theearth.
From Quito we headed south to the Peruvian border, and about the only
interesting event on that interminable bus ride was the security check
where all the male passengers had to disembark and stand spread eagled
against the side of the bus while being frisked by a surly, machine
gun-toting, military guy. Fortunately he did not discover the
grenades I was suggling, and I was able to keep my Swiss Army knife too.
After crossing into Peru, we cheated on our land-based travel and flew
to Cuzco via Lima. I know we said we wanted to stick to the ground,
but we had to choose between airfare of less than $100 or almost 50
hours on the bus. You make the call....
Cuzco is a historic Inca town high up in the Andes, and even though we
were there in the offseason it was well populated by tourists from all
over. That Cuzco is quite the tourist town is evidenced by the large
numbers of restaurant pimps lining every street. Walking from our
hotel to the main square was like running the gaunlet, every three
steps someone else would loudly tout the special value meal or tasty
specialty of their particular estabilshment. But such rampant
culinary competion pays off for the consumer: full delicious meals for
only a couple of bucks. We did pass on the local specialty, however;
somehow roasted guinea pig does not sound too appetizing.
From Cuzco we left on a five day trek on the famous Inca Trail to
Machu Picchu, the one must-see South American destination for both of
us. We did it the same way the Incas did it 500 years ago: first we
took a bus to a town named Ollantay Tambo and then rode in the back of
a truck several more miles over a bumpy, mud-pit riddled, so called
road to the trail head. (We could have taken a train with about 100
other backpackers but decided not to wait for them.)
The first day on the trail we made great time. Starting at about 9000
feet elevation or so, we hiked through the morning rain and into the
afternoon sun and set up camp that night at 11,200 feet (thanks for
the GPS, Anne!), feeling fine in the great outdoors.
Then the misery set in. The rain started about midnight. The
altitude sickness started shortly thereater.
I had to stumble out into the rainy night to allow my half digested
dinner to exit vehemently in both directions. The rain continued all
morning, as did my altitude sickness, so we didnt break camp and hit
the trail until almost noon, well later than the early start we were
hoping for. This was the most miserable day I have ever spent outdoors, rain
pouring down through ineffective Goretex jacket, struggling to put one
foot in front of the other, pausing for breath every 20 or 30 yards,
and trying hard not to shit myself. Luckily for Bryan he was feeling
fine, so he hiked ahead and beat me to the summit of Warmiwanusca
(Dead Womans) Pass, the highest point of the trek at almost 14,000 feet.
I would like to say it was all downhill from there, and the sun did
come out for a while, but there were several more uphill stretches and
we barely made it to the first campsite after the pass by nightfall.
And the rain continued....
The third day started out to be more of the same: rain, mud, and
misery as I had absolutley no energy. But as we headed lower the sun
came out, I started feeling better, and the most miserable outdoor
experience of my life became the most rewarding.
After summitting the 12,350 foot second pass I was able to enjoy the
fabulous and exhilarting hike through Andean cloud forest, seriously
rugged mountains covered with jungle interupted by ancient Incan
agricultuiral terracing. The view from the trail as it emerged from an
Incan tunnel, the whole expanse of the Andes laid out in front of me,
was not one I will soon forget.
The third night campsite was memorable: I am a different person now
that I have seen my shadow cast by a full moon on an Andean mounside
at 12,200 feet as the clouds rose up from below to blanket an ancient
Incan settlement and a billion stars twinkled overhead. And we had the
whole campsite to oursleves!
Our rapture at the awesome beauty of the setting was interrupted by a
couple of straggling Chilean hikers--they had become separated from
their group, and now at nightfall were stranded without proper
equipment. Quite the outdoor people these two girls were: no stove,
no tent, but they did have a boom box and a whole selection of tapes.
Nothing like being prepared.
Moral dilemma: share our small two person tent with them, or send them
down to sleep in the open air Incan ruins? We decided to be nice guys
and spent an uncomfortable night crammed like sardines into our smalltent.
Off to an early start the next morning, we tried to make up for lost
time and practically ran the last few miles down steep Incan steps and
made it to Machu Picchu late that afternoon. We only had a couple of
hours to explore the mysterious ruins of that Incan agricultural and
ceremonial center, but by that time our legs were so sore we didnt
feel like doing a lot of exploring anyway.
Rather than taking the bus down from the ruins and into town as we
should have, we decided to maintain the consistency of foot travel and
so ended up stumbling down the steep trail in the dark, Bryan starting
to limp one knee was so sore. And then the rain started again!
So we stayed that night in Aguas Calientes, which is usually just a
two hour train ride from Cuzco, but due to landslides that had covered
the tracks in several places, became a ten hour journey in itself.
First a 14 km hike along the tracks past the the avalanche, then a two
hour wait for a hour long train, and then another three hours on the
bus back to Cuzco. Just like the Incas used to do it. (Ok, not really
but we could have taken a helicopter.)
So that was the Inca Trail....60+ km of high altitude trekking, at
elevations spanning almost 5000 feet. And we did it without a guide or
porters, or the benefit of coca leaves.
If youre still reading at this point, good for you, and I will try to
wrap up quickly. From Cuzco we took another crappy bus to Puno Peru,
on the shore of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world
at over 12,000 feet, and arrived at 4 in the morning. After a few
hours of sleep we continued to the Bolivian border, and spent the
night in Copacabana, a Bolivian town also on Lake Titicaca, and,
contrary to what Barry Manilow might say, neither hot nor north of
Havana. From Copacabana we bussed it to La Paz, and from here we will
fly to Sao Paulo to meet Bill and Todd, and then off to Rio for some
fun in the sun.Stay tuned for a Carneval report from there......Phew.

Jonathan

And by the way, this text is hereby officially copyrighted. If anybody
is going to profit from publishing our updates, it will be Bryan and
Jonathan. But feel free to forward this.

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