Lake Titicaca: Side Bolivia

Pictures and map are all updated, we cross tomorrow into Peru, our 12th and final country on this crazy journey. We've done a lot of “World's Biggest this” or “World's Longest that” or “This country's crunchiest this” on this trip, so why not one more?

The largest high-altitude lake in the world, Lake Titicaca (yes, Beavis, that is it's real name), straddles the Bolivian/Peru border and is a popular stop on the Gringo Trail for travelers crossing from here to there. It's no wonder, like so many things in South America it's wrapped in Incan history and indigenous culture, sits at over 12,000 feet in altitude, and is stunningly beautiful. We had three goals for our visit to the Bolivian side of this massive highland lake: first, celebrate our 1-year travel anniversary in style; second, visit the popular and beautiful Isla del Sol; and, third, celebrate both our birthdays with even more style.

Goal #1? Check. On March 25th we celebrated 1-year traveling on this crazy permacation. We settled into the lakeside town of Copacabana and splurged on a spectacular lakeside cabana. We had our own private room decked out in eco-friendly construction with it's own private bathroom, outdoor and indoor hammocks (in case ya get a little chilly at 3800 meters), our own private outdoor terrace with unbelievable views, and it's own kitchen! The amount of luxury the cabana has provided us in comparison to our normal digs is simply off the charts. We celebrated 1-year-gone by cooking a delicious pasta dinner, drinking a little Bolivian wine, and enjoying our first night in our beautiful cabin.

Goal #2? Done. After 2 nights in the cabin we took off for 2 nights to the beautiful Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun), an island considered sacred by the Incan civilization. It's a 1 ½ hour trip by boat from Copacabana out to the island and despite the fact that the island is a very popular stop with tourists, most visit on simple day trips. The island, with it's small population and zero-motorized transportation, retains a very tranquil, quiet feel. Indigenous people work their farms for haba (giant lima beans) and potatoes, move their llama and donkeys from place to place down the stone paths, and run the occasional tienda where Rich buys beers for himself and birthday-related Twix bars for Kendra.

We spent two relaxing nights, enjoying a sunset dinner at an organic restaurant where we ate trout (the local specialty) and handmade lasagna without electricity the first night, and hiking from one side of the island to the other and back the next taking in beautiful views and Incan ruins the next. As nice as Isla del Sol is, we had to return to Copacabana to accomplish one more goal.

Goal #3? Mm-hmm. One anniversary down and now two birthdays to celebrate... how? By going back to our awesome cabin for 4 nights more, that's how. Cheeseburgers, fries, brownies with ice cream... that's how. Gifts of artisan necklaces, Pringles, pens, Snicker's bars, bracelets, gum, magical beer. Rides in swan paddle boats. Kendra is now 27 and Rich 28, in case you're wondering. We're getting a little grey and a little cranky to show for it too but are still two very cool individuals.

We woke up this morning on our last day in our beautiful cabin, our last day with our beautiful lake view, our last day in Bolivia and on the verge of our last country on this trip to find a massive rainbow outside our panoramic window and we realize that this week of celebration was yet another in a long line of great permacation weeks.

The Amazon Basin

Big cities, small towns, high mountains, rolling hills, white beaches, palmed islands, volcano lakes, Caribbean waters, red deserts, salt flats, cloud forests, ancient ruins...

Been there. Done that.

We've even seen our share of the jungle, mostly in Central America. But this, this is the Amazon Basin and it's on another level.

Getting In

Transportation in Bolivia is always an adventure. To get to the jungle we had to get to Rurrenabaque, and from there take a boat 3 hours down the Beni River to the reserve we had arranged to visit. We'd been warned previously that the road from La Paz to Rurre was a difficult one, a friend of ours got stuck between 2 landslides and what is supposed to take 16-18 hours took him 40.

But we were naively convinced by the gentleman at our tour office that the unpaved road is in better shape now as rains have eased, and the ride would arrive in a normal-ish window. Being well-seasoned bus travelers by now, and reasoning that the 1-hour flight was not worth the extra $70, we opted for the more “local” route.

We left an hour late on the clunker of a bus, but that's standard Bolivian procedure. About four hours in we knew there was no chance in hell we'd make it in 16 hours. The road is an unpaved, one lane, cliff hanging adventure, passing the occasional wood hut village or small cement town. We rumbled along hot and sweaty, with the same 8 songs being played on a loop over and over at full blast – an amazing torture mechanism to be used for the entire journey. When a car or truck was coming the other direction, we all had to stop and back up to the nearest corner to create enough space for more than one car at a time to pass. At midnight, 12 hours into the trip, a truck broke down in front of us and we were forced to wait 6 hours at a standstill. The drivers laid out a tarp outside and went to sleep, as if this was a normal occurrence. To be honest, it probably is.

27 hours after leaving, we arrived dirty and exhausted in Rurre, having missed our boat to the reserve. It was the craziest bus journey we've experienced, but it beats the 42 hours it took the Aussie couple we'd meet a few days later. We arranged to leave on the boat the next day, and settled up for the night.

Rurre is a pleasant town, set up for tourist trips to the jungle and dotted with all the jungle staples: plantains being sold in the streets, coconut palms, banana trees, the works. It felt like we were back in Honduras. We were happy to take a full night's sleep, and the next morning we were fitted for rubber boots and took the 3-hour ride down the Beni River to Serere Nature Reserve, our home in the Amazon Jungle.

The Experience

Just in case the bus ride wasn't fun enough, we walked waist-high through muddy water from our boat to the trail to the reserve – these are the blessings rainy season travel bestows us. It also bestows mosquitoes. As soon as we were off the boat we were most certainly in the Amazon. The mosquitoes attacked in droves, the muddy trails wound through gigantic palms and unbelievably dense plant life. We would be at war with the mud and mosquitoes for the next two days, but our 100% deet and our rubber boots would serve us well.

We arrived at our lodge at the Serere Reserve, which is a private reserve for Madidi Travel, who does great conservation work in the area. The lodge consisted of a large main cabin that had the kitchen and dining table downstairs and the glorious hammock room upstairs. Our room was a private cabin a little further into the jungle. One of the reasons we chose the company is because our king sized bed, table, shelving unit, and bathroom were walled in only by mosquito screens, allowing us to more fully experience the sounds of the jungle at night. It also allowed the surroundings to experience us, as we found the first night when we caught a peeping possum chilling by our door.

Since the cost (and generally Kendra's hatred toward mosquitoes) prohibited us from spending an extended time in the jungle, we hit the ground running and packed as much in as possible. The first day we canoed out in a lake to search for wildlife and were rewarded with our first spotting of monkeys, birds, and pirhanas (although the pictures show Rich holding it, Kendra actually caught the fish and then dropped it in the boat swearing off the idea of any further contract with the thing). After an amazing steak dinner, we took off on a night walk and spotted giant spiders and a coral snake, which is apparently “muy toxico!”. The following morning, Rich braved the pouring rain for another walk and Kendra opted to make jewelery out of local seeds and nuts.

We both took another afternoon walk and spotted the elusive howler monkeys which fill the jungle with low grunting rumbles, and also tempted a huge tarantula out of its nest. Unfortunately we also made acquaintances with the local fire ant population. We were amazed by our guide who grew up in the jungle and could replicate animal calls to draw them nearer. As we walked, he would call jaguars (which thankfully didn't respond), wild pigs, a variety of birds. The most impressive calls he would make was to the monkeys. We saw five different types of monkeys and he could communicate with each of them. The final day, we were in a canoe in a lake and he called out a spider monkey family. He started by making the sound of a distressed monkey baby, and when they appeared from the trees he actually talked with them until they climbed all the way down to the nearest limb and started to swing around playing.

The whole experience was incredible. While we had been to jungle-like areas, nothing we had seen before compared to the Amazon Basin. In addition to the aforementioned creatures we also saw butterflies, moths, a jungle squirrel, giant dragonflies, a crocodile, colorful caterpillars, a leech, giant wasps, bats, tiny frogs, huge bullet ants, and these giant rat looking creatures the size of a large dog. We ate seeds, fruits, and termites (seriously!), saw towering trees covered in vines, and spotted the occasional vibrant flower. Everything in the jungle is jungle-sized... massive.

It was on our boat ride out that we had one of the most unique animal encounters. We were tired and muddy, and the ride was taking a particularly long time back since the river had risen with the recent rain and the current was swiftly against us. About half way back, we spotted a group of branches sticking out of the middle of the river. Hanging from one was a soaking wet sloth. The poor creature had fallen with a broken branch from the nearby shore and was too slow to swim back to shore in that current. Our guide took his machete and chopped the branch off, lifting it with the hanging sloth into our boat. We rode over to the shore and placed him back in his home, although it was the slowest homecoming we have ever seen and we struggled to keep the boat near the tree as he meandered over. It is one thing to see a sloth in the zoo, and it is another thing to see a wild one two feet from you.

Getting Out

Given that our bus ride in was an over-adventure, we decided to take the easy way out and splurge for a flight. But moving from Point A to Point B in Bolivia is never as straightforward as it seems.

We, of course, booked with the cheaper airline, which, is owned by the military. When we arrived to check in for our 9:30am flight, we were simply told to come back in an hour. Apparently, the normal 50-seat plane had some problems. So instead, they were making 3 separate runs with a much cozier 14-seater, and we were going to be in the second group. The apparent normalcy of these types of circumstances continues to astound.

The 1-hour delay turned into 3 hours, after which we were loaded with our luggage onto a bus with a taped-together windshield and driven to the airport terminal, a wooden shack in a field. At that moment, the skies opened up and it poured down jungle-sized rain drops. This prompted both indifference and panic. Indifference on the part of our van driver, who let our bags get wet on the luggage roof, and panic on the part of the pilots who rushed to move the plain off the grassy terminal field so that it wouldn't get stuck in the mud, and onto the head of the runway.

That meant that instead of boarding the plane at the terminal, we all had to pile back into the van and be driven directly out onto the runway. Just in case the circumstances weren't already ridiculous enough, we were delayed once more when the gate along the road to the runway was padlocked, and nobody had the key. The airline officials got out of the van, looked at the locked gate with both bewilderment and lack of surprise, and called the boss in with the key. The boss-man, in his jeans and New York Jets t-shirt, finally opened the gate 30 minutes later. We boarded the 14-seat propeller plane and survived the 1-hour flight back to La Paz and relative civilization.

All in all, the delays cost us 6 hours... but compared to 27 on the way in, it was pure luxury.

Check out a taste of the bus ride, some hiking, the sounds of the howler monkeys, and a close encounter with some spider monkeys in the video...

Life on the Road Part III: Adapting to Local Customs

One of the biggest reasons we love to travel is to soak up the local culture. Every day we hear different music, see people wearing different clothes, we speak another language. Traveling to one country is entertaining enough, but to cover 12 in a span 14 months involves a lot of adaptation.

Adapting to local customs is one of the more challenging, often hilarious, and most important things we've had to do over the last 350-plus days. The formerly simple is now confusing and bewildering in many circumstances, and the formerly mundane now provides a challenge or at the very least a good story or two.

Let's start with the most obvious. We don't speak Spanish. Sure, we've worked hard to learn our fair share over the last 12 months, we can buy a bus ticket, order food, and (on a good day) have a simple, slow conversation. But to really learn the ins and outs and to speak fluently takes years of constant immersion that we just don't have. The language barrier is both entertaining and frustrating. It's entertaining when Rich realizes he called a woman “fat” instead of “pretty” or when Kendra asks to “touch” a picture of someone instead of “take” one. It's frustrating when we don't understand why we're being charged twice as much as the locals for the same taxi and the explanation appears complicated. It's both frustrating and entertaining when we ask if the bread we're buying is cheese-filled, we're told yes and expect deliciousness to ensue, and the “cheese” turns out to be of the “Whiz” variety...

Latin America has it's similarities but every country is different. This includes the language, where the dialect and accent changes from region to region and country to country. Other basic customs change as well. We've had to relearn how to buy a bus ticket everywhere we've gone. In Mexico, you go to the office and the nice man in the nice suit prints one off a computer for you at a set price. In Colombia, you negotiate with psychotic competitors who will knock pennies off their enemy's price especially for you. In Guatemala, walk to the parking lot full of buses and get on the one whose engine is running. Pay later, if asked.

While from country to country and town to town we're constantly relearning how to shop, how to tip, how to say “good afternoon,” how to bargain, we've also had to deal with certain things as constants throughout most – we try to never say “all” - of Latin America.

Certain ways-of-doing are just flat out different. Crossing the street can be an adventure. Ever notice at home how those cars stop for you at intersections, crosswalks... hell, stop signs and red lights? Not here. Stay the hell out of the way because the cars ain't stoppin'. They'll honk at you to let you know they're about to run you down, but covering the brake is completely out of the question. Used to politely waiting your turn at the grocery store? Better not. Don't expect attention here without speaking up, and don't be surprised when locals step right in front of you with the full knowledge that you were there first. Sure, it's frustrating for us but here it's normal and it's not meant to be rude, it just is and if you stand idly by you won't get your mangos from the market stand anytime soon.

There are a number of cultural differences that when you look at them are fun, mostly in retrospect. In many parts of Latin America, you may sit on the bus uncomfortably close to, on top of, or underneath various individuals, for personal space possesses a very different state of being here. While we're on the subject of the bus, can we turn the music down please? Latin American's love their music and they love it loud, anywhere, everywhere. Wanna play “Spot the Gringo?” Look for the shorts and sandals, bikinis and tight pants, all rarely worn by Latinos even in the sweltering tropics.

There are also some situations where culture inevitably dictates some discomforts and inconveniences for us. There is generally less organization than we're used to, particularly in places like grocery stores, bus stations, post offices. We have to fight to have our voices heard. Another frustrating one is the tourist-local separation that often occurs: foreign tourists pay higher prices for many things. Sometimes this is standard, like at National Parks where the fees are fixed, and sometimes we can be flat out scammed, like on buses and in taxis or when we get haircuts. Usually we're not bothered to pay a higher price, we are after all far more economically well off than most locals we encounter, but we don't like being taken advantage of.

The local-tourist divide frustrates us in other ways sometimes as well, like the other night at a sporting event where the tourists sat in one section and the locals in another: we really wanted to sit with the locals to experience the event the way they do. There are also many restaurants and bars that cater so much to tourists that you'll rarely if ever see a local when you go there. Sometimes we head to these places for comfort food, other times we're frustrated when we want to experience local culture and find ourselves in a cafe full of Europeans and North Americans.

Sometimes we're forced to adapt to things beyond culture that are a part of traveling in less developed countries: Pollution being coughed up by traffic sometimes burns our eyes, it confounds us as to why the post office would notify us of a package that doesn't exist, and trash being thrown on the side of the road makes us wince.

But it's the culture that is the essential part of our experience, and we have a lot of fun learning all the little differences over and over again. We also just love to take in local music, art, food, and to sit out in a park or on the street and soak in the atmosphere which is always so different than home. After a year, we've become used to the constant change but we're always astounded by the little things that present themselves, and we're always forced to relearn our ways of being and doing things. Always good times!

The Rich Mountain - Potosi

Pictures have been updated for our latest two stops. We are currently in Sucre, a nice colonial city in central Bolivia. We have been spending our time here relaxing after traveling so much lately, only breaking our relaxation once to visit a near by dinosaur “park” that boasts a large wall full of various dinosaur tracks.

However exciting dinosaur tracks may be for some people, we wanted to share an experience we had at the town before this one, Potosi. Potosi is one of the highest cities in the world at 13,420 feet, every foot of which you can feel as you get out of breath walking up the stairs, and spend the nights shivering under every layer of clothing you own. However, Potosi is more famously know for the nearby mountain of Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain). Starting in the 1500s, the Spanish extracted unbelievable amounts of silver through indigenous labor, turning the city into one of the wealthiest and most powerful in South America. The conditions of the mines cost thousands their lives.

Presently, most of the silver veins have dried up and locals continue to mine for other minerals, always on the look out for smaller silver deposits. Uniquely, local agencies lead tours of the active mines. This allows others to experience the conditions of the mine and meet those who work there. The tours go into the mines while work is being done (although they steer clear of blast areas) which inherently poses some risks of injury from cave-ins or accidents. However, it is such a unique opportunity, we could not pass it up.

Don't worry moms, it turns out that the day we signed up for the tour was actually a once yearly festival day for the miners. We were able to tour the mines while they were not working, but partying inside.... much safer as long as you don't partake too much of the rubbing alcohol quality liquor being passed around. We started our tour up by dressing up in safety equipment, very stylish if we do say, and heading down to the miner's market. As part of the tour, you bring gifts to the miners as a thanks for them sharing their workplace with you. Normally, you can bring cigarettes, water, or even sticks of dynamite. However, being that the day was a festival, the market was filled with beer, balloons, and streamers. On this day the miners celebrate the brotherhood of the mining community, spending the day with their particular work group (4-12 people) drinking and chewing Coca leaves. Once we purchased our gifts (deciding against the dried lama fetus that is said to bring good luck for the coming year) we headed up to the mines.

Each area in the mountain is “owned” by a particular mining team. There are several mine access points, and each of those may be worked by a handful of teams, each working a different tunnel or area. Each team is paid by what minerals they extract from their areas and each team pays for their own equipment. As you can imagine, it is extremely important for them to find a good vein to be able to make money. Once we arrived to our entrance we met one team that was preparing to enter. They were sharing drinks, first pouring a little on the ground in appreciation of Pachamama (mother earth), taking some, and passing to the next person. They were also playing drums and pan-flutes, to which our guide pulled Kendra into for a dance.

We entered the mine, hunching over to avoid hitting our heads, and it was pretty much everything you would expect. Very dark, wet due to the rainy season, tracks for the carts, and various tunnels to get lost down. We spent some time with another group that was already in their area decorating. They also spilled a bit of their drink to the ground, but this time to their fellow miners, and also poured some on their tools, as a sign of importance for the tools. Interestingly, there were two areas inside the mine that they had set up alters. The first was close to the entrance were they set up a shrine for the miners' saint. The second was further back where they had a statue of Satan, who they refer to as “Tio” (“uncle”). It was explained to us that this duality between the alters to both saints and Satan started when the indigenous mixed Catholicism with their experience inside the mines (fitting pretty close to what they imagined hell to be). The miners feel that once you enter into the mine, you are actually under Tio, who can bless you with silver or curse you with an accident. Therefore, small offerings can be made to the statue in request for blessings in the following year.

We have to say that this was definitely a unique experience. We expected the experience to be very dark, to see these poor locals working in unsafe conditions for what we would consider pocket change. To be fair, the conditions are very unsafe and the workers scrape by to feed their families. However, we were surprised to be able to celebrate with them, to sit down and see them joke with each other and talk with us about their families. We were able to see their care for each other and their hopes for the coming year. We saw their pride in their work.