Hola amigos. It's been quite a while since I've had any time
to sit down and write, so I've got a lot of new experiences to mention. I hope
that some of you will be relieved to hear hat I am indeed still alive.
I returned to Cusco after Machu Picchu and had a day's rest there
before I headed out for another 5 days of trekking to Ausangate. At near 6,400
meters, it stands as the tallest mountain in the region and is pretty much
visible from wherever you happen to be in Cusco .
Our hiking there was less strenuous in terms of sheer elevation change per day than
the time in Salkantay, but our average elevation was a bit higher. We reached
just over 5,200 meters, another milestone for me, huzzah! Along the way we got
to see some gigantic glaciers and frozen waterfalls as well. UNREAL.
Back to the actual trekking though. Ausangate is also home
to alpaca, llama, and sheep herding communities. It's a pretty amazing
experience to get to interact with these pastoralist families and see the way they
live. There traditional dress consists of extremely colorful dyed wool or
alpaca fiber, perfectly suited to the harsh sun and wind of the Andes . They live in tiny remote huts along the
vegetationless ridges and possess very little aside from their herds of
animals, whose wool they shear and sell to earn their income. They seem to have
a sixth sense as well, or atleast a "gringo sense." It was like they could
smell us from miles away. As soon as we'd begin to near a village or home, children would suddenly appear by our
sides, seemingly arising out of hills. They were happy to take pictures with us,
show us their animals, and offer us some handicrafts. The kids made off with a
pretty good haul though, we gave them more cookies, candy, and coins than they
could carry. On the last day of our trek we passed through a small village and had a chance to soak our
sore legs in some hot springs before heading back again to Cusco.
Two days of R&R in the city and we were back on the
road, albeit having lost one of our travel buddies, Joe. He headed back to the US without us,
meaning we've been reduced from 4 mosqueteros to 3. We packed up our stuff and
headed to Arequipa .
The architecture and city style there is much more Spanish colonial than Cusco . It lies down between three incredible volcanoes.
From Arequipa , we made our way down to Chivay at
the edge of Colca
Canyon South America , you'll quickly
discover that the term "safety regulation" very rarely applies to,
well...anything. To our dismay, the bus continued to make all it's regular
stops along the way and at my final count I noted close to 100 people on the
bus. Quite a cramped, uncomfortable 2 hours of standing as we were thrown
around while the bus charged over speed bumps and tight corners.
After the canyon, we hopped on a 5 hour bus to Puno, which
lies on the Peru side of Lake Titicaca . From Puno, we took another 3.5 hour bus to
cross the Peru-Bolivia border. Where we had the privilege of paying the
Bolivian "reciprocity fee" for the crime of being American. We were
told to bring a myriad of documents (proof of economic visage, yellow fever
vaccination, itinerary for leaving the country, hotel reservations), but in the
end all that was required was the dinero. An hour later and we were into Bolivia , albeit
$140 less wealthy.
The next morning, we again traveled by bus and 4 hours later
we were in La Paz ,
the highest gobiernatorial capital city in the world. Along the way, our bus
was forced to stop for numerous parades, as natives clad in traditional dress
of all sorts lined the streets of each subsequent village. La Paz is gigantic and rather hectic, it's
the first true metropolis I've stayed in on my trip. Skyscrapers litter the vast expanse of city and the pink houses
creep high up the steep walls of the canyon where the city lies. We are
staying, again, at a Wild Rover Hostel, only 2 blocks from Plaza Murillo, the
government capital and home of President Evo Morales.
We took an ATV trip out to explore the Valle de la Luna,
where we saw some pretty unique rock formations and views of the city from the crescent-shaped
crater ridge. While passing through villages, we were constantly chased down by
packs of stray dogs, who must really enjoy the sound of ATVs for whatever
reason.
The real fun began yesterday though, when we headed to the
Camino de Muerto, the world's most dangerous road, for some mountain biking.
The view as we approached the road was breathtaking. To get an idea of how steep the journey is, let me give you some stats. We
descended from the Andean Mountains at 4,600 meters down to the Bolivian Amazon
near just over 1,100 meters over 64 kilometers of distance. That's 11,500 feet
of drop in just under 40 miles for you Americans. INSANE. The road is about 10
feet wide, flanked on one side by steep rock face and on the other by sheer
cliff drops of hundreds of meters. Despite efforts to reduce traffic and
improve the road, our guide informed us that there are still an average of 200
deaths per year on the Yungas Road .
We saw resounding proof of this at our first photo stop, where the guide
pointed out the wreckage of the most recent accident. A couple hundred feet
below, we gazed at the crumpled remains of what I assume must have, at one
point, been a car. You wouldn't have believed a car could explode into that many
pieces though. Anyways, sufficiently scared, we continued our journey downwards
and that's when the fun began. When I get going fast, I get a little...excited.
And I may have neglected safety at some points in the pursuit of having some
fun. To be blunt, I fell...three times. The first was a simple spin out, as I approached the edge waaayyy too fast and hit both brakes, I whirled around
twice to find myself facing uphill 3 feet from the edge. Strike 1. The second
came as we got into the more narrow part of our ride. Packed in tight with the
other riders in narrow space, I emerged from a thick cloud of dust to find, to
my surprise, that I had missed a turn and was heading straight into the rock
wall. I slammed into it face first and thanked God for my full face helmet,
otherwise I'd be tallying up my third broken nose. As tends to be the case with
slow learners, my third crash was the worst. I again took a curve going beyond
the velocity limit of both my bike and my ability. As my wheels became more
squirrely on the loose gravel and I looked ahead, I came to a horrifying,
HORRIFYING realization. I was going over the edge, no ifs ands or buts about
it. I did the only thing I could do, threw myself to the ground and kicked the
bike out from under me, no doubt to perilously fall 1,000 meters down into a steep
oblivion. Right? Eh maybe not. As I picked myself up and dusted off, I looked
over the edge to find...my bike, about 15 feet down in a ravine. My friends
came along a couple moments later to find me, bike hoisted overhead, trying to
climb my way out. Luckily, they only laughed for a few moments before helping
me. We had come down low enough that we were only 2 turns from the bottom, I
had survived the world's most dangerous road. Woohooo. Although I had torn
threw my protective rented canvas pants on my last fall and my left hip is covered
in bruises, I'm pretty happy with the result. We cleaned off at the bottom with
some swimming and a much needed lunch. Back to La Paz a couple hours later and now enjoying
the city again.
Paz amigos.
