Jessie Goes….

Got home yesterday by 9pm, after a 27 hour odyssey of travel. Here’s a collective of what I spent in the first 45 minutes after stepping off the plane:

Cab: 35 dollars

Total: $47.25 or 378 Bolivianos. [read on]

I woke up on what was to be my last two days in Bolivia so looking forward to returning to La Paz so I could spend an entire day shopping for gifts for family and a charango for my cabin upstate, which has a small collection of unusual instruments. La Paz, in my not so extensive experience, is definitely the place to do your shopping.

It was going to be a good day, as we were going by, get this, PLANE to La Paz. Not bus, not train, not car.Oddly, and at the time I thought luckily, today was the first cloudy day we had had. Completely overcast, but not raining. I figured as good a day to travel elsewhere as any. Aero Sur was our choice of airlines for the day, as it was really either them or LAN, and LAN is pretty much international. We checked in, no problem, though Aaron notified us that the flight was going to be delayed because of weather. This floored me. What weather? Clouds? I mean it was the rainy season and it wasn’t even raining! What more did they want? [read on]

4:30am
Mark, of course, came in an hour later,  and noticing that his bed (we had separate singles, which was what was available, so we were told until we found that Aaron had an absolute palace with a double and single bed in it – methinks some funny business just went on en espanol!) was covered in his crap, decided to pancake me on my little single bed and tell me that he was sleeping there.   I pushed his drunk butt onto the floor.   He then turned on the light ARGH! Blind!, and threw the Ritz crackers I was trying to feed him (so he wouldn’t be a puddle in the morning) onto the floor.   Then all went dark again.
 

8:30am
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! 
Bang!
 

Imagine my smugness when I thought about what a good idea it was not to have to get up for an 9am bike ride down a cliff.  It was 8:30am. 
 

“Mark, Aaron’s at the door” – me
“muh huh” – Mark
 

3 minutes passes.  Bang! Bang! Bang!
 

“Mark, get the door” – me
“zzzzzzzzzzz” – Mark
“Mark! Aaron is at the door!  Get the door!” – me
“huh” – Mark
“Argh, get the damn door!” – me
 

Mark finally gets out of bed, stumbling and spends the next three minutes finding and putting on pants.  He finally opens the door, to which I can only imagine he saw Aaron there, but it seemed to surprise him nonetheless, and he said “Ut Oh”. And looked at his watch.
 

It took him at least 15 more minutes to complement the pants with a t shirt, and finally, they were off.  Both, clearly, still drunk as skunks.  Heh heh, girls  = smart, boys = stupid.  “Champions!”

Of course, after all this I was up, so I took a long leisurely shower and woke Hannah up.   We had originally thought we might take a 9:30 am tour of some dinosaur footprints which were encased somewhere around here, but as that wasn’t set in stone, it became apparent what we really wanted to do was eat a big americano breakfast.  Which is exactly what we did, and it was excellent.

Our real plan had been to walk around the city and really check it out, which is something we really hadn’t had time to do in Potosi.    With our little map we set out wandering the center of the city.   For the morning, the narrow streets were mainly empty, but at precisely noon, the streets were deluged with people of all types, businessmen, mothers, workers and children.   The children were notable.  The schools, most being Catholic, require uniforms.   The little boys wear jackets that resemble white lab coats, and the little girls wear white dresses.   En mass, it looks like a miniature hospital had been let out on lunch break, with hundreds of tiny nurses and doctors flooding the streets.   People are everywhere.    Its actually a little hard to move around.  

As we wander I notice a few things, a little unexpected.   The city is beautiful, particularly when taken from afar, but similar to NYC when you get a little closer to it, you notice the grit.  There is real grit here, and though there is an element of wealth, it becomes clear that poverty is jumping at its heels every moment it gets.   There are many beggars here.  They are really filthy, sad and extraordinarily aggressive.  Thus far in Bolivia we had not been approached by a single person asking for handouts.  Here, there are children who shove their hands in your face and keep them there as long as possible, to the point where its necessary to physically move them out of way.   I keep thinking it myself “do not give filthy children money, do not give sad little children money” to stop myself.  Aaron is right, we do not want to create a culture of begging.    Fortunately the rudeness at which they ask makes it much easier for me to say no, multiple times if necessary.   The shoe shine boys were also quite annoying, asking constantly without leaving, to polish my cloth boots.    Ah, we are back to normal for 3rd world travel!

One of the highlights of our day was a visit to the cemetary, about a 20 minute walk from the center of Sucre.   It was such a haven of peace inside its walls.   Large freestanding family tombs were placed artistically around, amongst the trees, flowers, grass and park benches.  The walls are approximately 12 feet high and chock full of dead bodies, similar to what you’d see in a morgue.   Each had a little door with fresh flowers in most.   The graves from 1905 included.  What a nice thought that people still remember their relatives who were buried a century ago.  It makes you think about how our culture doesn’t respect the past nearly enough. There are thousand of graves here amongs the beautiful gardening, though nobody is buried in the ground.  The most gruesome thing would have to be the family tombs which have a few ‘slots’ all emptied out and ready to become an eternal home for somebody.  Very creepy.  I’m not sure I’d like to know exactly where my final resting place might be.  As peaceful as this place is right now, at 1pm, I’m thinking it would be creep city once the sun has set.

Our other major stop, not including lunch which took forever (people here must grow the food after you order it), was the textile museum, located on the other side of town from the cemetary.    The weavings of the native Jalq’a and the Tarabuco tribes, which have hailed from the area surrounding Sucre for more than a thousand years, are varied, complicated and very beautiful.   In ancient times they were primarily woven by women, and generally for clothing and other household items, but even then they were highly decorative and the intricate figures tell a story, similar to the pictograph forms of Egypt and other ancient civilizations.     If you have the slightest interest in native arts, this place is worth a stop.

We reunited with the men,about 4pm, who were recovering from both their danger cycling and the remains of hangovers.  After the first run down, where they both nearly called it a day, it sounds like they bellied up to the experience and enjoyed themselves.   However, the four of us were partied out and it was going to be a quiet night.    

Sucre is basically a hop skip and a jump from Potosi, and it was nice to have a very short travel time, about 2 hours, on paved roads. Coming into Sucre, is like driving into the Bolivian twilight zone. The surrounding hillsides are green and lush, there are palm trees and cows, and off in the distance you can see the white washed buildings with that unmistakable colonial Spanish appeal. Red tiled roofs, and churches complete with many bells dot nearly every block. No dust.

The attire of the people has also completely transformed. Very few people are now dressed in the traditional Bolivian get-up, with the llama (or alpaca, if those really exist, still no evidence…) wraps, skirts, shirts and braided hair. Instead I now see people in suits, jeans, and designer sunglasses. The climate is now reminiscent of Los Angeles, California. For the first time all trip I changed into some summer gear and was wishing I had brought along flip flops.

And we have dropped to around 7,500 feet in altitude, and boy can you feel the difference. I can run! I can breath! Stairs: check. Dancing: well, close enough, check! For those of you comparing, Sucre is still a good several thousand feet higher than Denver, but its all relative, after spending more than a week with a third of my normal amount of oxygen.

The hotel, Hostel Independencia, we have for our stay in Sucre is actually coming onto qualifying as nice, which is such a welcome relief. It is also only ¼ of a block off the main square, which is the granddaddy of all squares thus far. Its beautiful, surrounded by immense seventeenth century buildings, full of flowers and park benches. The surrounding area boasts a movie theatre, and restaurants and bars galore.

Starvation forced us to find a mid day snack and the quatro amigos found this beautiful courtyard bar/restaurant just around the corner, up the hill. The streets here are still, like every city so far, running up and down a mountain. How great this place was. MD (a.k.a. Aaron, whom I’ve started to refer to as Mother Duck in my head, because we have a tendency to a)do whatever he tells us and b)follow him in a single file straight line around town, due to the crazy narrow sidewalks), has decided to make Hannah and I do the ordering and asking for directions, as he is attempting to improve our Spanish. “Yo quiero taco?” I say. Ha. Shows you, we’ll be eating tacos from here on out. I end with “s’il vous plait.” I can’t shake it. My brain was fried by high school French. Hannah keeps answering in Italian, so its apparently a universal problem.

Since it had been an enormous 12 or 13 hours since our last beer, we ordered up a bunch along with the tacos and the guys made plans to do some mountain biking for tomorrow. They picked something titled “danger cycling” or equivalent. The basic idea is they drive you up to the top of a mountain to a road that has the cliffs on either side, and you ride down, avoiding buses, rocks, and cliffs all while going as fast as humanly possible. Then they drive you back up and you do it all over again. Fun fun. MD and Mark were on their own.

It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon, hanging out in a sunny courtyard. The evening followed with a little more Bolivian music, but I think most of us were pan piped-out so we headed to a Dutch owned bar “Joy Ride”. Hurrahh for Joyride. This must be THE gringo hangout of Bolivia. People were here from all over, Spain, France, Brazil, US, UK, Switzerland, Israel. I know it’s not authentic, I know it’s not supposed to be the reason that you travel, but I have to say, it is the coolest thing to be in bar with like minded travelers from all over the world! 15 seconds in we met a really nice guy, Pascal, from Switzerland, who had just come back from a 2 week boat trip to Antarctica. He looked like, and especially sounded like Roger Federer. Such a nice guy, and so enthusiastic for just about everything. So far I have met 3 Swiss persons, and grew up with one (my stepmom) and they all get a 1000% approval rating. Anyhow, Pascal was now spending the next 6 weeks in Bolivia learning Spanish at one of the Spanish schools in town, and then he was travelling throughout the rest of South America, for the next 3-4 months! How great would that be? So many people are RTW, taking a year or more. Makes me green. Hannah herself is on the last leg of a 4 month adventure. One of these days…..

So, the group expanded to be the cinco amigos for the night. At some point, maybe 2 am or so, the guys Aaron, Mark and Pascal (though it turns out that Aaron and Mark didn’t know Pascal’s name, so they were calling him Dude all night), left to go elsewhere, while Hannah and myself stayed at good ol’ Joyride, which promptly closed its doors to whomever was still in there and became a dance extravaganza.Hannah, with her sexy moves, attracted some permanent marker wielding locals, and by the time we made it out of there we both were covered in permanent red ink. It was like highschool all over again. Another aside: it is quite a feat to look sexy when you are wearing your backpacking clothes and hiking boots, and boogie-ing down is the one thing that actually is easier to do in heels, or at least the result is more appealing. Regardless, light skinned people are considered gorgeous by local standards, so we got along fine, and made quite the spectacle. It was 3:30am when we got home, Mark (and I assume Aaron and Dude) were still out, but our ink covered selves made it the 1.5 blocks back to the hotel, via a 4.5 block ‘shortcut,’ and passed out. We had outdone ourselves, easily beating Cacho/Potosi local night and cave hostel night.  

 My experience was bad enough last week , but this is just horrible.

Yesterday a bus going between the Bolivian and Chilean border, swerved and yep, went over the edge.  

I feel really bad for the families and I wish the survivors a quick recovery.  Here’s the article:

< http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/americas/03/22/bus.crash/index.html  

The rest of yesterday in Potosi was basically spent taking it easy. We all needed it. It was nice to just drink tea, take naps, read books, surf the internet and do NOTHING. Of course we did go back to our favorite bathroom errr..café and then we partook in some traditional Bolivian music and ate traditional Bolivian food at a local restaurant for dinner. The instruments used here, besides regular guitars, are several different lengths of pan flutes and fifes, and an instrument called a charango, which looks like a small guitar with 5 sets of double strings (that’s 10 strings for all you non-mathematically incline friends of mine!). If you pull out your old Paul Simon CDs and play the song El Condor Pasa, you can hear the sounds of these different instruments. Apparently Simon spent a good deal of time in the Andes during the 60s and incorporated the native sounds into his latest album, similar to his African sounds on his Graceland album.

Now that I’ve sobered up let me give you a few useful facts about where I am. Potosi is located in the southern part of Bolivia, still high in the Andes (at 13k feet, still twice as high as Denver). It was founded in 1546, directly after they found silver in them thar hills. By the early 1600s it was the greatest silver producer in the world and had a population that topped many European cities of the time including London and Paris, at 160,000. The mountain from which they dug up this silver “Cerro Rico” Rich Mountain, certainly was, culturally, architecturally, and actually. It was a magnet for all those things riches brings. It was the ‘sweetheart’ of colonialist Spain, whose ‘leaders’ used the Bolivians and the silver to make themselves enormously rich. Once the silver ran out, the city shrank more than 10 fold, but later demand for tin created a renewed interest in the town. The mines are still mined today, though not by colonialist efforts, or government efforts, but through a co-operative. And guess what? Today we are going into the mines!

First thing this morning we went to the miner’s market, where the miners can purchase all the things they might need for a day in the mines. This consists of: cigarettes, colas, alcohol, dynamite, sodium nitrate, charges, fuses, and coca leaves. The miners chew coca leaves non stop, and it allows them to basically work non stop, with no lunch, breaks, or anything else. Coca is the plant which cocaine is derived from, so you probably get the idea here. Anyhow, for our visit to the mines you are supposed to bring the miner’s gifts, I guess for basically getting the heck in their way.

So, the four of us bought our miner supplies and then some for ourselves. I mean, how often can you buy dynamite on the street? We ended up each getting a ‘blow up’ kit, plus some coca/alcohol/cigarettes. We bought an extra blow up kit for ourselves, the rest we would give to the miners. We discovered that they packaged all this stuff up, ie dynamite, sodium nitrate (the multiplier), a charge and the fuse all in these little blue grocery type bags. So basically we all were walking quite gingerly with our little blue baggies in hopes that none of us might actually drop the bags, ignite the charge and blow us all to kingdom come. Our guide to the mines mentioned that this would probably not happen. Probably?!

Next step, we suited up in little blue mine suits so we wouldn’t ruin our clothes, some boots, hardhats, and a lamp helmet setup, so we could see a few feet deep down in the earth.   And then we were set to go, with our bags of explosive and narcotic goodies.

Now to describe going into a working mine that is hundreds of years old… it is in a word, scary.  First it is dark, the air is not good, the rock all around you is swiss cheese like.   You can see ‘cave ins’ all over the place, where some poor sop most likely got clobbered for stepping in the wrong place too many times.   Some of the paths are very high, like caverns, many are simply small tunnels you drop or crawl through.  All is like a complex maze.  

Miners crawl/run and push wheelbarrels back and forth as we are moving around.    Though tourist are allowed in, this is no tourist example.   To further expound on that point our guide noted that a Brazilian tourist had fallen through some ground 2 days before, but fortunately her backpack had caught her from falling clear through to the pit several levels below, to a certain death.  Within the first 50 feet in we were asked to get around 2 holes in our pathway which opened up into the abyss.  Again, slip trip or fall into one of these, and it was the end of the road, I kid you not.  Remember we are doing this in complete darkness, with only the equivalent of a half lit flashlight on top of our heads. 

Our first stop in the mines is right after one of these holes, on the second “level”, where our guide points out veins of silver ore on a slim strip of rock above our heads.  He tapped on the walls and ceilings and pointed out that all the rock around us was basically ‘broken’ and could fall at any time.  The reason the miners had left this vein here was because they absolutely would cause a cave in if they tried to take it!     During this discussion, we heard a huge ‘boom’… somebody was setting off dynamite very nearby.   For some reason, after jumping back into my skin, the fact that the place hadn’t caved in on us actually calmed me down.   I was ready to go deeper.

Our next destination was a visit to the devil.   In the mines, according to the miner’s beliefs, the devil takes over as the primary supernatural force at the point where the last of the sun rays reach.  So, God is out and the Devil, Is IN!  El Tio, as they call him, is neither good, nor bad, but just is, in these mines.   Our group sat around the alter of El Tio, which was a pretty dang ugly statue with a noticably protruding penis.   There were coca leaves, alcohol and beer cans all over.   We made a few offerings to El Tio, so that we may get rich in the mines, stay healthy, get out. etc etc.  During our little ceremony, Mark’s headlamp went dark.  Not a good sign, since our guides had already flamed out.  We were down to 3 out of 5 headlamps, El Tio might not like us very much.  Mark’s face was pretty passive about the whole thing, but no doubt he was freaking out: no light and currently down about 75 feet and more than several hundred feet in.  Another boom went off in the distance rock. 

In the end we made it down to level 5, about 115 feet down, and 350 feet into the mountain.  Lots of hole dodging, crawling, scaling walls with dusty hand holds and in general dangerous activity.    When we finally emerge out of the darkness up a steep rock climb, the light was such a relief.   We had survived the mines.   

At current tally 8 million people have died in the mines.  70% of these are from lung related illness (the average miner lives to 40 years old).  There are children working here, and as a matter of fact most miners start when they are in their teens.

We celebrated the sunshine and our mine walking expedition by making and blowing up our own explosive device!   We simply asked one of the miners where we could set it off, then proceed to assembly the pieces and light the fuse.  I have a great picture of me hanging out with the bomb with the fuse lit.   I know, we had all gone momentarily insane.   The things that are legal in Bolivia!

Boom! Safe!  Just put a big hole in the mountainside, altering the life of some dirt.   Everything else made it out alive. Til next blog, anyhow.      

What a difference a shower and a few minutes not on the bus make.  Potosi, the city we will be in for the next few days, is a crowded, dusty, silver mining town, once considered the highest city in the world. It definitely has some charm. Vendors have pitched up street stalls all over. There are people everywhere on these slivers of sidewalks, hugging roads that were obviously designed for horses and donkeys, not vehicles.

Our first evening in Potosi was one of the types that just occasionally happen naturally when travelling. Its some of the ‘good stuff’ of travel.The previous evening the four of us had played a little “I never” so we were all around feeling much more in the know and comfortable with each other (the details of which are covered under the ‘code of the road’ scripture known to all travelers, originating, if TV commercials are to be believed, in Las Vegas, and therefore: Sorry! no juicy details here, I’ll just note that there are very few saints in the group). We headed from our hotel, the Jerusalem, within the hour and quickly found a very cute café right on the main square. Its seems that all Bolivian towns have at least one main square, with a few statues, trees, grass and flowers. They are all pretty attractive. This café had the best bathroom we had experienced yet in Bolivia, so for that feature alone, it gets the double thumbs up. We visited this café three times in our visit, so you see how great it actually was. I mean, it had candles!

After a few visits to the bathroom and a couple of Potosinas, the best of the local brews in our groups opinion, we found ourselves an equally cozy, hazy place to eat for the night. As this was our first night in an actual bar as a group, the drinks flowed, and the conversations were definitely comfort and alcohol fueled. We noticed that people all around the bar were playing a little dice game, consisting of a leather cup and 5 dice. I mean, EVERYBODY was playing this game. Aaron, who is fluent in Spanish, and Mark who knows way more than I do, went up to the bar and before I knew it were chatting like old friends with one the bar owners, and were playing the game, call Chaco, which is a combination of poker and Yahtzee. They were also drinking so much rum that I was beginning to wonder how they were still standing. 20 minutes later, we had met a couple, Eban and Ninette, just friends, I’ll note in case they learn English and read this, and we were all learning and playing Chaco. It was girls against boys, and somehow, we lost both times!I picked up a few new words as I struggled to understand the Spanish conversation flying around, though really its amazing how much fun you can have with people you don’t even understand. Abagado = Lawyer, this is what Eban does for a living. I tried my best to speak, and threw in a couple of French words for good measure just to really confuse things.

Everything about the bus system in Bolivia that you´ve ever heard is true. No what am I saying, its worse.

Turns out that our seven hour bus ride is on a bus with no bathroom, and dodgy everything else.  This and coffee and coca tea don´t mix well. The road from Uyuni to Potosi consists of dirt and rock tracks up and down the Andes with no guard rails, no rules, no speed limits, and cliffs off either side of the ´road´.

The first 3 minutes of the bus ride passed quietly enough. It was a sunny day and the scenery makes the window seat a good option. However, on minute 4 our busdriver nearly hit a toyota truck careening down the mountain, at about the same ridiculous speed our bus driver was going, and decided he would swerve to the cliff side. Our back tire briefly went over the side, and the dirt track was crumbling over the edge. The driver didn´t slow down a bit. I considered that I might die in a horrible flipping over 100 times accident down a mountainside because I had entrusted my life to a bolivian driver. I had to close my eyes and not look out the window: for the next 7 hours.

Back to the bus itself. Real life Bolivians have to take these things back and forth to their little mud brick huts every night. This might be a good time to mention that Bolivians have it very hard. It is a very very poor country, with a lot of political upheaval, that has most people just scraping by. The average Bolivian does not have a shower, flush toilet, reasonable mattress, potable water, or more broadly, an education.   Don´t get me wrong, its a lovely country but it is what it is.    Anyhow, just thought you should know.    This means child labor is a real thing down here, working in mines, farms, street stalls, everywhere.    Lets hope the new administration down here avoids corruption and does some good by these people.

 Approximately 3.5 hours into our busride, the driver finally FINALLY stops.  The entire female portion, and most of the male portion of the passengers flew out of the bus looking for a suitable potty spot.  This is always much easier for men, of course.  grrrr.

We were at a roadside mudbrick house surrounded by pigs.  Heck, but who cares, I was no longer turning yellow.  Back at the bus, 3 minutes later, I found that the busdriver, and some other guy were under the bus, which was now jacked up, doing something suspicious to the front left tire.    He was probably putting some duct tape around the front axle.    Anyhow, all the men were now standing around nodding their heads like they had any idea what was going on.  Hannah noted that all men do this in all countries.  

 Fortunately, the duct tape must have worked, because 45 minutes later we were back on the bus continuing on our way to Potosi.   

It was a long trip.  And I was in no mood.  Ipod died.  Nearly fell of cliff, Aaron and Mark were making fun of me for worrying about bus death, had to pee with pigs, and didn´t drink a sip of liquid, as judging by my first 3 hours, there is nothing more miserable on a nonpaved mountain road then having to go.   Oh wait, except flipping down a cliff in a bus to our deaths. 

After a harrowing eve in the cave hostel was exaserbated by equal amounts of caffinated coke as well as alcohol it was a sleepless night to be had by all.  Still, we were onward by 8am.

The Altiplano tours second through forth days consist of driving around in some pretty amazing scenery.   Most of it is actually quite ´otherworldly´, and I imagine some great star wars type movies could be filmed here, just due to the oddness of the landscape.     One of the biggest obstacles for all involved, including us, is the very high altitude.  Most of the area is well above 14k feet, and the highest point we reached was above 16k feet.  On humans, the most noticable effects are supreme out of breathness at the slightest exertion, and headaches.    I was pretty lucky because I really had the slightest of the symptoms, only getting a headache the 3rd day, while we were at the highest points.    Anyhow, on plants, the altitude creates a world where it rains , but still very little grows.  I´d say nothing above 1 foot tall, and even that is scrubby and desert looking.    Very few animals live up there, but aside from humans, you have llamas, vicunas (look like tiny camels without humps), bush rabbits, a few lizards, 3 types of flamingos and zorros.  Zorro, for those of you who grew up watching him along with Tonto, is actually the word for fox.    Learn something new every day.  

Speaking of which, my spanish vocab has moved from 10 words to approximately 13.   I can now say ´in your dreams´, to leary gringo coveters.  And I still can manage yo quiero taco bell.   

Okay, back to the trip.    Mark and Aaron were very taken with the various rock formations that seem to have dropped from Mars onto the red desert pan ground.   Some look like massive donut stacks, some like something you might find underwater.  The two of them managed to climb anything they could, and Hannah and I tried not to watch.    Well, we climbed a few of the safe ones too, I´ll admit.  Safety first does not seem to be in the vernacular of Bolivia.  Nothing stupid, dangerous, or even fatal is off limits. 

The desert area that the donut rocks, and some of the other dali-esque stones live is called the SaLoLi (this is phoenetical, folks), again very pretty and absolutely impossible to catch on camera. 

Along with the rock formations, the area is known for large lakes with snow peaked Andes Mountains in the background. One of these lakes, called Laguna Colorado, is a brilliant shade of red. While here I have struggled to come up with good adjectives for the place. We are seeing so much unusual and breathtaking stuff that I´m beginning to take all these sites for granted, and I´ve tired of saying ´amazing´´awesome` etc.

For you biology/geology inspired people, the Laguna Colorado is a relatively shallow, but large crimson colored lake. It is home to nearly 10,000 flamingos. Their little pink selves show up in stark contrast to the salt rings, red water, and looming volcano just behind the water. The reason the lake is red is due to the microorganisms that live in the lake waters and respond to the wind. The windier the redder, and let me tell you we were not short on wind. It is blanky blank freezing on the altiplano. Despite the fact that Bolivia is an equatorial country surrounded by jungle, the thin air, high altitude and galeforce winds result in below freezing temps as soon as the sun sets. It is an odd sight to see a desert coated in ice in the mornings.  Sleeping bags are an absolute must on this trip. 

Another lagoon, which is colored a brilliant teal, is aptly named Laguna Verde. It is basically filled with arsenic and copper. My guess is nothing lives there. We are about 3 miles from Argentina and Chile (Atacama Desert), and the entire area is a Mars red color.

To round up the trip of otherworldly sites we visited a field of geysers and a nice hot spring where we got to wash off some of the grime. Its like Iceland but with absolutely nobody there, no stairs, guards or orders to take a shower before you enter. Hannah and I basically stripped off and got dry clothes on in front of any and all watching. But, after several days of peeing roadside, this was no biggie.

Nights 2 and 3 of our tour were spent in hostels which improved each night, with the third night spent in a little government sponsered ´model´town. They have showers there! I´ll post the name as soon as I remember, just in case you want to avoid cave hostels if you are ever in the Andean highlands. Some authentic experiences should never be experienced.

BTW our driver, Saoul, has notified us that their are no Alpacas in the altiplano, but only after an entire day of me scrutinizing every single herd of cameloid beings. People keep telling me they are different, but a) they all look the same and b)they all look the same. I think Alpaca´s are a myth. No seriously, apparently they can´t live up that high and are found in areas more like La Paz or Sucre. We will see. I still bet they are just the llama´s that take showers and therefore their hair is softer. Oh, and you can buy an entire llama for 20 bucks, so think twice when you are purchasing spiffy llama socks for 24.99 at REI.

So, tomorrow, Day 4 consists of getting up outrageously early, driving for 2 hours, getting snacks and hopping on a 7 hour bus ride. This will more than likely suck, as their are no paved roads around here, and you´ve noted how successful we have been with the buses thus far.