The Muddy-Pants Diaries

17 November 2005 (Thursday) – Torotoro, Bolivia

Amazing, despite the extremely bumpy and horrible bus-ride, I think I managed to catch some winks here and there. We arrived in Torotoro at 5+am. As the door exit was still stuck with goods, Naoki and I jumped down from the driver’s seat. Why were the wheels of this bus so damn gigantic? Renaud, Naoki and I looked at one another and had no words for this bus-ride. Like I said, Naoki and I were lucky to sit in front where we could stretch our legs and even sleep a little. Throughout the night, as the campesinos got on and off the bus, they had to climb and walk on the seat-handles, using Renaud’s lap as the jumping-off point for them! Poor thing, Renaud had no sleep at all.

We tottered around the one main street of Torotoro. I knocked on the door of a hostel. No one answered. Renaud spoke to a local man and he said this hostel was too expensive and suggested another dodgier one. But repeated knocks and hollers at the other one came to nothing as well. We were exhausted and famished. We decided to sit at the plaza and wait for a while and try later. Wow, if the bus had arrived at 2am as scheduled (*knowing wink* r-i-g-h-t, ha-ha), and we had done the same knocking and had received no reply, perhaps we were indeed better off arriving at 5+am.

Soon, a lady strolled along by and inquired if we were looking for accommodations. Her hostel was also expensive, at US$6-US$9 per person. But she had an annexe which cost only 20 bolivianos. Excellent. She is Señora Sonia, a very nice lady (I could feel a great aura exuding from her) from La Paz. She woke her husband up to rustle some breakfast for us, while she hurriedly clean the rooms in the annexe.

We collapsed in bed right after and slept til 11+am. We purchased our entrance tickets at the Tourist Office and the guy there would arrange a guide to meet us at 2:30pm this afternoon for a short trek to Cañon Wakasenga. Meanwhile, we strolled around the tiny little town of Torotoro. Everyone was very friendly, greeting us and smiling. We entered the house of a smiling lady making a poncho on the back-strap looming system. As she only spoke Quechua, we could not really communicate until a passing neighbour joined us in the house as well and translated her Quechua into Spanish for me to translate into English for Renaud and nothing for Naoki. Her nimble fingers went in and out of the threads easily but when I tried, I could barely move the stick. It was really difficult.

At around 2:30pm, our guide, a 16-year-old cheerful boy named Antonio arrived. He took us first to Cerro Huellas which is a hill of slanted slabs of rocks where dinosaurs tracks had been discovered. Wow, some of them were massive, I believe they were from Stegosaurus – the massive long-necked herbivores dinosaurs!! But many of the tracks were from Tyrannosaurus Rex of various sizes. According to Antonio, the dinosaurs were not from this region but were passing through, leaving their tracks on the mud. It was possible this area had been a lake for the dinosaurs to drink. Then, through the ages, volcanic rocks and ashes covered the area, petrifying the mud and the tracks. Then, as eons of years passed again, the strata of rocks fell through as they eroded, revealing the petrified dinosaur tracks again.

Gosh, this is my first time seeing dinosaur tracks! They are really quite rare, aren’t they?, and we felt absolutely in awe at all the history or actually, pre-history that was around us. We tried to imagine how the place was like at that time epochs ago.

Speaking of strata, the mountains here are like Geography Lesson 1, with the strata or folds of the mountains clearly shown along the entire mountain range. Renaud described them like the teeth around the mouth. Indeed, the slanting surface looked flat (like a tooth) and these inverted-V-shaped mountains just ran through the range (like around a mouth). The folds were like swirls of colours from a paintbrush. Absolutely stunning!

We reached the canyon and hiked down to the bottom. For the guys with long legs, they easily hopped from one rock to another. I clumsily had to climb down and up them. But we soon reached the area where the waterfall was. The water had come out from holes around the wall of the canyon. The whole area was covered with thick and green moss. Lovely. The name of the canyon is Wakasenga in Quechua and it means ‘Nose of Cows’, because water came out from these holes…er… presumably like mucus from the nose of cows suffering from flu.

Upon our return, Antonio showed us more dinosaur tracks of T-rex and Triceratops. We were all thoroughly enchanted by what we saw. I mean, this place was really magical to us. We had already forgotten the horrid bus-ride.

16 November 2005 (Wednesday) – Cochabamba to Parque Nacional Torotoro, Bolivia

Naoki and I met up and headed to the bus station of the private bus company going to Torotoro and bought our tickets. Gosh, to be honest, the area looked downright dodgy. I wonder what we are in for tonight.

Later in the afternoon, I happened to check my email and found that a French guy named Renaud had emailed to me, saying that he wants to go to Torotoro as well. He was staying at one of the two hostels where I had left a note at. Great! Another companion! But he had said he would wait for me at his hostel at 9am. Of course, I completely missed that appointment. So, I wrote to tell him to meet us – a Chinese girl and a Japanese guy – at Plaza 14 de septiembre at 5pm.

At 5pm, Naoki and I were waiting at the plaza when I spotted a guy who had a piece of paper in his hand and seemed to be searching for someone. OK, this has got to be Renaud. But the chap walked right past us! I chased after him and tried to call his name. But gosh, I realised I did not know how to pronounce it! Argh… I had had 9 months of French lessons just before I came on this trip. But 4+ months of travelling in Spanish-speaking countries had clean-wiped everything off. Later, when his head finally turned somewhere towards us, I waved at him and he smiled and came over.

We introduced each other and he said that he was really keen to go, but he had to get his things ready now. We agreed to meet him later at a cafe for some salteñas before we leave. Finally, there, we chatted (or rather, just Renaud and I chatted, as we could not communicate with Naoki at all) and I asked him if he went to Pasteleria Sofia last night. Well, Renaud had been wondering how to go to Torotoro the whole of Tuesday. Finally, at 8:35pm, he approached the reception in his hostel to ask for information and the guy showed him my note. I had stated I would wait for whoever til 8:30pm. So, by the time he hurried there, I had just left. He even went in and asked the waiter if there had been a Chinese girl sitting in the cafe for a while. Yep, they said, but she left. Hahaha… So, my note almost worked!

We arrived at the bus station at around 7pm. Oh my goodness… something was not quite right! There were massive massive massive numbers of campesinos there… way too many to fit into a bus. And, there were massive massive massive sacks of potatoes, onions, flour, tomatoes, oranges, etc… impossible to fit into a bus. What was going on?

Soon, a gigantic truck pulled up and loads of people started heaving the sacks of produces (perhaps weighing up to 90kg each) onto the truck. This exercise took more than an hour, but when it was nearly full with the goods, several of the campesinos climbed onto the truck to sit on top of the produces. Oh, they were going the ‘truck’ way. Tough, especially the ride is 8 hours through very harsh roads!

Our bus that was supposed to leave at 7pm only showed up at around 8:30pm. The rest of the campesinos and locals who had not climbed onto the truck, surged to the bus and pushed and shoved to clamber on. Although Renaud had just arrived, he actually managed to buy a ticket. But we wondered how it was possible!

Naoki and I got to our seats 1 and 2 safely. But Renaud was seated at the door exit. The campesinos had filled up the entire bus, and then, laden the aisle with more sacks of potatoes and onions. People were stepping on Renaud’s lap to get across.

The place next to the driver which covered the hot engine, sat 3 or 4 people. 2 more were sitting on the dashboard. And these were the lucky ones! For several more people were standing at the back, trying to sit on the canisters of gas stoves and sacks of goods. Women with babies were amongst these people as well.

A terribly ancient man was trying to sit on something on the aisle. Renaud felt compassionate and wanted to offer his seat to him, but the ticket lady snapped at Renaud to stay where he was because it was HIS seat. I guess, some people chose to go the aisle way as the non-existing ‘seats’ there were cheaper. That explained why Renaud managed to get a ticket at this time!

A quarrel ensued when a guy refused to let another put his sack of potatoes in front which actually would land right on top of this guy’s feet. So, a hefty campesina, with her baby strapped to her, agreed to stand up to let the sack of potatoes be moved there, so that sack now became her seat. It was impossible!!! This was NOT REAL! I mean, I had talked about collectivos being squeezed to the extreme by the locals but those were for short distances. This was for an 8-hour overnight journey!

And when I mean ‘hefty’, I do mean it. The women in this region wear a knee-length velvety pleated skirt that seemed to have an underwire around the hip area to make the hip even wider, which based on their greasy intake and number of babies produced per woman, were already wide enough. They also wear wide-rimmed hats with ribbons that in a crowded situation like now, really got in the way of everything and everyone.

But somehow or other, when everyone had settled down, where every single inch was filled with a butt, a baby, an onion, a toe… the bus moved off at 9:10pm. Great! But after a mere half an hour of careening on the highway, we came to a toll-booth and somehow the police stopped the bus and there were exchanges in Quechua (this region once again speaks Quechua) and I heard ‘coca’ several times. The police was checking for coca leaves. I supposed everyone here has their own personal stash. So, the police must be searching for massive bags of coca leaves intended for illegal activities like, I don’t know, brewing Coca-Cola. Loads of people dislodged from their respective seats and squeezed spots and got down to talk to the police. Perhaps, several even had to unload their goods from the top of the bus or from the aisle for inspection.

This dance happened for about 45 minutes before everyone piled back in again and we moved on again. Guiltily, I peered at Naoki and Renaud. Oh gosh, what had I gotten both of them into?, I wonder. This was the most horrible and yet the most interesting bus-ride I had taken in a while! But both of them were good-humoured at this point, as it was also a chance for them to experience this way of travelling with the campesinos. Forget about bus-cama (fancy buses with seats that leaned nearly all the way down), this was upright sleeping (if you can) for the next bumpy 8 hours.

At around 1am, we had a flat. Of course, we had to have this flat. This is a classic! What is a nightmare bus-ride without a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?

15 November 2005 (Tuesday) – Cochabamba, Bolivia

Nice to be able to sleep in this morning for I have nothing to do today, save for a candle-making course later in the afternoon.

I know… candle-making course, you asked?? Am I retired or something?? First, vitrofusion and now, candle-making?? All these frivolous activities to pass the time seemed only for those who had earned their retirement. Well, what can I do? Unlike everyone else here, as I had discovered yesterday, I am not studying or working or doing volunteer work in Cochabamba.

Gee… what shall we have for lunch today? If you ask me, which unfortunately nobody does, I am in the mood for sushi. Yes, SUSHI! I am sick and tired of the salty, greasy food here, the meat meat meat, and always the fries… I want something simple and bland!

South Americans are really liberal with salt. Oftentimes, I would taste the soup and think it is way too salty. But without tasting it, the locals would sprinkle salt on their food liberally and if they are in a chifa (Chinese restaurant), douse their food with soya sauce. In Arequipa, I abandoned an entire bowl of soup, thinking the cook had made a mistake as it was way too salty. My host Fernando decided to try it, and he told me it was normal. So, he lapped it up on my behalf.

I am usually not quite a veggie person and I never thought I would miss vegetables – green leafy vegetables like xiao bai cai, kang kong… And yes, some FISH please! Yes, ok, trucha (trout) was an option in Copacabana and La Paz, but fish was always fried. Nobody here in South America seems to know any other way of cooking fish. Way back in Brazil, my eyes glowed when I spotted ‘fish in tomato sauce’ in a menu. Upon ordering it, I found that the fish was STILL FRIED, but with some tomato sauce on top. Sigh…

Naturally, once again, with no other choice, I had to settle for a local dish – silpancho, which is deep-fried breaded meat, with an egg on top and sprinkled with raw onions and tomatoes and yes, a generous dose of rice and fries hidden underneath the meat. Very, very greasy, as usual.

After lunch, I decided to spend a couple of hours sitting under the shade in Plaza 14 de septiembre, and read my book – Eva Luna. Well, the entire population of Cochabamba had the same idea, minus the book. I had to walk around the plaza several times to hunt for a space amongst the benches. Each time I spotted one from way off, a señora would lumber there before me. Finally, I found one, albeit somewhat in the basking sun, but nevermind.

Soon, I spotted the Japanese guy who used to be in my room in La Paz. I had not really talked to him then, because he speaks neither English nor Spanish. I waved to him, and he seemed happy to see me, nodding and smiling earnestly. I bet he missed sushi as well. I asked him when he left La Paz, where he went, when he arrived in Cochabamba…

As he could not even get the days of the week right, I decided to abandon this string of conversation as it was going nowhere. I then asked if he wanted to go to Torotoro. Thank goodness, today, I had brought along the fancy brochures from the Tourist Office. I showed him the brochures and mimed ‘Dinosaur Tracks’ which was not that difficult as there was a convenient picture of dinosaurs on the brochures, and I could mime ‘tracks’ easily. But for ‘fossilized marine creatures’… hmmm… you try miming that to someone who speaks no English or Spanish!

Three words. It’s a Thing. First word. Three syllabus. First syllabus. Sounds like… FOUR…. Duh.

I gave up. But talented as I am, I whipped out my notebook and drew a fossilized marine creature. He seemed thoroughly impressed. “Do you want to go?” I asked. “Yesyesyesyes…”, nodding and smiling earnestly. I could not tell if he even understood me. I wondered vaguely if I were to tell him something ridiculous, like, guess what… I have 3 breasts. He might still go, “Yesyesyesyes…”, nodding and smiling earnestly.

Anyway, I asked him which hostel he was at. He could not even tell me that. He searched his haversack. I thought he was looking for a map, but no, he whipped out his digital camera and showed me the hostel sign which he had taken a picture of earlier. Oh, hello… who needs map now when you can match your hostel to the digital image you have captured earlier? No wonder the Japanese are much more advanced in terms of technology than everyone else. I told him I would meet him tomorrow at his hostel at 10am and we would go buy the bus tickets together.

Gee… I wonder how it would be like to travel with someone you could not even talk to.

Anyway, I went to the shop and learnt the art of decorative candle-making from Karina. I learnt 4 different styles and I made lots of notes as there were so many things to be aware of. Thoroughly interesting and all very lovely. Well, if ever I do make the glass jewelleries and glass items like candle-holders back in Singapore, perhaps, I can make candles as well to go along. I am so in touch with my creative self, aren’t I? I just hope no one steals my candles along the way!

In the evening, I went to Pasteleria Sofia. Yesterday, I had left messages in 2 hostels, saying that I would meet whoever who is interested in going to Torotoro at this pastry shop between 7:30pm and 8:30pm. I ordered tea, a delicious pastry, and read my book. Each time someone came in, I looked up but they were always Bolivians. Well, in the end, no one came. But I prided myself for having picked this cosy little pastry shop with excellent and very cheap desserts and cakes.

14 November 2005 (Monday) – Cochabamba, Bolivia

The minute the words ‘Parque Nacional Torotoro’ came out of my mouth, the Tourist Office lady shoved me some brochures and seemed to wave me away, telling me everything is in there. Only from further specific questions did she inform me that the bus to Torotoro leaves only on Sundays and Thursdays. But, she scribbled down another telephone number, telling me this is a private company. Perhaps, they leave on other days.

I called the company, and the lady said they leave Wednesday evening at 7pm. She also confirmed I could get a hotel, a guide there easily.

I thought through and figured that perhaps, it was better if I had at least one companion to go to Torotoro together, for security and also, for sharing the price of the guide. But where to find them??

My cheap hotel was full of Bolivians. Frankly, I had not seen that many backpackers walking around. And I was not sure which hotel here in Cochabamba was a gringo-favourite.

I was walking along the street when I crossed path with a brunette. I stopped her and asked if she was a tourist. Nope, she was studying anthropology here and sorry, she did not have time to go to Torotoro. To be honest, she had not heard of Torotoro.

In the late afternoon, I walked all the way to Palacio de Portales, which is the mansion built by tin baron Simón Patiño. At one point, in the 1920s, he was one of the richest persons in the world from his wealth from tin-mining. However, when this house was built over a period of 22 years, he was in Europe as an ambassador to Bolivia. By the time he returned, his poor health meant that he could not live at this high altitude. In the end, he died in Argentina, without stepping foot on this house. So, it seemed, he could not live at low altitude either.

There was a nice garden which was very good for resting in the shade, as I don’t know why, but I was exhausted from the walk here. Later, the Spanish tour started at 5pm and I joined it. I spotted 2 blonde tourists and asked them the same question about Torotoro. Well, they again had not heard of Torotoro but alas, they were leaving for Santa Cruz tonight.

Well, I could only follow perhaps 70% of what the guide said. So, at 5:30pm, when the English tour started, I abandoned this tour and joined the other one. This time, the English guide was much more brief and she did not explain as many things as the Spanish guide did. So, the 30% that I missed, remained missing. Anyway, I cornered the 2 Brazilians at the end of the tour and asked the same question about a trip to Torotoro. Again, sorry… the Brazilian lady was a student here and she could not go as she was studying for her exams. But, where is this Torotoro again? Oh well.

I must add that the mansion of Simon Patiño is truly luxurious, although we saw only a small part of it. One of the hall is a replica of one of the halls from the Vatican Museum. Imagine that!! The walls are covered with velvet or the finest of silk. The cedar wood was from Lebanon. The marble slabs were from Italy. The architect and artists came from France and sculpted and painted all over for 22 years. The lovely billiard room, my favourite, is Arabic-themed. Everything was just intricately, ornately and lavishly done up. Astounding.

Back in town later that night, I continued my sniff around for tourists. Sometimes, I would pass by a gringo couple but when I sensed bad energy from them, I did not approach them. I came upon a rather nice couple later, but, again, they were not tourists, they were doing volunteer work here. But they suggested I could leave a note at 2 very popular backpackers’ hotels along Calle 25 de mayo. I did just that. I wrote that I would meet whoever who is interested in doing this trip together at Pasteleria Sofia, a pastry shop, tomorrow evening.

Frankly, I doubt I would have any luck. But why had no one else heard of Torotoro and yet, I had come all the way to Cochabamba to visit Torotoro?

13 November 2005 (Sunday) – Cochabamba, Bolivia

I arrived in Cochabamba at around 6am to find my backpack NOT on the bus. Well, there was a fancier bus leaving La Paz at 10pm and then, there was my normal bus leaving at 10.30pm. When I left my backpack at the reception at 9:30pm, the guy had asked me for my bus ticket to check which bus I was on. Naturally, with the usual picture of efficiency here, the assistant figured the loading guy must have put my backpack on the 10pm bus – the WRONG bus. I was very sleepy, and I needed a toilet terribly, but first, I had to go to the office to get this all sorted out. The guy working there told me they were still unloading the 5pm bus from La Paz. It would take a while to get to the 10pm bus. Thankfully, a man soon came by and he gave me a look up and down and asked if I was missing a black backpack. Si!! So, he showed me to the bus and I got it back rightaway without the administrative crap.

However, I was still not able to get to a toilet as I went from residenciales to alojamientos (the cheaper hotels) around the bus terminal area and every single one of them was full at this time. Many told me to come back at 10am or mid-day, but even then, they could not be sure if anyone would check out. Others told me no one would check out so I need not bother about coming back to check. What can I do? I can’t just sit and wait til 10am… I might as well keep on searching for a hotel.

Finally, after going through at least 8 hotels, I found one that said they would have something free in an hour’s time. Great! It also looked less dodgy than some of the other hotels I had been to. I left my backpack with them and finally, yes, finally!, I could use the toilet. Yes, I am now a free woman!

I stumbled upon a local breakfast eatery – El Palacio de Api – which sold delicious fried cheese pasteles, sprinkled with sugar powder and api, a maize drink of beige and purple colour. It seemed very popular for after I sat down for a while, I observed the queue had grown all the way to the road!!

When my room was free, I slept til 1pm or so, before heading to the nearby market for a lunch of pique macho. The name had sounded intriguing, but it was a heap of just juicy meat and sausages cooked with tomatoes and onions, scooped on top of fries. Very unhealthy and fattening, like most food here.

I spent the day wandering around Cochabamba, but many of the shops in the centre were closed, including the Tourist Information. However, I could tell that Cochabamba, a town which is famous for its eternal spring weather, was a rather pleasant little unassuming town with nice plazas. One of which had an obelisk with a condor at the top, even. I had a vague idea to visit Torotoro National Park but I guess I just had to wait til tomorrow to see how I could organize my trip there. Everywhere was so quiet and empty that I figured it was perhaps best to return to the busier market area near where I live.

12 November 2005 (Saturday) – La Paz to Cochabamba, Bolivia

Alexis met me in front of the Iglesia San Francisco at Plaza San Francisco and whizzed me to Plaza Villarroel by bus. There was the institute where he works. The school organizers had set up tables, chairs, red and white balloons, so everywhere had quite a school-festive mood.

Alexis’ family soon arrived… his girlfriend, sisters, mother, aunt and cousin.

Soon, the performances started, there were all the various Bolivian traditional dances from different regions like Tinku, Morenada, Caporales, Chacarera, Potolos, Cullauda, Tobas… OK, these dances were performed by teenagers from the institute and frankly, most of them were rather bad, lacking any enthusiasm or energy. But, for me, it was really interesting to see all the exaggerated, colourful, sequined costumes, hats and masks.

I recalled Peru’s traditional dances performed at the La Candelaria restaurant and realised the world of differences!

Alexis’ mother and aunt were very sweet, quick to explain to me what each of the dances meant. Several of the dances represent masters and slaves during the colonial period (Morenada), or fights between groups over a woman or territory (Tinku), or dances for yarn-spinners (Cullauda) or for people who work with cows (Waca-Waca).

You would also often see a couple of svelte (or perhaps, not so) women in very short skirts and matching hats, doing their little sexy swirls, showing off their panties. When I asked Alexis what these women represent. He pondered for a moment before concluding they were just ornaments. But hey, these ornaments are truly symbols of Bolivian traditional dances as they often grace tourist posters and such.

The other famous dance must be Morenada where men wore what look like layers of lamp-shades with intricate threadings of sequined tassels and pearls, and topped with a scary mask. Alexis told me a good costume like this might cost up to US$1,500!!

Oh, the whole family actually felt a little embarrassed by the mediocre performances of the students, insisting that I ought to go to the Carnaval of Oruro to see the best of Bolivian dances. Hahaa, let’s see if the Bolivian Embassy approves my visa application again.

When we returned to town, Alexis told me there was actually a public dance procession going on now, near the Cemetery. It was the Anniversary of the Association of ‘Comerciantes’. The comerciantes are the street-vendors. I had mentioned that the entire La Paz is a street market, right? Sure, there are street markets in every city, but La Paz must the great grandmother of such cities!

These street vendors form unions based on the products they sell, and are controlled and organised by leaders. The number is so huge that the vendors are actually a very powerful political group. Geee… I never thought of them in that way. I just thought of them as poor dears who had to work on the streets selling things that everyone else is selling and wondered how in the world they could make a living.

Before, the residents of La Paz used to complain about the sheer number of street vendors. They dirty the streets with the rubbish, they make a lot of noise, they set up their stalls on both sides of the pavements making it impossible to walk, they sometimes even set up on the road itself, making driving dangerous, they block the entrances to all the legitimate shops which pay taxes… But as they are so many and so powerful, the vendors themselves defended themselves, protesting that they are very poor and this is the only way to make a living, hence, there was nothing the authorities could do to remove them.

And while they claim to be very poor, they sure have the budget to set aside to buy some amazing costumes, accessories and some serious loads of beer to do the procession today.

For each union, for example… I saw the flags for the union of those who sell cloth and of those who sell ‘various articles’ (hmmm… combs, nail-clippers?), there was a band making a lot of awful music. The ‘attractive’ pear-shaped cholas were dressed in coordinated outfits – the multi-layered flouncy polleras (skirts), the bowler hats, many of which were pinned with gold ornaments, and the absolutely gorgeous intricately-embroidered shawls. No way these outfits were scantily put together from crappy cheapskate materials. Each of them were sewn with a lot of care and hard work, using excellent materials. I tell you, these were some very expensive costumes!!! These cholas did their coordinated swirls, to the music, making it quite a pretty sight to see the long skirts swirling across the street.

Of course, no one can forget the ornamental girls… usually, very young and svelt, in the short skirts and cute hats, doing the same swirls, but cute little swirls because of the extreme shortness of the skirts.

Several groups stopped to rest, and they gutted down cans and bottles of beer, getting more and more pissed-drunk as the day wore on.

We even passed by some people perched on a stage watching the procession. I asked Alexis who they were. He explained they were the leaders of the unions who organise the street vendors. Oh, the mafia…

That night, I finally left La Paz on the night bus. A little sad to say good-bye to La Paz which had been mighty interesting and eye-opening to me. As the bus drove to the top of the basin at El Alto, gosh… La Paz looked absolutely pretty, like a gigantic basin-shaped Christmas tree with the twinkling white and orange lights.

11 November 2005 (Friday) – La Paz, Bolivia

I had checked out of my hostel, left my backpack in the storage and headed out for my usual breakfast of salteña and fruit juice by the market. But gosh, today’s weather was just so hot. I soon had no choice but to return back to the hostel and apply sun-block over my face. La Paz’s weather is really crazy. One day it is extremely hot, and the next, it rains cats and dogs.

Yesterday, I was supposed to meet Alexis, a guy whom I had contacted through Hospitality Club, in the late afternoon. However, repeated calls to his cellular phone yielded just a message. I believed his phone had run out of batteries. In a way, I was glad I did not meet him yesterday. Otherwise, I would have missed the session with Maestro Crespo.

Anyway, today, he wrote to me telling me that he would like to invite me to watch a celebration at the school he is working at, there would be folkloric dances from all over Bolivia… TOMORROW. Argh, I had already bought a ticket for Cochabamba leaving TONIGHT.

As I really wanted to watch this celebration, I decided… why not, I would stay another day. I walked to the bus terminal, had the ticket changed and returned to my hostel to re-check-in. We made an appointment to meet at Plaza San Francisco tomorrow morning. Great!

Meanwhile, as my curiosity of coca leaves had understandably grown due to the fortune-telling session of yesterday, I headed to Museo de la Coca, a tiny little museum about coca leaves. We were issued notebooks of our preferred language and told to read them as we walk from panels to panels to view the corresponding photos.

Wow, coca leaves have been in used by the people of this land for 4,500 years, as traces of the leaves were found in mummies from 2,500 BC to 1,800 BC. It was later condemned by clergymen after the Spanish conquests. They called the plant a Devil’s plant, in their attempt to try and convert the indigenous people to Catholicism.

But, it was later discovered that chewing coca leaves increased the output from silver miners (they could just last much longer hours). When Potosi was as important a city as many European cities of its times, due to its riches from silver mining, the Spanish conquerors decided to unban coca leaves and let them be used by these Indian slaves who work in infernal conditions. Of course, the Spanish controlled them carefully and at one point, the value of coca leaves was equal to the price of 450kg of gold!

Later, the anaesthetic effects of coca leaves were discovered by the Western World (although well-known by pre-Inca civilisations centuries ago who used them to perform skull trepanations – drilling a hole through the skull to perform brain surgery), so it became the fashion drug. Cocaine, a derivative from coca leaves, was later fashionably used in French wine and the most famous brand in the world – Coca Cola as an energy-booster.

Yatiri (a witch-doctor) is a person who reads coca leaves as he introduces himself to the spirits and observes the past, present, future, health and illness of the person who consults him. Unfortunately, there are not many people who knows how to read coca leaves anymore. (Boy, am I lucky to have found Maestro Crespo!) Coca leaves are the divine connection between the Andean Gods and the earthly world. Much like a type of wine that people sip in churches to be connected with the Western God.

So, coca was used by the Western world, in mines and by the spiritual world.

Later, United Nations claimed that coca leaves was the cause of poverty in Bolivia and Peru, thereby creating a law that prohibited it.

Naturally, cocaine soon became a societal problem with drug addicts all over the world as well. For example, according to the museum, United States has 5% population but consumes 50% of cocaine that exists in the world.

Fittingly, there was an extract from Bolivian writer Antonio Diaz Villemal, who wrote ‘Legends from My Land’:

“I shall give you a gift for your brothers
Climb up to that mountain
Where you shall find a small plant
One with much strength
Guard the leaves with much care
And when you feel the sting of pain in your heart
Hunger in your body
And darkness in your mind.
Take them in your mouth
And softly draw up its spirit
Which is part of mine
You will find love for your pain,
Food for your body
And light for your mind.
Furthermore, watch the leaves dance with the wind
And you will find answers to your queries

But if you torturer, who comes from the north,
The white conquerer, the gold seeker should touch it
He will find in it only poison for his body
And madness for his mind,
For his heart so callous as his steel and iron garment
And when the coca, which is how you will call it,
Attempts to soften his feelings,
It will only shatter him as ice crystals
Born in the clouds, crack the rocks and demolish mountains.”

Apparently, now there are 36 countries who have rights to produce cocaine (presumably for medical purposes) but Peru and Bolivia were not amongst them.

All thoroughly interesting…

By the time I left the museum, I had no choice but to head back to my hostel yet another time, to pile on more clothes. I just realised I am wearing my alpaca sweater from Bolivia, my woolly hat from Venezuela, my gloves from Colombia, my thick purple scarf from Chile, my thinner orange scarf from Ecuador! Wait, I am missing something from Peru. Well, my finger puppets of a llama and a condor would have to do. Wow… I couldn’t be more Pan-American.

At about 8+pm, when I had just, by pure chance, returned home, the sky opened up and poured torrential rain! Gosh, one really needs to be prepared from solar to rain attacks here all in one day in La Paz!

10 November 2005 (Thursday) – La Paz, Bolivia

Henry started packing his things as he may or may not leave La Paz today. He would know the answer in 2 hours’ time when Emmanuelle tells him HER travel plans, heh. He was still keen to see the fortune teller Maestro Simon Crespo, as the maestro had come highly recommended by his friend back in Lima, who had lived here in La Paz for a long time.  We headed to the maestro‘s place at around noon. Unfortunately, he was not around and his wife told us he would be back by 2pm.

Henry and I agreed to meet back here at that time. Meanwhile, I wandered all over La Paz again.  I returned to the Witches’ Market and inquired about the talismans.  Gosh, this for health, this to protect the house, this for prosperity, this for love, this for good luck, etc…  I need one of everything!

Unfortunately, at 2pm, Maestro Crespo was still not around. Emmanuelle was leaving for Sucre this evening with her family. I wanted to buy a bus ticket for Cochabamba tomorrow and Henry wanted to buy a ticket as well. But to where, he was not sure yet.

Well, his original objective (wow, it sounds so long ago but it was just last Saturday) had been to pass through Bolivia as quickly as possible to get to Buenos Aires. Then, when he saw pictures of Salar de Uyuni, he contemplated on heading to Uyuni, although the cost of the tour would be a problem to his budget. I had asked him how many kidneys he has… it is an option to consider. And well, it is still possible to see Salar de Uyuni with one eye… how much is a cornea worth on the market?

But now, with Emmanuelle in the picture, he was seriously thinking of going to Sucre!

Anyway, we headed to the bus terminal and bought our respective tickets and yep, he bought the one for Sucre.

In the late afternoon, we returned again to Maestro Crespo’s place and this time, he was in, but with a customer. When we explained to Emmanuelle that Maestro Crespo reads the future with coca leaves, Emmanuelle was game to try as well. But as her Spanish was impossible, I had to go in with her to help with interpretation.

Oh no… Maestro Crespo spoke with a thick accent and, as in telling the future, he used a lot of future tense and subjunctive tense which I am terrible at! I mean, half the time, I was talking in past and present tenses. And if I ever speak of the future, I use ‘going to’ – ‘voy a’ / ‘va a’ / ‘vamos a’. As for subjunctive, my Spanish teacher in Singapore had refused to teach us, saying that it was too difficult for us to understand and we would never use it in the markets. But hello… now I need it at the fortune teller! I had self-studied the subjunctive tense, but it was a struggle for me. So, I was trying really hard to understand him. Also, when I tried to ask him to repeat something I did not understand, he did not try to paraphrase, he simply repeated the same words… not even more slowly. It was difficult.

And it did not help that most of what he had to say for Emmanuelle’s future were rather bad news. Emmanuelle looked really shaken as she listened to what I translated and I was really afraid of mistranslating. Maestro Crespo asked if we had been to Isla del Sol or Tiahuanacu. We had been to both. Well, it was a pity, as he said if Emmanuelle could get 2 pieces of rock shaped like triangles from Isla del Sol, she could help rectify her future problems. How about Valle de la Luna? Well, she was leaving La Paz in an hour’s time. So, in the end, he suggested another method for her to do at home back in France.

She really had to go, so I bade her a hurried farewell and she left… looking very sad and shaken. I wanted to have mine read as well, although I was a little afraid of what bad news I would get, having witnessed Emmanuelle’s case.

First, Maestro Crespo asked me to say my name out loud. Then, on the piece of cloth covering the coca leaves, he did some incantations. When he opened the cloth, he placed a few leaves at certain positions and then held a bunch on his right hand and let the leaves fall. Based on where they fell, he proceeded to tell me about my future, my love life, my job, what I should be aware of, about my health (he mentioned that I ought to be careful with my legs as I was always involved in accidents and this was so TRUE!!!). On the whole, everything sounded great, thank goodness. I asked some specific questions about myself, my friends and my family and his answers all sounded very definite. And I must say, I really respected what he had to say as he described certain characters rather accurately.

Well, I paid and left and it was Henry’s turn. He gave me the evil eye, as both of us had taken quite a long time. But, gosh… what was I to do? I did not understand Maestro Crespo so well. Outside were several ladies waiting and I asked them if the maestro was famous and they all agreed he was, saying that he was very accurate. Wow… my head was still reeling from what he had told me.

When Henry was done, we shared a bit of what Maestro Crespo told us. He was totally blown away as well, because the first thing Maestro Crespo said of his health was his busted knees. How true. Then, Henry really had to go. He got his bags ready, hugged me tightly as we had become good friends by now, made promises to catch up in Buenos Aires, and caught a taxi to the bus terminal. And then, there was ONE – me.

Tonight in my hostel, I found my other roommates to be 2 Korean guys and 1 Japanese guy. Well well well, here we are… Little Asia.

9 November 2005 (Wednesday) – La Paz, Bolivia

By last night, Henry and Emmy had gotten all lovey-dovey, and I appeared to be quite a bright lamp-post, heh. So, I was happy to leave them alone today to their own dreamland and their baby talk (baby English from Henry and baby Spanish from Emmy). Yep, yesterday at Tiahuanacu, I was doing loads of translation work between the both of them. Today, I am free to do what I want.

Yes, free as a bird!!! Wow, it felt great suddenly to be wandering around all over by myself again!

La Paz is made up of modernly-attired citizens and traditionally-attired citizens. Great mix! The traditionally-attired women of La Paz are called ‘cholas’ and they have a distinct dress. They wear multi-layer skirts and petticoats to make their waists wider. I guess, the wider it is, the more attractive the woman is. So, you would see these VERY ATTRACTIVE pear-shaped women lumbering all over town. Their skirts can be really lovely, intricately but subtly embroidered (not in contrasting colours). They usually wrap themselves in yet another intricately but subtly embroidered gigantic shawl that has lovely long tassels at the ends. And the most distinct feature is the bowler hat. Here in La Paz, the bowler hats are shaped differently from those in Puno. In Puno, the hats have a slight hour-glass shape. Here, no.

I had seen a restaurant near the tourist street of La Paz selling juice for 10 bolivianos. But a short walk away to Mercado Lanzo, near Plaza San Francisco and you get great juice in huge glasses for 1.50 bolivianos!

And wow, salteñas are juicy meat or chicken empanadas and they just taste amazing!! Remember back in Quito when Ismael brought us to a place called Empanadas Bolivianas to taste some really big and juicy empanadas. Well, this was exactly it. You have to eat it holding it like a cup, otherwise the juice would just come trickling down everywhere.

I meandered everywhere without really checking the map, following my nose and instincts. There are just lots of people on the streets, lots of markets everywhere selling anything from stationery to toiletries. Who needs shops? The shoe-shiners of La Paz all wear a ski-mask to protect them from the harsh sun. Gosh, in a way, they all look like terrorists! And Immigration was worried about me being a terrorist!

Along the roads, be careful to watch out for the huge number of micros and trucks that drive crazily up and down, overtaking one another, turning without signalling, blaring their horns constantly, stopping suddenly to pick up more passengers. There is no peace here, as people are always shouting the destinations and their products for sale. What noise! What chaos! What energy!!

When I got hungry, I returned to Mercado Lanzo and gosh, a lunch of rice, fries, salad and meat for about 3.50 bolivianos (less than US$0.50)! How can you beat that?

Not only are the food and drinks cheap (if you know where to go), the people here in La Paz are simply amazing, with their cheerful smiles and curious questions. When I hopped around in agony after tasting the hot chilli of the salteñas, people around me smiled and made some pity comments. When I was drinking my juice, I chatted with the guy next to me like we were old pals. When I ate lunch, Doña Angelica slicing the beef wanted me to take photos and have them sent to her. We ended up snapping many pictures with the various ladies working at the food stalls – Mary, Manuela, Beatriz, Doña Olga…

More wanderings led me to Av. Montes where the authorities were closing the road. A huge line of crowd had gathered along the avenue, waiting for something. I asked a police and he told me there was a bicycle race and the cyclists should come by here in about 15 minutes’ time. Great! I stood there and waited. Strange that they only started setting up the railings to block pedestrians and traffic merely 15 minutes before the arrival of the cyclists! I hoped they had time to get everything ready. Soon, a few cars and motorbikes with cameramen zipped by. Then, 2 cyclists in yellow attire flashed across. The guys behind me said they were Colombians. After quite a while, a group of cyclists zipped by. The guys searched for Bolivians, and seemed to conclude they were not amongst this second group either.

Gosh, La Paz is just amazing! I really love it here. I just feel a great sense of fascination with everything on the streets – day and night. The whole city is a street market! However, many people who had come to La Paz took one look at it and said it was ugly, polluted and noisy and they moved on. In fact, many people who had arrived with me from Copacabana had left or were leaving today.

I returned to the hostel at 5pm as I sort of had an appointment with Henry (if he still remembered) to go to a guy who reads fortunes with coca leaves. I was sitting on my bed, noting down my expenses when he came barging into the room. He threw himself down on his bed, panting away. I greeted him, “hola” and asked him how he was doing. Then, I asked if he still wanted to know his future. I proceeded to tell him what had happened today, where I went, what I saw, etc… before it dawned on me I was conducting a damn monologue. I paused and studied Henry. He looked a little off. I politely ventured, “¿Algo para contarme?” (Something to tell me?)

It turned out he was in Emmy’s hotel room, chatting, when her strange brother returned and knocked on the door. She told him to give her a minute, but her brother just started screaming and whacking, banging and kicking the door like a mad man. Well, perhaps, that description was not that far off. Henry jumped into the toilet and when her brother stormed into the room, he slipped out. Later, as he walked down to the lobby, Henry saw Emmy’s dad and he made his second escape.

Gosh, Henry is a film-maker and this is just like a scene from a movie! I laughed at him non-stop. He had left his haversack, his money and one of his socks there. We tried to analyse how Emmy copes with having such a strange brother. Oh well.

Later, Emmy dropped by our room with his things and Henry did not seem interested in going for fortune-telling anymore, so I left to do some shopping.

I had resisted buying an alpaca sweater since Ecuador. But I realised that what I had was really insufficient for anything higher than La Paz. Everyone also advised me that I would need something more (and something alpaca) by the time I get to Potosi and Salar de Uyuni. Finally, I caved and headed out and bought a sweater.

8 November 2005 (Tuesday) – La Paz to Tiahuanacu to La Paz, Bolivia

Diego, the eternal Indian chief, was trying to organise the group today to go to Tiahuanacu. I told him Henry and I were heading off separately and he looked slightly hurt. Ahem, sorry.

We went to Emmy’s hotel at the agreed time. She overslept! But she got ready in a jiffy and we took a local bus to the cemetery. When we neared the cemetery district, we asked the bus guy where we could get off for the Tiahuanacu bus and several passengers pointed out the direction. Later, loads of helpful people pointed out to us where to go to get the bus. All in different places.

We finally found a bus to the border of Peru that PASSED by Tiahuanacu so we bought the tickets and waited in a hole-in-the-wall, drinking some mate de coca. Gosh, in this tiny cafe, a sandwich cost just 1.50 bolivianos. We had been paying between 5 to 9 bolivianos for a lousy sandwich in Copacabana and Isla del Sol. See what I mean about overcharging tourists?

It soon started to rain as we pulled out of La Paz. We had not brought along any rain jacket, just things for the sun as we expected to be baked under the harsh sun at this altitude. Oh oh…

As the bus we took did not bring us right to the front of the museum and ruins, we had to walk for about 1 km from the main highway. Halfway through, we saw another ruins. Although we had not bought the tickets, we persuaded the guy to let us take a look at this site since we were already here. We would purchase the tickets later.

This site was called Puma Punku. There was no one here at this point, so we took our time to browse through the fallen stones and interesting stone masonry. As I had said, Henry was mighty knowledgeable in this, and he acted as our guide to explain what the rock structures represented. We saw Andean crosses, little doors that represent Door to the Sun, lots of rounded holes tunnelled through, ‘I’ shaped holes used for making bronze. Although not well-restored, it was interesting for us to discover other carvings like hexagons, evenly-spaced lines, slightly-eroded Tiahuanacu designs.

When we reached the museum, we were shocked it cost 80 bolivianos (US$10) to enter. But for me, I had always wanted to visit Tiahuanacu and for Henry, he had studied about this site, about how it was aligned at 45 degrees to the vertical, in line with Cajamarca, Cusco and Copacabana. He tried to persuade the ticket guy that he is Peruvian, his friendly neighbour, on a South American paycheck, not an American gringo! But nope, he still had to pay 80 bolivianos.

There were many monoliths of carved designs, in general, showing a face, two arms carrying something and lots of motifs of condors, snakes, the cactus plant called San Pedro for hallucination and other symbolisms. Henry explained many interesting details to us. He even had a book called ‘Ayni’ which was about the repeated symbol of crossed arms used in many ancient civilisations, including those from Mexico, representing the act of reciprocity. We then studied the arms on the monolith. Although it appeared to be holding something with the arms NOT crossed, we realised the hands were in reverse. Imagine, if you hold something round on your right hand, another person looking at you would not see the fingers facing outwards and pointing to the right. The fingers would be facing inwards and pointing to the right. Yet, the designs had the fingers out and pointing to the right. We realised this could only be possible if the arms were CROSSED and we were actually looking at his LEFT hand on the right side. (Hope you got what I mean) Fascinating!

After this museum, it continued to pitter patter. It was getting really cold but, as I predicted it could continue to rain, it was better than we headed out to the ruins now and then, hide out at the second museum later. So that was what we did, admiring the empty ruins in the rain, gathering mud on our boots such that we were walking around like ducks with wide webbed feet. There was the famous Puerta del Sol – Door of the Sun. And the other gateway where a monolith was placed directly in line when the sun would rise exactly in front of it on some special dates. All very interesting and wet.

Back at the second museum where we saw more potteries, an Aymara mummy, some bronze tools and a whole school load of visiting children, aged between 7 to 9. As we waited in the lobby for the bus, the curious children kept staring at us. One little boy broke the ice by shaking hands with me and soon, the entire swarm of them flooded towards me, extending their hands. Then, on their note books which they had religiously copied the points around the museum, they wanted my autograph. So, I signed like, I don’t know, 50 of my name in Chinese. I was just pounced on. I could not see a thing outside. I later learnt that so were Henry and Emmy. Hahaaa…

It rained heavier by then and we froze all the way back to La Paz. Today, it was not possible to see La Paz from the top of the basin. It was entirely covered in clouds.

That night, more out of pure self-torture than curiosity, we watched a Bolivian movie. It was so horrible that it was good. It was hilarious and cracked me up tonnes of times, although I did not always understand every word they said. I was just watching with my jaws wide opened. I could not believe what was going on. It was so so so so bad. Well, another Bollywood in the making, perhaps!