Back in the USA

I made it back safely to the US with no major negative incidents to speak of, all in one piece, with all of my belongings. The only items lost along the way were a corduroy jacket left in the trunk of a taxi in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, while hurrying to catch a bus; and a white towel forgotten in the trunk of a land cruiser in Uyuni, Bolivia, after a 4 day trip on the salt flats. Other than those two items, I lost nothing (that I realize) and had nothing stolen in almost 6 months of traveling in Central and South America. Now I'm back home in Georgia, trying to fill my time while essentially waiting for school to begin in January.

I enjoyed my travels immensely, not to mention my time in Nicaragua these last 4 years. Of all the places I visited and lived, my favorites have to be (1) Nicaragua in general (the Little Corn Island specifically), (2) Buenos Aires, Argentina, (3) Salta, Argentina, (4) La Paz and Bolivia, (5) Chile (specifically Valparaiso), and of course, just people...other travelers from all over the world, and local people met along the way.

I'm a nostalgic person by nature, and already I'm missing many of the places I visited and the people I had the opportunity to meet and spend time with. I can't wait for my next big trip...

After leaving Arequipa, I jumped on a bus destined for Ica, Peru, passing through the famous and mysterious Nazca lines thought to have been made by the pre-Incan Nazca Indians of the region. The origins and purpose of the lines are unknown, though it is speculated that they were made by a fertility cult, or possibly by aliens. Wikipedia states: "The Nazca Lines are a series of geoglyphs located in the Nazca Desert, a high arid plateau that stretches 53 miles or more than 80 kilometers between the towns of Nazca and Palpa on the Pampas de Jumana in Peru. They were created by the Nazca culture between 200 BC and AD 700. There are hundreds of individual figures, ranging in complexity from simple lines to stylized hummingbirds, spiders, monkeys and lizards.

The Nazca lines cannot be recognized as coherent figures except from the air. Since it is presumed the Nazca people could never have seen their work from this vantage point, there has been much speculation on the builders' abilities and motivations.

The lines were made by removing the iron oxide coated pebbles which cover the surface of the Nazca desert. When the gravel is removed, they contrast sharply with the light-colored earth underneath. There are several hundred simple lines and geometric patterns on the Nazca plateau, as well as over seventy curvilinear animal, insect, and human figures. The area encompassing the lines is nearly 500 square kilometers (200 square miles), and the largest figures can be nearly 900 feet (270 meters) long. The lines persist due to the extremely dry, windless, and constant climate of the Nazca region: the Nazca desert is one of the driest on Earth and maintains a temperature around 25°C (77°F) all year round, and the lack of wind has helped keep the lines uncovered to the present day and possibly the future."

Other hypotheses as to their origin and/or purpose are that they were used as some sort of astronomical calendar, UFO landing areas, and walking temples where the worshipers walked along the lines. No one knows the actual purpose of the lines, and they will most likely continue to remain a mystery, intriguing future generations as they have our own.

Once in Ica, I grabbed a bus to Huacachina, a tiny literal oasis in the desert about 5 km outside of Ica, where I was able to laze by the pool, play in the massive sand dunes, try out sand boarding, and fear for my life during an insane dune buggy ride in the sand dunes. I spent 3 days in Huacachina and then went to Lima, where I stayed for 3 days or so before flying home. Lima was gloomy, foggy, and grey...always misting, not raining, and cool. Lima is a modern city with around 9 million inhabitants, and I felt like I was back in Atlanta with sprawling suburbs, poor city planning, massive interstates, traffic, and smog. It was quite unlike other Latin American capital cities that I had visited.

Near the end of the beginning of the end

Here I am taking advantage of the free internet in my new hostal, Hostal "The Point", in Arequipa, Peru, enjoying a lazy spring-weather Sunday afternoon, recovering after a semi-late night out in downtown Arequipa's finest bars and clubs. I arrived in Arequipa early Friday morning after taking a night bus from Cuzco, and Arequipa is a nice change from Machu Pichu-destined-tourist-saturated Cuzco (does that phrase make sense?).

It's been quite a while since I've updated this blog, don't know if anybody reads it anyways...it's more for my own benefit sometimes, I guess. Doesn't really matter for what end I'm keeping this blog, just doing it to do it. So, updates...I spent more than a week in La Paz, Bolivia, thoroughly enjoying the city, the weather, the views, and even went to see Cholita WWF-type wrestling. Cholitas, or cholas, are traditional Bolivian women that dress in bowler hats, skirts, sandal-type shoes, a shawl, and carry incredibly-heavy stuff, including babies, on their backs using a hand-woven, brightly-colored throw/blanket. After spending much time in La Paz and in Hostal Loki, I left for Copacabana on Lake Titicaca with two English lads. We spent 3 nights in Copacabana, rented a paddle boat named Mi Socio one afternoon, ate fresh lake trout prepared a gusto, spent a day on Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun) getting (1) kind of lost among eucalyptus trees, Inca stairways, and narrow cobbled streets, and (2) slightly sunburned, and relaxed after La Paz. We left Copacabana, crossed the border near Puno, and headed straight for Cuzco, arriving at night.

I spent roughly 8 days in the Cuzco-area, 2 of those days being an excursion by bus and train and foot to Machu Pichu. Cuzco was the capital of the Incan empire until sacked and pillaged by Spanish conquistadores who converted most of the Incan structures into colonial buildings and churches. The city has some very impressive Incan stone work, but the most striking characteristic is the omnipresence of the tourist...in Cuzco you can find every type of tourist imaginable...the super-hiker trekker backpacker, the geriatric safari-ready, the clown-pant hippy, tight-black T-shirt Germans, loud Americans, culturally-ignorant English and Aussies, Asian groupaphiles...every type, shape and size. It's really quite annoying. I liked the city, the architecture, the climate, but I hated the IncaDisneyland tourism that has rooted itself in Cuzco. Anyways, I guess it should be expected from somewhere that acts as the departure center for the #1 tourist destination in the country, and maybe even the continent, Machu Pichu.

I visited Machu Pichu. Took a bus to Ollantaytambo, got the train there, stayed a night in Aguas Calientes, the town just down the road from Machu Pichu, and hiked up early to Machu Pichu, leaving around 5 A.M. The hike up was strenuous, made even more frustrating by the many tourist-packed buses flying up and down the road. I chilled a while at Machu Pichu, hiked up the steep trail to Wayna Pichu, where the views are impressive...actually, the whole area is stunningly beautiful--steep, jungle-covered granitic mountains, cloud-covered in the early morning, rivers, birds, deep valleys...and, of course, Machu Pichu itself. I spent most of the day exploring Machu Pichu, avoiding crowds, and relaxed in the hot springs of Aguas Calientes in the early evening, followed by an early night to bed after a strenuous day of hiking. After Machu Pichu and Aguas Calientes, I returned to Cuzco for about 2 days, then came this way to Arequipa, where I've been for 2.5 days now. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Huacachina, on the way to Lima, since I have to be in Lima by Friday, because I fly home, thus ending my travels for the moment.

In La Paz, Bolivia....about to head to Peru

I am finally ending my trip around Bolivia and will be heading to Peru via Lake Titicaca within the next few days. I have enjoyed my time in Bolivia; at the moment, it's been slightly over a month that I've spent in Bolivia and almost 3 in South America (Argentina, Uruguay, Chile and Bolivia) and more or less 2 months traveling in Central America (Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama).

The past few weeks in Bolivia have been very, very hot...and jungly. I've been in Santa Cruz, the pueblos chiquitanos of San Ignacio de Velasco, Concepción, and San Ramòn; Guarayos, Trinidad, and finally, Rurrenabaque before flying to La Paz 2 days ago.

After leaving San Ignacio and Parque Noel Kempff Mercado, I spent 2 days in Concepción, another of the several pueblos Chiquitanos. The pueblos Chiquitanos are Jesuit mission towns with massive church/monastary combination structures, built by Indian-slave labor and recently restored. The pueblos consist of San Ramón (lame, ugly town), San Xavier, Concepción, Santa Rosa de la Roca, San Ignacio de Velasco, San José de Chiquitos, Santa Ana, San Rafael, San Miguel. The towns are situated in the lowlands of Bolivia, near the Brazilian border, and each one is built (at least historically) around the main plaza and church.

Information about the Jesuit missions circuit from a website:(http://bolivia.gotolatin.com/eng/Attr/htm/Bolivia-Misiones.asp)

It is a circuit that crosses through the lowlands of eastern Bolivia. This zone, which is rich in culture and history, is comprised of seven towns; San Javier, Concepción, San Ignacio de Velasco, Santa Ana, San Miguel, San Rafael, and San José de Chiquitos, known as the Jesuit Missions. The name comes from the indigenous region of Bolivia where the Spanish Jesuits developed a large part of Evangelism during the Colonial Period, in the 16th and 17th centuries. In 1992, the Jesuit missions were included in the list of the Patrimonio Cultural de la Humanidad (Patrimony of Humanity) by UNESCO. The major attractions of this region are its churches, architectural jewels guarded by different villages which still possess interesting cultural manifestations from the period of the Missions. The Missions represented the Christian voice in the middle of this savage world. This region remained hidden for nearly two centuries until the release of the movie "La Misión", which awoke interest in the region and made it internationally known. Today it is possible to appreciate the beauty of the religious architecture thanks to the German architect Hans Roth and his team of experts, that restored these churches of the Missions that are hundreds of years old, and with all their splendor from long ago. The other big attraction in the region is the Baroque Music Festival and the Religious Parties (Semana Santa, or Holy Week and the Corpus Christie), that transport us to the age of the Missions with the traditional clothing and instruments made by the people of the region. Traveling the entire circuit takes about five or six days, a sufficient amount of time to appreciate the architecture, its landscape with vast, flat, tropical plains, and smooth undulations of the land.

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My bus trip from Concepción to Trinidad was pretty miserable; I had to take a bus from Concepción to San Ramón, wait 4 hours for a bus to Guarayos, another small town in the middle of nowhere with nothing, then pass about 7 hours waiting for a night bus from Santa Cruz to Trinidad to pass. The first one passed around midnight, but had no empty seats...so, I waited for 2 more hours until several buses passed, still with no seats...at 2:30 A.M. I finally got the only seat on a bus to Trinidad, arriving at 6:30 A.M. in Trinidad. I was exhausted, jumped on a motorcycle taxi with my things, and found a hotel where I slept all morning and into the mid-afternoon. Trinidad was pretty boring, the only excitement being the swarms of kids on their motorcycles doing circles around the main plaza...kind of lame really. While in Trinidad, I tried twice to go to a nearby river port to check on boats going to Guayaramerín on the Brazilian border, but there were protests along the way, so no buses could make it. Thus, after about 3 days in Trinidad, I decided to leave for Rurrenabaque in the north/northeast part of Bolivia in the Amazonian basin (but not after I rented my own motorcycle for an hour and drove all over town...).

The bus trip to Rurrenabaque was pure hell. 14 hours of pure hell. The road all the way is dirt, not paved, super dusty, and hot. We had to cross three different rives on some sketchy ferries and make many stops along the way. The problem with traveling in hot areas on dusty roads on buses with no A/C is that one is faced with a serious dilemma: whether or not to open the window. If you open the window, you stay cooler but inhale unhealthy amounts of and get completely covered by dust. However, leaving the window shut is like riding in a mobile oven. I kept the window open because I would rather get a little dusty than sweat constantly. Anyways, I made it to Rurre at 1:30 A.M., covered on my front in dust...again, completely exhausted, I jumped on a moto taxi, found a hotel, and slept all day.

Rurrenabaque (or Rurre for short) is hot. Very, very hot. I haven't experienced weather that hot since Panama, but at least in Panama there are beaches and oceans. Not in Bolivia. I spent 3 days in Rurre, dying of heat, and decided I had to get out of there. Instead of chancing the "World's Most Dangerous Road" on a 16 hour bus ride to La Paz, I opted for the $60, 1 hour plane flight, with beverage and snack service. So, I'm in La Paz, enjoying the cool weather and beautiful scenery.

Well, I survived 5 days in the jungle in Parque Noel Kempff Mercado. I wasn't eaten by a jaguar, attacked by a tapir, or maimed by any type of animal. The only thing (or things) that nearly got me were the millions of bees, tiny ones, huge ones, ones that sting and ones that don't...all the time, except at night, after sunset, the only time to find some respite from the constant annoyance of the bees...

I spent 5 days and 4 nights in the park, located more than 10 hours in car from San Ignacio de Velasco and about 6-7 hours from the nearest town with modern amenities (there are a few communities located nearby, but electricity, if present, is from small-capacity diesel generators and communication by radio or satelite phones). Along with Emma, my Australian friend, Frank, an English bloke, Eduardo and Bendilìn, our guides, and Martina, our cook, we departed San Ignacio Thursday evening at 8 p.m. in Edu´s 4x4 Mitsubishi minivan for the community of Florida, arriving completely exhausted at 4 a.m., our lungs full of dust and exhaust, since the road is unpaved the whole way. After 4 hours of much-needed sleep, we woke up Friday morning at 8 a.m., ate a quick breakfast, loaded the van, then headed into the park for Los Fierros, a nice camp inside the park, crossing the Rio Paragua by a hand ferry, where we chilled for a few hours before heading another 2 hours into the park by car, having to cross multiple "bridges" that were nothing more than assortments of fortuitously-placed wooden boards across small ditches and streambeds, getting out of the car each time so as to not break them. After the roughly 2-hour drive, we hiked another 2 hours to our first camp just below the imposing meseta, which we climbed the next day. We hiked all day Saturday on the meseta, crossing through high open savannah, crossing through dense forest, tolerating 105 degree F midday-heat with no shade, our only refreshment being the small, cool lagoon where we were able to swim for a few minutes. The trail we hiked passed by an old (in 1986 it was in production) cocaine-processing facility complete with hand-constructed airplane runway and over-cargo plane-crash site. On day three, Sunday, we left the meseta and headed back to Los Fierros campsite, where we rested for the afternoon and stayed the night. We went looking for jaguars, tapirs, capybara, and foxes at night--though we were only able to chase a few foxes--I really wanted to see some tapirs, but maybe next time...Day four, Monday, we left in the morning for the El Encanto waterfall, a meseta-fed waterfall plunging more than 500 feet?? into an ice-cold lake where we were able to cool off a bit after hiking about 1.5 hours through humid, dense jungle. On Monday afternoon we left the park for the community of Florida, arriving early evening, where we bathed in the river, had a nice dinner and a few beers, then crashed hard after 5 long days, knowing that we had a 10-hour drive on Tuesday back to San Ignacio.

Here I am now, back in San Ignacio, after driving all day yesterday from Florida--we left about 10 a.m. and arrived here about 8 p.m. last night, exhausted, completely exhausted, after the long days of hiking and driving. All-in-all, it was an amazing experience, a trip to easily the most remote and wild places I have ever been, almost completely devoid of infrastructure--if anything goes wrong, there´s nothing but preparation and pure ingenuity to rely on...there are no towns, no communication---nothing---when you´re out there. The jungle is wild, curious...you can´t stand in one place for more than about 5 minutes, bees surround you almost instantly, so you have to keep moving, changing places every little bit, to keep the millions of bees and bugs away. I am glad that I was able to experience the park, the purity and wildness, but I'm glad to be out of there, too, back in civilization....
Description of the park from their website:

The Noel Kempff Mercado National Park spans nearly 4 million acres in northeastern Bolivia in one of the most biologically diverse areas in the world. A remote wilderness rising from Amazon rain forests to spectacular cliffs and waterfalls, the Park harbors several hundred species of rare and endangered wildlife. Bridging dry and wet ecological communities, the Park is home to more than 130 species of mammals (including rare river otters, river dolphins, tapirs, spider and howler monkeys, the giant armadillo, giant anteaters and endangered jaguars, including a population of black jaguars), 620 species of birds (including 9 species of macaw, possibly the highest number of species in any one protected area), and 70 species of reptiles, including black caiman. The area encompasses five important ecosystems ranging from Amazonian rain forest, gallery forest and semi-deciduous tropical forest to flooded savanna and dry cerrado. A rich variety of grasses, orchids (110 different species), and tree species bloom throughout the year. The diversity of the park’s flora and fauna make it an ideal natural area for biological research and an outstanding attraction for ecotourism activities.

In the Bolivian Amazonian lowlands

After several days in Potosí, the highest city in the world, I decided to leave because the altitude, dryness, and general weird vibe of the city was getting to me...so I caught a bus to Sucre, the 2nd capital of Bolivia (apparently they have two), where I stayed for a few days. Sucre is a nice, cool colonial city with what seems like hundreds of churches and a thriving young university community. I enjoyed my few days in Sucre, staying in a nice hotel/hostal for $5/night and being lazy in the central plaza, reading, writing, and people watching. After 3 days in Sucre and amid threats of campesino protests that would inhibit travel, I jumped on an overnight bus to Cochabamba, located more or less in the center of Bolivia, where I stayed for about 4 days. The highlights of my Cochabamba stay were (1) I met up with an Australian friend that I had met previously in Santiago, Chile; (2) I sold my loyal traveling companion, the guitar I had bought in Buenos Aires, and bought a hand-made charango, a local instrument similar to the mandolin and traditionally made of armadillo; and (3) I purchased thousands of dollars of pirated computer software for a few bucks, as well as tons of music CDs. Bolivia is a country of piracy where you can find anything copied, stolen, or even originals at a fraction of the cost in any other country.

I am now in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, about 9 hours by bus from Cochabamba. My friend Emma and I left Cochabamba early on Sunday morning and arrived here in Santa Cruz that same afternoon. This evening, we're leaving on a night bus for San Ignacio de Velasco, a small Jesuit mission town located in the southeast corner of Bolivia. Over the next few days we hope to visit one of the most remote national parks in the country and one of the most stunning and less-known places on the continent, Parque Noel Kempff Mercado, located about 200 km northeast of San Ignacio and located near the Brazilian-Bolivian border. Transportation and infrastructure in general is non-existent, so I'm prepared for an adventure unlike any other into the nearly unexplored near-Amazonian basin.

Technology and progress cost more than money

After taking a tour of one of the mines of Cerro Rico in Potosí, I feel the need to write a little bit about the history of the area and Bolivia in general because it is shocking and atrocious and interesting (reference: South America on a Shoestring). To begin, Bolivia is the highest and most isolated of the South American countries, landlocked (sharing this distinction with Paraguay), and lying astride the widest stretch of the Andean Cordillera. It has a diverse array of high plains, the highest salt flats in the world, tortuous hills and valleys, vast forests and savannas in the Amazon and Paraná basins, jungles, snowcapped peaks, and low-lying grasslands. Bolivia is the most "Indian" country in South America with two major indigenous groups and several smaller ones. More than 50% of the population are of pure Amerindian blood, and many people maintain traditional cultural values and belief systems.

The Spanish arrived in the late 1520's, first thought to be emissaries of the Inca sun god, capturing the Inca emperor Atahualpa in 1532. By 1537, the Spanish had consolidated their forces in Peru and securely held Cuzco, the seat of Inca power, causing the fall of the Inca empire.

In 1545 vast deposits of silver were discovered in Potosí (where I am at the moment) and quickly earned worldwide fame due to the abundant, high-quality minerals. Before long, Potosí had grown into the largest city on the continent. The atrocious conditions in the Potosí mines led to the deaths of around 8 MILLION Indian and African slaves.

With just 7.8 million people, Bolivia is thinly populated. Between 50% and 60% of the total population is of pure Indian descent, and most people speak either Quechua or Aymara as a first language. The are traditionally oriented and strongly resist cultural change. About 35% of the population is mestizo, and nearly 1% is of African heritage, mostly descendants of slaves conscripted to work the Potosí mines.

Potosí

Potosí was founded in 1545 following the discovery of silver, zinc and bronze primarily in the mineral-rich Cerro Rico, the massive hill that overlooks the city. The viens of ore are so rich that they quickly became the WORLD'S most prolific. Despite its setting at an altitude of 4070m (13,350 ft.), Potosí blossomed and toward the end of the 18th century grew into the largest and wealthiest city in Latin America. Silver from Potosí underwrote the Spanish economy and its monarch's extravagance for more than two centuries. Millions of conscripted laborers were put to work in the mines--both Indians and imported African slaves. Conditions were appalling, with many workers dying from accidents and diseases or from contact with toxic chemicals. It's estimated that as many as 8 million workers died at Potosí during the three centuries of colonial rule.

In the early 19th century, silver production began to decrease. During the present century, is was only a demand for tin (and zinc) that have rescued Potosí from ruin and brought a slow recovery. Silver extraction continues on only a small scale, but reminders of the grand colonial city are still evident in the narrow streets, formal balconied mansions, and ornate churches.

Potosí is the world's highest city.

Mine Tour

Yesterday morning I took a tour of one of the many cooperative mines that are located in Cerro Rico. It was one of the most impressive experiences of my recent travels (though, the Uyuni salt flats and surrounding area are VERY unique and intriguing as well). The tour involved suiting up with appropiate mine gear--hardhat, helmet lamp and battery pack, rubber boots, and special semi-waterproof pants and jacket. Also on the tour were 3 Irish guys, a Spanish couple from Valencia and Mallorca, an older German couple, and 2 guys from Rio. We jumped in microbus, suited up, and then bought some "gifts" for the miners that we would encounter throughout the tour. The "gifts" consisted of bags of coca leaves and soft drinks.

We arrived at the mine, split into two groups, one Spanish-speaking and the other English, and then entered the mine opening, following the narrow ore-cart tracks, the only illumination being that from our small headlamps. Safety procedures, accident waivers, and regulation are non-existent. We walked about 2-3 km into the mine, then climbed down a series of several wooden ladders held together by what looked like a type of rubber rope, or radiator belt, to a depth of 60 m to where the miners were actually drilling and blasting away. We had to scramble through low tunnels, over heaps of loose ore, past open mine shafts that fall away 50 m into darkness, ore elevators, and pipes and hoses and asbestos. We wound our way through shafts, passed 13 and 14 year old boys shoveling ore into carts to push them by hand out the 2 km tunnel--each cartload weighs a metric ton, and they usually take out about 10 tons a day. All work is done by hand, except drilling away the rock with air/water pressure hammers, and the temperatures in the mines vary from below freezing to 113 degrees F. The miners are exposed to all sorts of noxious chemicals and usually die within 10 years of entering the mines.

We were inside the mine for roughly 3 hours, and by the end, I had developed a nagging cough (well, I already had it before, but it was aggravated by the dust and damp and who knows what else...). I can't imagine what it would be like to work a 12 hour or even 8 hour shift in the mine. Many peasants (I hate that word) from surrounding communities come to Potosí to find work, some permanently, others only for a few months out of the year, returning to their pueblos when it's time to plant corn or potatoes.

At then end of the tour, we waited impatiently for the daily dynamite explosions...why we stayed inside the mine for this, I'm not exactly sure, but it was a delicately intense experience. You can feel the explosion in your entire body, the pressure change, it sounds as if the entire mountain is a big metal drum, or a gong, that is being hit...and the sound, if you can call it sound, resonates like Snoop Dog pumping out of five 15" subwoofers in the back of a neon low-rider...it's like a deep bass sound, one that you feel inside and out...about 15 times, once with each explosion. According to our guide, the men (or children) who detonate the explosives (sticks of dynamite shoved into loose ammonium nitrate at a drill depth of 1.5m) have about 5 minutes after lighting the fuses to escape through the series 0f tunnels, up 3 to 4 ladders, run through more tunnels over ore heaps, to a safe distance...what exactly is a safe distance, I don't know. We saw them setting the charges before they detonated them, and honestly, it doesn't look like much. However, just because a stick of dynamite is small doesn't mean it doesn't pack a big charge.

The mines have next to no regulation, since each boca, or mine, is controlled by a cooperative consisting of socios and day-laborers. If a member of a mining cooperative dies before his contract is up, his wife, now a widow, called a pilliri, fulfills the contract by working in the piles of ore outside the mine, sifting through tons and tons of rock for the best ore. If the miner or the pilliri does fulfill the contract with the cooperative (could be as many as 10 years), then they receive a small pension once completed. Most of the mining familias live on a hillside overlooking the mines of Cerro Rico in the Calvario neighborhood.

At the moment, there are about 16,000 workers in the mines of Cerro Rico, but only about 2,500 actually are associated with cooperatives. This means that the majority are laborers that work without any protection, regulation, health benefits---nothing. Some have formed groups that essentially rent out a mine shaft from the government (who owns Cerro Rico), work as hard as they can, and sell what ore they extract either locally or to international processing plants. All of the mines of Cerro Rico are Bolivian-owned, but the majority of processing plants are foreign; and almost 100% of the ore extracted is sold to international companies and shipped overseas to Japan, China, the US, and Germany, among others--miniscule amounts of silver are retained for artesenal purposes.

I plan on leaving for Sucre tomorrow, the "other" capital of Bolivia. I hope to have some new photos up soon, but the computers here in Bolivia are as old as the mines, I think, and can't even read my memory card or CD, much less allow me to upload from them.

Back from another planet at 15,000 ft.+ above sea level

I have just returned from the closest thing to Mars that I'll ever see. I spent almost 4 days in the high desert around Tupiza and Uyuni in Bolivia, one of the driest places on earth, just west of the Atacama Desert in Peru. I booked a tour with Valle Hermoso Tours, and traveled through the area in a 1988 Land Cruiser, driven by Santos, our Bolivian tour guide, and 2 Irish girls, a girl from Gurnsey (in the Channel Islands in Britain), and an Israeli guy. Our wonderful cook, Agustina, prepared for us the best food over the 4 days, leaving little to be desired gastronomically.

After I left Tilcara in Argentina, I spent one night in the border town of La Quiaca, then crossed the border, ate lunch in Villazon, Bolivia, and traveled the 3 hours to Tupiza in a rather bumpy bus. I stayed in Tupiza one night, checked out all Tupiza's best disco, La Sauna, had to offer, then took off on the salt flats tour on Sunday. We left Tupiza early Sunday, and stayed Sunday night in San Antonio de Lípez, a small town in the middle of the high desert. On the way, the radiator developed a leak, but Santos, our driver, had it repaired with high-temperature glue and pieces of an old rag in about an hour. Day two consisted on volcanoes, lagoons, salt flats, flamingos, and lots and lots of desert. We stayed night 2 at about 4,600m (roughly 14,000 ft and some) and way below freezing, without heat. During day 3, we peaked out at 4960m above sea level (16,200+ ft.), my new land-elevation record. My previous record had been just over 14,200 ft when I climed Quandry Peak in Colorado; I can definitely feel the altitude in my lungs, every few breaths I have to take a BBIIIGG breath, since I feel short on air. I can't imagine what it must be like on Everest at 29,000+ ft...

Tomorrow I'm going to explore some of the famous silver mines around Potosí, one of (if not the) main reason the Spanish were so interested in Bolivia and this part of South America. After a day or two here in Potosí, I'm heading to Sucre, then Santa Cruz at lower elevations and warmer temperatures.

Also, the earthquake that hit Peru yesterday did not affect Bolivia. So I'm safe and sound, though a bit cold, here in Bolivia.

About to cross into Bolivia

My head hurts, my lungs can't get the air that they're used to, and each breath through my nose feels like sandpaper. At night I think I snore because the parts in the back of my throat get so dry that they stick together, it's like high-altitude dry-throat sleep apnea. I'm in Quiaca, the Argentina-Bolivia border town on the Argentinian side; the air, I think, has negative humidity, the wind whips by carrying truck loads of sand, dirt, and dust, and the altitude is slightly higher than I'm used to. I don't feel the desire to write much at the moment, but I will throw in a quick update here. I left Salta and my friends at the Hostal Puesto Viejo two days ago after 6 days there; it's a cool town with lots of things to do both in the city and nearby, good food, and good night-life. While in Salta, I took 2 tours, one through the Quebrada del Toro following the Tren de los Nubes to San Antonio de los Cobres, a typical mining town located in the heart of the puna, saw wild vicuñas (relatives of the llama) passed through the immense salt flats of Salinas Grandes where I saw how salt is cultivated in rectangular pools, and Purmamarca with its hill of 7 colors; and the other through Quebrada de Cafayate and its impressive sandstone cliffs, where I was able to feed llamas, try to discern all the famous rock formations that apparently resemble things like a frog, castles, the Titanic with a rabbit, and a monk, among other inventiamaginations, to the small town of Cafayate famous for its wines. After leaving Salta, I took a bus directly to Tilcara, where I stayed in Hostal Casa Colores, enjoyed the local folk music scene in La Peña Carlitos, bought a few bootleg CDs by Cacho Gaitan, a comedian from Mendoza, Luis Salinas, an amazing guitar player from the Entre Rios region, and Jorge Cafrune, one of the most famous Argentinian folk singers ever, checked out the ruins at Pucara, and spent an afternoon in Humahuaca. On the way to La Quiaca, I passed through the famous Quebrada de Humahuaca and the Tropic of Capricorn. See pictures below. Tomorrow I leave for Bolivia, maybe by train, maybe by bus. I haven't decided exactly where I'm going, so the mode of transportation depends on the destination.

Pucara Ruins, Tilcara, Arg.


Me an my llama, Lucy, Quebrada de Cafayate, Argentina.

Sick of breathing second-hand smoke

As the title of this entry states, I am so sick of having to breathe second-hand cigarrette smoke 24/7...there is no escaping it in Argentina. I go to a restaurant...smoke. Internet café...smoke. Common area in hostals...smoke. All of my clothes reek (spelling?) of smoke--well, except for the pieces of clothing that don't smell of kerosene or rancid weeks-old BO from having to wear the same clothes repeatedly for days and days at a time. Seriously, I have had a constant headache and cough since I've been in Argentina from inhaling smoke on an almost constant basis. I am so grateful that many places in the US have placed a ban on smoking in bars, restaurants, state institutions, etc...I originally thought it was sort of ridiculous, passing that type of law in the US, but it is so much better than living with a constant unwanted nicotine buzz and secondhand headache.

In other news, I made it safely to Salta after another overnight bus ride from La Rioja. I enjoy the overnight buses because it saves having to pay for a night in a hostal; it's like a hostal on wheels. Salta is located in the Northwest part of Argentina, a few hundred kilometers south of the Bolivian border and a few hundred east of the Chilean border. It is set in a cool, high valley surrounded by wooded mountains, near many of the best vineyards in South America. In the region of Salta, the landscape and natural attractions, unlike in other areas of Argentina, are the main attractions, drawing both national and international tourists almost year-round. According to my guide book, Salta has become the Northwest's undisputed tourist capital, full of well-organized tour companies, youth hostals, and a variety of cheap, quality restaurants. Near the city of Salta, one can easily reach the vineyards of Valles Calchaquíes, the cloud-forest parks of Calilegua, El Rey, and Baritú, the tobacco-producing valleys near Valle de Lerma, la Quebrada del Toro, not to mention many "primitive" picturesque pueblos with their dirt streets, small chapels, impressive multi-hued surrounding hills and wandering goats and llamas. Some of these towns include San Carlos, Molinos, La Poma, Iruya, Cachi, Angastaco, Cafayate, and farther north in the province of Jujuy, the famous Purmamarca, Tilcara, and Humahuaca. Also located nearby are the huge saltflats of Salinas Grandes, the much-photographed polychrome Quebrada de Humahuaca, and the Tren a las Nubes, one of the world's highest railways.

Salta was founded in 1582 in its current location, chosen for its strategic mountainside location and the abundant nearby streams, which were used as natural moats. In the early 19th century, Salta was the headquarters of the Ejércitos del Norte, and until 1821 was where General Güemes posted his anti-Royalist forces, creating the now traditional red-poncho uniform for his gaucho militia.

According to The Rough Guide to Argentina, 2005, Aeberhard, Benson, & Phillips: "The region, called prepuna and the higher puna encompass a range of extremely harsh, arid habitats that range from the cardón cactus valleys from Jujuy to La Rioja to the highest bleak altiplano vegetation below the permanent snow line. Everything that grows here must be able to cope with extremely impoverished soils, and a huge difference in day- and night-time temperatures (not to mention thick second-hand smoke). Prepuna habitat usually refers to the sparsely vegetated rocky gullies and highland meadows (prados) of the cordillera, and is found at altitudes of between 2000m and 3500m. You'll see bunch grasses, reeds, and stunted queñoa trees, but the most distinctive prepuna plant is the candelabra cardón cactus (also called pasakán), which indigenous folklore holds to be the reincarnated form of their ancestors. These grow in a fairly restricted range centred on the Valle Calchaquíes, and take a century to reach their full height of 10m. Their beautiful yellow flowers produce a sweet fruit, and though they are now protected, their strong, light wood was used in the past as a building material.

The puna is found above 3400m, and is characterized by spongy wetlands (bofedales) around shallow high-mountain lagoons, and sun-scorched flat altiplano pastures of tough, spiky grasses. On the higher slopes, you'll find lichens and a type of rock-hard cushion-shaped prehistoric moss called yacreta that grows incredibly slowly--perhaps a millimeter a year--but lives for hundreds of years. It has been heavily exploited--partly for making medicinal teas, but mainly because it is the only fuel to be found at these altitudes."

I read an interesting anecdote yesterday concerning the "plagues" of earthquakes that have struck the area. To quickly summarize the geologic setting of the region, Salta, like almost the entire pre-Cordillera (like the front-range of Colorado) region tracing the Western margin of the Andes, is prone to experiencing strong earthquakes due to the subduction zone seismicity created by the collision of the subducting Nazca tectonic plate (to the west) and the South American plate. Here in the northwest region of Argentina, unlike in other areas, there are no major active volcanoes. One legend associated with these "plagues" of earthquakes, called El Milagro, is especially interesting. According to the legend, an image of Christ and another of the Virgin Mary were found floating in a box off the coast of Peru in 1592, just ten years after the founding of Salta and exactly a century after the Americas were "discovered" by Columbus. These two images somehow ended up in Salta. Hmmm. Precisely one century later, a series of tremors and earthquakes began to shake the city, damaging much of the infrastructure and houses. During the night of the series of tremors, a priest named José Carrion dreamed that if the images of Christ and Mary were paraded through the streets for 9 days the earthquakes would stop and Salta would be spared forever. According to "history" it worked, and the Fiesta del Milagro is celebrated annually starting on September 6 and peaking on September 15 (9 days from start to finish), when the famous, miraculous images are paraded through the streets in a massive procession.

I'm sitting here in a small cubicle in a massive internet cafe, and all I want to do is burn my pictures from my memory card onto a CD; however, the computer I'm using I think was also found floating in the same box with the images of Christ and Mary, so it doesn't recognize my memory card reader, and I already pre-paid for too much time, and my head hurts from the f!$%& smoke from the guy next to me (sorry for the language, but I really am sick of smoke). I look down at my feet, and I can see him ashing his cigarretee every few seconds on the floor. There, he just did it again. What if I were to grab his hand next time, take the cigarrette (he just did it again, he does it about every 8 seconds...a sort of "Old Faithful" of ash) and put it out in his eye. It might not help my headache, but it certainly would make ME feel a lot better. I've had a constant cough for about a month now, and I'm certain that second-hand smoke has a lot to do with it. Just the other day, at the hostal in Mendoza, I was talking the with overweight and slightly dishonest owner, Ariel, and I couldn't stop coughing. He says to me (drag off cigarrette), "That's a bad cough you got there, amigo. (exhale and drag) You should go see a doctor about that, you're bronchia is covered (drag) and you should pay attention to what I'm saying (exhale and drag and ash), it could get a lot worse really quickly, go see a doctor (exhale), get some medicine for that. It doesn't sound good. (drag). And you don't even smoke. (exhale, ash, drag)." I just sat there looking at him for a few seconds, coughing intermittently, and just said, "yeah, ok". I mean, how could he be so blind not to see that I wasn't coughing until he lit up his cigarrette? And could what he said about me not smoking, though he was smoking at a distance of no less than 5 feet, contain any more irony?

Today is laundry and rest day, no traveling, no tours, no nothing today. I need the rest. My sleep clock is so confused. Tomorrow I have a tour planned to San Antonio de los Cobres and Salinas Grandes, so I hope the weather holds up. Should be a nice trip, get away from all this smoke. Day after tomorrow, I'm going on a trip to Cafayate and to check out all the interesting geological attractions of the area. I hope to have some new pictures up soon, as soon as I can find a computer that is from this century. Literally.

I feel the need to include here a short description of what exactly are gauchos, since I've heard my dad make reference to them several times, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually know what they are. So here goes, according to A Rough Guide, referenced above: "The gaucho, a stereotyped figure roaming the endless pampas on his trusty steed, is Argentina's answer to the cowboy. Despised by both the rural landowning elite and the urban inteligentsia as barbaric and dangerous, gauchos lived outside of society's strictures, moving at will wherever they could find work. The gaucho was totally self-sufficient, highly skilled on horseback and devishly fast with a knife. Historians estimate that they probably numbered 80,000 at their peak in the 1870's. As large-scale immigration, urbanization, and technological progress sounded the death knell for the gaucho, the freedoms represented by the lifestyle came to embody a sense of what it was to be a true Argentine. These attributes--compulsive mate drinking, sharing an asado (barbecue) with friends around the fire, a defiantly macho attitude coupled with a proud independence--all went to form the basis of Argentinidad, or the Argentine identity."

I haven't actually seen a gaucho in person, so I did a search on the internet to find some pictures, and I post them here, two very distinct types of gauchos. Not so sure if the one in the blue shirt is a authentic gaucho...but the picture did come up under "gaucho pics"...I leave that up to you to decide.

Finally heading north through the desert

Today I did it again. I somehow managed to get on the wrong bus going somewhere I didn't want to go. Actually, it's not that I went somewhere that I didn't want to go, since the place I was trying to go wasn't any better than where I went and I didn't really have any reason for going there, it's just that I ended up somewhere I didn't plan on ending up. This time, unlike in Costa Rica, I actually bought the correct ticket, gave it to the driver who looked at the ticket and tore it, got on the bus, and AFTER I was out of the city of La Rioja and going north did I realize that I was not going south like I should have been. In the end it didn't matter...I just wanted to take an afternoon trip to somewhere near La Rioja before catching my bus later tonight to Salta. My original plan was to spend a few hours in the desert town of Patquia, but I ended up in the equally desolate town of Aimogasta, about 2 hours north of La Rioja. Actually, it did kind of matter, because I thought the bus ride would only take an hour or so, and thus I drank a 2 liter bottle of water very quickly before getting on the bus. About 1.5 hours into the bus ride, my bladder was filled to capacity and the bathroom on the bus was, um, out of service. So for the second time in my life I had to beg the bus driver to stop so that I could relieve myself on the side of the road (the first time was in Nicaragua on a very long bus trip). Fortunately, the scenery was quite stunning, reminding me a lot of Nevada and parts of Colorado (San Luis Valley near Great Sand Dunes National Monument) and Utah. The geology comprises valley and ridge structures, just like Nevada, and dry washes (arroyos), with cacti and scrub-brush everywhere. Aimogasta is famous for its Arauco variety of olive, giving it the prestige of being named the National Olive Capital!! Yes!!

I can't believe how dry it is around La Rioja; well, actually I can...it's due to the rainshadow effect of the Andes to the west, where all the moisture from the Pacific is dropped in the mountains and the dry air now devoid of moisture descends, leaving this area uber-dry.

Yesterday morning I arrived in La Rioja after a short 8-hour overnight bus ride from Mendoza. I arrived sometime around 7 A.M., walked around a bit looking for a hostal or something, and found a reasonably-priced hotel, Hotel Gran Embajadar. Not quite as grand as the name, though. La Rioja is the provincial capital located at the foot of the Velasco mountain range and on the edge of the vast plains that stretch south. It is one of the oldes cities in Argentina, founded in 1591 by Juan Ramirez de Velasco, a Spanish conquistador from the Spanish town of La Rioxa in Castilla la Vieja (hence the name of the "new" La Rioja in Argentina). According to several tour guides I have read, La Rioja possesses the oldest building in Argentina, la Iglesia de Santo Domingo, built in 1623 by Indians of the region.

I spent the afternoon yesterday in a very cool little town called Sanagasta, located about 30 minutes north of La Rioja. It's situated in a dry river valley near the Rio Huaco and La Salamanca and famous for it's olives and artesanal wines. The ambience is very spiritual, reminiscent of the US Southwest.

Tonight at 9:30 p.m. my bus leaves for Salta, Argentina.

On the road again in Argentina

Returning to Argentina from Chile yesterday felt like coming home. Kind of hard to explain...I guess it felt that way since I've been in Argentina for over a month now, and Chile just felt sort of foreign, even though it shares many similarities with Argentina. I had an amazing time in Santiago and Valparaiso; they are two beautiful cities with lots of charm and personality.

I left Mendoza, Argentina on the 19th of July for Santiago passing through the Andes on an 8 hours bus ride. The trip took me past several ski resorts between Mendoza and Santiago, such as Los Penitentes, located in a dry, high treeless desert. I passed through the towns of Cacheuta, Potrerillos, and Uspallata en Argentina, and Los Andes and Colina in Chile. I stayed 4 nights in Santiago at an amazing hostal, La Casa Roja, and enjoyed the best of Santiago's nightlife, finding some bars "escondidos" that open at 4 A.M. and close some time around 9 A.M. Needing some rest and a change of scene, I went to Valparaiso on the Chilean coast for about 5 days. Valparaiso is probably the most charming and colorful town that I've been to so far in my travels, and it just has so much personality. The views are amazing--it's located on a series of hillsides that slopes steeply seaward toward the bay, so the views are always panoramic and exciting. Throw in good food, thousands of murals and artful grafiti, hidden pathways that zigzag throughout the city, a UNESCO heritage area that includes old elevators to take you up the steep hillsides, and you find yourself in a cozy city that feels about a 1/10 its actual size.

After Valparaiso, I spent one night in Santiago, rode up to the top of the Parque Metropolitano on the Funicular to catch the end of the sunset, enjoyed some Thai food in beautiful Bella Vista, and then returned to Mendoza again through the Andes yesterday. Later tonight, I leave for La Rioja, a small town north of Mendoza in Argentina.

Enjoying Santiago

After several days in Mendoza, I decided to check out Santiago in Chile, since it is just a few hours in bus on the other side of the Andes. I left Mendoza on Thursday morning and arrived in Santiago late Thursday afternoon after passing through the Andes on a road with more switchbacks than I've ever seen. The road also passes by two ski resorts and a location used in the film "Seven Years in Tibet." Santiago is a very lively city with great night life and some very interesting locales. I feel somewhat guilty that I haven't gotten to know the city by day, since I've spent two days resting after experiencing Santiago's "escondido" late-nights bars and clubs. I plan on trekking around the city tomorrow, getting to know it a little bit better, and then head over to Valparaiso and Vina del Mar to see what the Chilean beaches and coast have to offer.

In Mendoza, Argentina....

I am still in Mendoza, Argentina at the moment, enjoying beautiful 50 degree weather and blue blue skies....

Yesterday I took a winery and vineyard tour with two others who are staying in my same hostal. The owner of the hostal, Ariel, took us in his van to 3 different wineries (or bodegas en español) for tours and winetasting, as well as a small chocolate and liqueur factory. I was even able to buy a small bottle of real absinthe (it's illegal here, but it's a very small distillery...).

I bought my bus ticket to Santiago this afternoon; I leave tomorrow morning at 9:45 and arrive sometime around 3 p.m.---I think it's about a 7 or 8 hour bus ride, depending on the weather and if the pass through the Andes is open. I plan to spend one or two days in Santiago, then check out Viña del Mar for a day or two.

Up to the moment, I thought I would include some of the "best-ofs" and highlights of my travels so far:

Best beer: Quilmes from Argentina

Cheepest beer: Panamanian beer ($0.35)

Nicest drivers in the world: La Colonia, Uruguay--they stop for you if you're even NEAR the road about to cross

Best night life: Buenos Aires

Best ferías: Buenos Aires

Best diving: Little Corn Island, Nicaragua

Best food: Little Corn Island, Nicaragua

Nicest bus: Andesmar, Buenos Aires to Mendoza

Best pizza: Buenos Aires

Best parrillada: Buenos Aires

Most attractive people: Buenos Aires

Clubs visited in BsAs: Museo, Asia de Cuba, Barhein (for drum n' bass), Acqua, Moliere, Gibraltar, Mitos Argentinos, Guevara, Libeer, among others

Soon to become a wine aficionado in Mendoza, Argentina

I have finally left Buenos Aires. I know, I thought I would never leave either...but I made it. I arrived in Mendoza this morning at 9 a.m. after an overnight bus ride in a posh (can you tell I've been hanging out with a few brits?) 2 story bus that left Buenos Aires at 8:20 p.m. It was a sad night in Buenos Aires, no, not because I left (sad for me, not for Buenos Aires), but because Argentina lost to Brasil 3-0 in the final of the Copa America. The city was in tears, the streets were deserted; it felt like what I would imagine the world will be like when WWIII is over and nuclear fallout has killed off the last of the human race.

The past week has been great, except that I've had a cold...lots to do, traveling a bit. Still have a bit of a cough, but at least I don't feel sick anymore.

I spent 3 days in Uruguay, in La Colonia 1 day and 1 night, and in Montevideo 2 days and 1 night. To get to La Colonia, I took Buquebus, this supernice high-speed ferry across the Rio Plata that makes the trip in about an hour. La Colonia, also known as La Colonia de Sacramento, was founded in 1680 by the Portuguese but was captured by the Spanish in 1762. From La Colonia, I took a bus 2.5 hours to Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay (if anyone can tell me where Montevideo is without looking at the map, then your receive extra credit). The return trip to Buenos Aires was the same...2.5 hours in bus, then Buquebus across the river back "home" to Buenos Aires. Uruguay was okay, but I found it kind of boring and uninteresting...the landscape was a lot like south Georgia, flat fields and pine trees. For me, returning to Buenos Aires was like getting back to my temporary home at the Hostal Nómade in San Telmo...some of my same friends were still there, and it just felt comfortable.

Now, another new city, new hostal, all new people...

Snowing in Buenos Aires

Today it started snowing in Buenos Aires. The last time it snowed here in the city was in 1918. The cold weather and late nights have caused me to get sick (notice that I place the blame on the weather and the late nights, not on my decision to stay out late every night...). I'm leaving tomorrow for Montevideo on an afternoon ferry, and I plan to stay there for about 3 days, followed by a day in Colonia on the Rio Plata. After that, my plan is to return to Buenos Aires to rest for a day or two, then take a 24 hour bus ride to Puerto Madryn on the southeastern coast of Argentina to see whales, seals, and sea lions. The timing and length of my trip depends on what the rapidly-changing weather does, so I can't say for sure where I will be and for how long.

Still in Buenos Aires

I am still in Buenos Aires, been here 10 days so far. I've gotten to know several parts of the city fairly well, and so far my favorite neighborhood is San Telmo. Last week I spent time in Boca and around Caminito, checked out the famous Boca Stadium, the neighborhood of Palermo and Palermo Viejo, El Congreso, la Casa Rosada, the famous obelisk, San Telmo, and then got kind of lost on the way to Quilmes, in the "Provincia" of Buenos Aires, where I stayed with a friend for a night for her brother's birthday. Since Saturday, I've been staying at a nice hostal in San Telmo, called Hostal Nómade, for $8 a night. The people that run the place are great, and the atmosphere is very chill. I'll probably stay here in Buenos Aires until Sunday or Monday, then head to Montevideo and Colonia in Uruguay, return to Buenos Aires, and then start my trip west and north. I saw on the news this morning that a cold front is rolling through starting tomorrow, temperatures around freezing and below freezing, so I may have to modify my plans a bit considering that it's snowing a lot in the Andes and I may not be able to make it through to Santiago in Chile.

Up till now

I've been on the road quite a bit the past few days and haven't had the time nor a decent enough internet connection to write about where I've been and what I've done during the past 10 days. Thus, I'm going to catch up on my recent adventures.

After leaving Quepos, Costa Rica, I spent two more days in San Jose. I met up with a Costa Rican friend in San Jose, Alejandro, that I worked with out in Vail, CO in 2001. He's a geologist that works in the Miravalles geothermal field in Guanacaste, Costa Rica. I also was able to meet up with a Nicaraguan friend who's living in San Jose and working in Heredia. We went out to San Pedro, though Curridabat, and Tres Rios outside San Jose for some drinks. It was nice to meet up with old friends after several days spent traveling alone. The hotel I stayed in in San Jose was pretty sketchy--$8/night, just a bed in a room. No fan, no TV, no A/C--just a bed in a room.

After my time in San Jose, I decided to visit Puerto Viejo on the Southern Caribbean coast of Costa Rica near the Panamanian border. The actual trip to Puerto Viejo turned out to be slightly more interesting that I had wanted, but sometimes even the most intelligent of us can make mistakes. In the bus station in San Jose, I bought a ticket to Puerto Viejo, thinking it was Puerto Viejo de Talamanca; however, it was a ticket to Puerto Viejo de Saripiquí. Anyways, Saripiquí was kind of on the way to the other Puerto Viejo, and by that I mean that both towns are both east of San Jose. I figured this out after I had already left San Jose on the bus when I asked the girl next to me where she was going, and she said Sarapiquí Centro. In that moment I realized I had bought a ticket on the wrong bus and was going northeast instead of southeast. Thankfully, I had no itinerary and can afford to make mistakes like that and decided to check out Puerto Viejo de Saripiquí. As soon as I stepped off the bus there I decided I didn't like the place and jumped on a bus to Guápiles, backtracking along a significant stretch of road for about 2 hours or so. Once in Guápiles, I took a bus to Puerto Limón because I couldn't make it all the way to Puerto Viejo in the same day. Thus, I stayed one night in Puerto Limón and left for Puerto Viejo the next morning. Puerto Limón was sketchy-feeling and I just got a bad vibe from the place, so I left as quickly as possible.

Once in Puerto Viejo, I checked into Hotel Puerto Viejo located in the center of town, checked on diving and other activities, and enjoyed the afternoon. I rented a bike and spent the afternoon on the beach in Cocles, Playa Chiquita, and Punta Uva, all beautiful beaches. At Cocles, the surf was so strong that I could only go out to about waist-deep; otherwise, the waves would have knocked my head off, literally. Puerto Viejo is a nice little town of about 3 blocks by 6 blocks on a small bay, laid back and very, very relaxed. They speak a mixture of creole English and Spanish, and the town has a definite Caribbean feel. Just outside of town there is a famous reef break called Salsa Brava, and late one afternoon after a half day of rain, I sat and watched some surfers and played with some random dogs. One dog in particular, Luna, a young black lab, was too energetic and instead of wanting to play with sticks apparently preferred human flesh. I was really enjoying the moment, sitting on a log, watched the waves and surfers, and here comes Luna and latches onto my forearm and starts playing tug-o-war. I mean, seriously playing tug-o-war, her teeth sinking into my arm. In order to avoid the nuisance, I had to stand up so she wouldn't attack my arm. Eventually, she went to play with some others close by, and I left to move up the beach to get away from her. You know, it's funny what events and activities leave an impression on you, especially when traveling alone and spending a lot of time alone--a dog biting my arm was the highlight of the afternoon. Haha.

I left for Bocas del Toro, Panama, on the 21st of June on the 10:30 A.M. bus from Puerto Viejo. I crossed the border at Sixaola, this time without any problems, and took a taxi from Guabito to Finca 60, where the lanchas (boats) leave for Bocas del Toro. On the way to the docks, I rode through hundreds of acres of Chiquita Banana plantations. I asked the driver about the operations, since he used to work for Chiquita, and he explained that Chiquita has about 7,000 hectares of banana farms in the Bocas area (which I believe is about 16,800 acres?? If I'm wrong, someone please correct me). Banana trees take about 8 months to mature, and once the racimo (the thing that the bananas grow on) begins to emerge from the tree, it takes 11 weeks until they are harvested. When the racimo emerges, they throw plastic bags over the bananas so insects don't damage them. In the Bocas province of Panama, Chiquita is the only banana company currently in existence. In Costa Rica, there are several banana companies--Chiquita, Del Monte, Dole, and others--that buy from banana farmers, creating an environment of competition. Chiquita has a monopoly in Bocas, so there is no competition between various banana companies. In Costa Rica, banana exports are second only to tourism as the highest grossing industry.

The boat ride to Bocas del Toro was awesome! We were flying through narrow jungle canal rivers lined by palm trees and mangroves in one moment, then through open water, then slowly creeping through dense water lettuce (I may have just invented that name), and finally exiting into the protected backwaters of one of the bays of Bocas del Toro. I met some random people on the boat ride, a few Canadians from Quebec City and NW Territory, Dutch, and Americans. I stayed 3 nights in Hostal Heiké in Bocas Town, located on Isla Colón, possibly the craziest and most fun hostal in the world. The people there were so great, the environment so friendly, and the island so nice--the perfect combination. I took a boat tour one day--went to Bay of Dolphins and saw tons of dolphins (hence the name...), drove (in the boat) through dense mangrove "swamps", snorkeled in 3 different places, and visited Cayo Zapatilla, an isolated and untouched island paradise on the far east of the Bocas archipelago. Zapatilla is surrounded by reef on one side, and I was able to do a bit of snorkeling there, as well on some isolated coral growth near Cayo Coral. To finish off the day, I went to Red Frog Beach on Isla Bastimento and then Bastimento Town, which has no roads, only narrow foot and bike paths.

The nightlife in Bocas is crazy--the town is full of cool bars and decent restaurants. One bar in particular, Barco Hundido, is very, very cool; in the center of the bar is a sunken ship (hence the name, barco hundido) surrounded by a dock where you can go swimming. On one side of the bar is a dance floor for dancing salsa, merengue, reggaeton, etc, and two docks to chill on. I went two nights in a row, and both nights ended up with about 10-15 people jumping in to go swimming. I didn't, however. Several of those people who went swimming also ended up with various cuts and scrapes from hitting the shipwreck. Smart.

After traveling a bit in Central America, I've realized how small the isthmus really is (or at least the most-heavily trafficked parts by traveling backpackers). I randomly ran into 2 Irish friends and a Spanish friend in Bocas that I had met and hung out with on Little Corn Island. It really is a small world.

In all, I spent almost 4 days in Bocas, then traveled to Panama City, first by boat from Bocas to Almirante and then almost 10 hours in bus from Almirante to Panama City. I splurged on a $20 hotel in Panama since I needed the rest and wanted to watch TV and have A/C. After a night and half a day in Panama City, I took a $15 shuttle to Tocumen Intl. Airport and flew out at 6 P.M. to Buenos Aires, arriving at roughly 6 A.M. And here I am now.

I hope to post some recent pictures soon now that I have a fast enough connection. Check back soon, ya hear...

Without a Jacket in Buenos Aires

Well, after a 10 hour bus ride from Bocas del Toro to Panama City, then an overnight flight to Buenos Aires, I am finally here. And it's quite cold. The temperature when I arrived this morning was somewhere aroung 5 degrees C (not exactly sure what that is in Fahrenheit...). I checked into a hotel this morning around 8 A.M. after getting slightly ripped off by the taxi driver, but considering it's really the first time that I've been ripped off in Latin America in 3.5 years, I guess I had it coming. I got overcharged on the taxi ride from the airport by about $20 US. Yeah, it sounds like a lot, but the cab ride was a long way and there were 3 tolls to pass through. I swear the cab meter was a toy that just threw up a price when I arrived at my destination, but I had to pay what was on the meter, which was 216 Argentinian pesos. I don't know, I'm going to ask my friend about it. Maybe it was legit. But I doubt it.

At the moment I have no plans. Over the next few days, after I meet up with my friend, I'm going to figure my route of destruction through the country. I imagine I'll head up to Uruguay in a few days, since it's a short trip from here, then explore the southern part of Argentina, weather permitting. After that, who knows. I just found a travel guide for South America in my hotel and "borrowed" it for the time being...

On a side note, I realized yesterday that prostitution is legal in Costa Rica and Panama. Well, that clears up any confusion I had about the issue before. I guess there is an explanation for everything.

In Panama City, Panama

Hello all. I am in Panama City at the moment since my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon for Buenos Aires, Argentina. I arrived this afternoon after an 8 hour bus ride from Almirante, a small port town on the Northwestern Caribbean coast of Panama, after taking the 6:30 A.M. water taxi from Bocas Town, on Isla Colon, in Bocas del Toro.

I don't have time to write at the moment because I'm using a computer in the hotel where I'm staying, so hopefully tomorrow I can update this blog with what I've done and learned over the past week.

So check back in a day or two, and hopefully I'll have some pictures and stories.

Prostitution and me

Warning: This is an R-rated blog. Small children, conservatives, and my family should be advised of the content before continuing. I am writing honestly about my experiences and feel that this is an important anecdote to include. Those who have visited Costa Rica may not be surprised.

Costa Rica is a stunningly beautiful country. However, it is plagued by a dark underbelly that one seldom hears about in travel guides, on television or anywhere for that matter. On Tuesday night I experienced first hand the phenomenon that is sex tourism...well, I sort of happened into it by accident. No, don't worry, I didn't seek out nor participate in this form of diversion that thousands of over-the-hill tank-top-wearing American men come to Costa Rica for every year, I simply walked into the most notorious brothel in Central America, Hotel del Rey and Blue Marlin Bar in San Jose, completely unaware of what was going on. I don't consider myself a naive person, at least not after having spent several years in Nicaragua and experienced what I have, but still, ¿How did I not know that I was walking into THE most notorious brothel in Costa Rica?

So here's how it went down. I stayed Tuesday night in this place Hotel Washington in downtown San Jose, a run-down $8/night hotel that I happened across while wandering around the city. While there, I randomly met two Nicaraguans who were in San Jose for business; they worked for a company that sells those huge conveyor belts that gravel and cement plants use to move rocks and stuff around with. They suggested that we go out for a few drinks at a neaby bar. Ok, cool. As we were walking back to Hotel Washington, we see tons of the most incredibly beautifully women that I have ever seen walking in and out of this random hotel bar. The warning light should have gone off at that point. However, the hotel looks like a normal Hilton or Marriott--and it is, technically. The only difference is that the hotel bar, the Blue Marlin, is infamous for being a prostitute-filled (and consecuently, silicone-filled) bar where dirty American men go on "vacation" to meet prostitutes.

Now, I found the environment so interesting that I had to stay all night there, until about 5:30 A.M., talking with whoever would talk to me. My two Nicaraguan friends left early since they had business matters to attend to the next day. But I stuck around, fascinated not only by the women, but by the entire scene. There were women from Colombia, Nicaragua, Panama, the Dominican Republic--from all the over world--I'm still in awe at the sheer number of them in one place. The only catch is that they're all prostitutes. Literally. They charge $100/hour, $300/night for whatever one desires. I ended up talking to I don't even remember how many women, but I do remember a few interesting conversations that I had. One woman , I think she was Colombian, tried to convince me to take her home (actually, many of them tried, but I was having none of their prostitute convincing). Since she said that she would do anything for $100, I asked her if she liked to play cards. No. Did she want to play dominos? She didn't know how. Monopoly? Nope. I asked her, "But I thought you said anything." Maybe she wasn't interested because she thought that nobody can finish a game of Monopoly in an hour. That game takes forever to finish. I also tried to convince several of them that they should pay ME $100. That didn't go over well. They actually took offense at what I said, since this is their job and their livelihood, what they do everynight, and for them it's serious business. I left that place alone, in the morning, after the sun had already risen, and there were still more than 30 women just sitting around, drinking, most of them half-asleep or ready to pass out.

Another interesting conversation that I had that night was with a Costa Rican man who owned a bar in San Jose. How the conversation started I'm not exactly sure. Since I speak Spanish very well, I think the conversation started like most of my conversations with "You're American? But you speak Spanish very well." Has being linguistically-ignorant now become synonymous with being American, or vice-versa? Actually, I think the answere is yes. Well, I imagine that the Americans that travel to other countries to buy sex probably aren't multilingual and culturally sensitive, so the image that many people have is of the ignorant American. And that image is doubly reinforced here in Costa Rica because most of the Americans here are "ugly" Americans--loud, arrogant, ignorant and disrespectful of anything non-American. My conversation with this Tico bar owner traversed many intellectual, metaphysical, political and religious landscapes, including but not limited to, our definitions of karma and predetermination, whether humans are reincarnated, the existence of God, the definition of "gnosis" and agnosticm, the genius of Mozart and Beethoven (where that came from I don't know), the perception of reality and existence, and charity/altruism vs. egoism/selfishness and the pursuit of one's own happiness as life's ultimate goal. Were I to have this conversation in any other place, I would probably still find it extremely random and somewhat weird. But the fact that it was in a bar with more than 60 prostitutes and old men looking for action and temporary fulfillment, the irony alone was enough to amuse me for a good 2 hours. It was such a surreal experience, but so great as well. It was just one of those experiences that can teach you so much about yourself and life and people. How can you be in a place so full of what many in this world consider one of the lowest forms of traditionally-defined moral degeneration and have a conversation about altruism, the existence of God and Jesus, and reincarnation?

After my night spent with prostitutes (hahaha, but just talking...), I left San Jose Wednesday morning for Quepos, which is where I am until tomorrow when I return to San Jose. Quepos is a heavily-transited town on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica, mostly just a stop-over point for tourists going to Manuel Antonio, a small town with an associated National Park of the same name. I have stayed the past two nights in a hotel for $10/night, which includes private bath and cable TV--better than what I was paying for in San Jose. However, Quepos is ugly and has nothing to do during the day. So, like most tourists, I have spent the past two days on the beach at Manuel Antonio. Manuel Antonio is kind of like San Juan del Sur in Nicaragua, but San Juan del Sur is a town with character and personality, less Americans, and bit more like a real town. However, Mnl. Antonio has amazing waves, nice beaches and beautiful tropical rainforest that reach all the way to the shore.

Quepos, just like San Jose, has its share of prostitution and drugs. I feel like the only people that talk with me are prostitutes and drug dealers. Maybe it's because they're the people that are most likely to approach random tourists without hesitation. Last night I went out to a bar around the corner from my hotel, and there were about 8 women just hanging out together, in small groups, some talking with men, others just sitting bored--and yes, they were all prostitutes. Since there was nobody else to talk to in the bar, I talked with them for a while, asking about their lives, their stories, how they ended up Quepos, of all places. One girl, Caroline, a 22-year-old Colombian, said that she came here to start a new life. However, business is slow this time of year around here, so she's heading back to San Jose on Saturday. One girl was Nicaraguan, one Tica, and the others I don't know about.

However, one common trend I've noticed about all the prostitutes that I've met is that they all have at least one child, if not more, and are unmarried. No major surprise there. But the fact that that 90% of the prostitutes I have encountered all have multiple children and are in their mid to late 20's brings up some interesting sociological questions. If there's any person in the world who would know about birth control and sex, it's a prostitute, right? But why do they have multiple children to support if they work in a profession that should know more how to prevent unwanted pregnancies than any other? How early did they start their active sex lives, what level of information did they have at that time, and what caused them to begin a life as a prostitute? If anyone is interested in sociology, maybe you could look into this phenomenon. Later that night, I saw them at the disco, still not having found any clients in almost 5 hours. I left the disco early, so I don't know if they found work last night. If I decide to go out tonight, I'll most likely see them in the same place doing the same thing.

Changing the subject, my past two weeks at different beaches in Nicaragua and Costa Rica have allowed me to acquire a tan that I will take proudly to Argentina in a few days. I am looking forward to experiencing a winter and different scene that that of Central America.

Check back soon for more updates, anecdotes, and general information on prostitution and the Costa Rican sex tourism "industry".