Part 4: Getting Way Too High in Bolivia

My expectations and thoughts about the altitude in Bolivia were seriously represented an enormous lack of oversight and equivocations. For example, "Quito is in the Andes, Quito is high up, I've been in Quito and been okay, therefore I will be just fine in Bolivia." Another example, "I'm in great physical shape, I'll be fine in Bolivia, no problem." The truth is, I really had no idea what altitude was before visiting Bolivia, the country famous for the world's highest everything. I made the half-joke to Daniela that, while we were in Bolivia, everything that we were seeing was the world's highest everything. The list goes something similar to as follows: world's highest navigable lake, world's highest city, highest mine, highest salt flat, highest coke machine, highest sandwich, highest bus and bus station, highest Simpsons watching on TV, highest shower, etc. etc. The point is, no matter how great of shape you're in, little can prepare you for roaming around a country that is, on average, about 2.5 miles up in most places.

Bolivia is, in many aspects, a beautiful country, full of wonderful people, but it is also a very sad and depressing country, full of debilitating poverty, crumbling infrastructure, and very bad food. During our entire trip, few people have been as nice to us as the Bolivians, but the country itself, one of the poorest in South America, has suffered from years of economic setbacks, exploitation, dictatorships, and so on. One big factor in Bolivia's economic woes is the fact that it is landlocked; other than through Brazil or Chile, they have no port access to either the Atlantic nor Pacific. Bolivia is rich in minerals, mainly tin, but tin really isn't that valuable nowadays, is it? The saddest thing I've seen in these travels yet were the entrances to the mines of Potosí, the once silver mine that fomented the entire Spanish economy for years until the withdrew every single drop of silver from it. Nowadays, laborers, some children, work the horrible condition of these mines, excavating tin, and often die rather quickly, from silicosis (most die around the age of 40). Traveling through Bolivia was, at least for us, exciting and awing, but it was also a heart-breaking experience.

The world's highest landscapes we witnessed were breathtaking. Our first stop was Lake Titicaca; aforementioned, one of the highest navigable bodies of water. Our hotel, owned and ran by a German fellow, was very nice and inviting, plus it had an amazing view of the lake.

The small town of Copacabana itself didn't have much to offer in the way of tourism. The village is overwhelmed by eateries with persistent waiters trying to get you to eat their variety of "international fare," which is basically really bad pizza. A little away from the shoreline and the tourist hot-spots, we came across one of the most interesting chapels I have seen in my life. It's called the Chapel of Candles, you can see why. Dozens of locals from Copacabana come here to light their handfuls of candles in prayer to their family members and loved ones. It was a very calming place to be; no one said a word, they just hovered around the emanating glow and warmth of hundreds of candles, sending up soot to the subjects of their prayers. Other devout candle dedicators found it more adequate to leave a tribute, not in the form of a pile of wax from a used up candle, but by wax graffiti on the walls of the chapel. This is certainly one of the more inventive forms of graffiti I've seen, and it sure beats the ugliness of that most "spray-paint Picassos" leave in public places. 

From Copacabana, we were able to make a day excursion to Isla del Sol, "Island of the Sun," which is said to be the Island where the Inca, the sun and the moon were created/born. "Island of the Sun," could not have been and more ironic name for the circumstances in which we visited the site, it was cold and rainy during the entire experience, and we were soaked to the bone. Needless to say, Dani was less than thrilled and took few pictures. As a result, you'll have to forgive the quality of the following images, as I took them myself. 

This is supposedly the first ever Inca site. 

This is the "creation rock," which they said has a lot of power and positive energy; I just felt a cold wet rock. 

After we passed a couple of days in Copacabana, being thoroughly soaked on Isla del Sol, gagged by the fumes of the slowest ferry/motor boat I've ever been on and witnessing the famous "floating islands," which turned out just to be docks with grass spread out over their surface, we were off to La Paz, but no before me experiencing a minor attack of altitude sickness the night before. I guess I overdid it a little during the Isla del Sol excursion, because that night I had the rather scary experience of feeling on the verge of a blackout and being entirely unable to breath properly or take in the sufficient amount of oxygen my body needed. From the stories others told me of their encounters with altitude sickness, my situation was nothing. Nonetheless, I felt thoroughly terrified at the idea that the best solution for my ailments was to go to a lower altitude when I was surrounded by the entirety of the Bolivian Andes and the worlds highest everything! 

The next day, after a night of sleeplessness, a big dose of sugar, coca leaves and tea, pills for altitude and taking in the aromatic effects of a strange herb that I don't recall the name of, we were busing off to La Paz (only slightly worse for the wear). We passed a few days in La Paz, mainly to recover from the altitude and relax a bit. La Paz has to be one of the saddest cities I've seen; you can tell that it was once a very beautiful place, but, at present, it has a dirty gloom about it. I was walked through the "market" area, the petrified lama and alpaca corpses and fetuses certainly didn't help me feel any better about the ambiance of La Paz. Fortunately, our hotel was very nice and rather inexpensive, so we spent most of the time in our room, admiring the mural on the wall. 

From La Paz, we headed south, to the real reason we were in Bolivia in the first place, the Uyuni Salt Flats. Yet again, I´m talking about a site that is so much better described through images. Can you imagine an endless desert covered with table salt and then filled with about two inches of water? Don't worry, in case your imagination is not that great (or perhaps my descriptive language leaves a bit to be desired), here are some amazing photos of this incredible place.

Train graveyard. May have just as well been our train to Argentina, as we had received the really bad news that there were no trains running to the south due to landslides washing the tracks out.  

The classic and oh so necessary airborne shot!

Structures made of salt blocks.

The mirror. Which is the ground and which is the sky?

The day before heading out to the natural miracle that is the salt flat, we had the depressive cloud of no train and the idea of the being trapped in Bolivia, but, once we rolled onto these landscapes in a Toyota Landcruiser, we forgot all else. This is about as close to heaven as you can feel while still standing on the ground; at some moment you forget that your feet are firmly planted and feel almost as if your stuck in the sky.

Once we returned to reality, it started raining again, and we were headed back to the miserable little town that borders the salt flats, Uyuni. The town of Uyuni is not much to speak of at all; all I really have to say about it is the world's worst pizza or pesto pasta made with Ramen (that's all the restaurants seemed to offer, the desolation of the wild west, and no train to Argentina.

Since there is not a paved highway to Argentina, direct from Uyuni, and we really didn't want to have the harrowing experience of weaving across the Andes, on the edge of cliffs and over flooded out bridges on mud roads, we opted to travel up to Potosí and back down, via the newly paved/created highway (brought to you by Evo Morales and his government). While the was a much safer option, it also meant that we spent eight hours in Potosí, an extremely high city at 4,000 meters, trying to catch our breath and not move much. Fortunately, Potosí has a new, and rather comfortable, bus terminal (all indoors), which made the wait much better.

Once we boarded the bus, we were off on an eight hour ride to the Argentine border. The bus ride, as we descended from 4,000 to 2,000 meters at the border, was yet another freezing mountain experience. The ride was topped off with a two hour wait at the end, colder still, as we slept off the last few hours of the morning stopped at the border, waiting for Argentina to open. We really didn't spend much time in Bolivia, but there were times when it felt like we would never get out. Needless to say, it was more than relieving to cross the border.

Traveler that walks on Argentine ground, welcome.