drewd The Adventures of Carlos d'Avis

I wrote the following in my journal on April 1st, 2010, while flying from Santa Cruz, Bolivia to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I offer no other commentary, well, here: I think it's neat.

How wondrous to watch the shadow of one's own airplane slip across the fields and homes below. How can I guess what effect has this darkening? Were it slow enough, would a dog chase it, staying always in this cool patch I cast down from above and arriving finally and inadvertently in my same destination?

A glass Coke bottle from above: the gods must be crazy. A metal tube thrown by faith and ultimately magic into the sky, to cast its shadow out over the land and lost in the clouds: the passengers must be crazy.

And crazy we are not to rejoice and exult: we are strung up in the heavens, delicately balanced by the shape of a wing and the thrust of an engine. I am but a feeble man but set my wallet to vibrating and the gods of the sky accept me as their own. I fly.

I fly to Buenos Aires, to Argentina and away from Bolivia. Would that I could make this journey within the warm savory crust and stew of a salteña. A final goodbye to this fair and complex land.

But my airplane invokes the magic of metal and light and wind, not of whimsy and spice. Truly, I am an airborne god but surely they will serve me only a middling sandwich. Better they should light a grill in the mess and char a red bloody Argentinian cut. Bring me a glass of Malbec, steward, and some llaqwa for my steak.

In the face of everyday wonder, how impossible becomes the everyday. Yes, we will glide over the spine of this continent, but no, we cannot offer passable fare. I should calm my stomach and mind, awaiting whatever culinary offerings that come.

Forgive me and understand only that I tire in this station as a god and that already I feel the ache of absence of Bolivian soup and meat and rice and potatoes and llaqwa. I tire, indeed, every day in contemplation of and immersion in a decidedly unordinary life.

I never wanted to be a god. I never dreamed of this but instead a warm home, a place that smelled like forever, and a dog to follow my shadow and a partner in whose arms I could soar to the heavens and return to earth every day, every moment.

Better I should be a man eating soup at home than a god lost upon every wind and shore. Homeward, wherever that may be, but not quite yet.

I love llamas, and we saw hundreds. If they were not so obviously filthy, I would have hugged every single fluffy adorable beast.

Flamingos are rad, but they're not quite llama-level.

Here is a gorgeous photograph of Robin.

I am a bandit.

Trina is triumphant.

And that's a buttshot.

Have I mentioned that llamas are fluffy and adorable?

Vicuñas are so fluffy and delicate that they are protected by the Bolivian government and only run wild.

We saw the incredibly red and totally huge Laguna Colorada.

And were treated to a crazy wind storm thingy above the lagoon.

We frolicked in hot springs at sunrise.

And marveled at the frozen blue lagoon.

And that was Uyuni: you know, no big deal, just the best ever.

Please see Panel #5.

I am so happy to have a firm plan for what I'll be doing upon my return to Seattle.

Following our time on La Isla del Sol, Trina and I returned to La Paz for one night then headed south on an overnight bus to Uyuni. This little mining town is in the southwest, in the department of Potosí and near the border with Chile. Tourists arrive in Uyuni as a jumping off point to the tours of the salt flats (salar), lagoons, mountains and deserts of the region.

We set off on a three-day tour with Cordillera Travel. We were comfortably packed into a Landcruiser with Brenden and Allison, from Australia; Tony, from England; and Robin, from the Netherlands and with whom we had shared a ferry from La Isla del Sol to Copacabana. Our driver was Jhonny, younger than all save Robin, married with two kids, and totally great.

I'm just going to say, and then get to the photos, that Uyuni is the shit.

The train cemetery just out of town is filled with the evidence of a once booming international mining operation.

Jhonny checked on our LandCruiser frequently—the trucks took quite a beating driving through all that salt and sand and such.

Allison applied a (thankfully temporary) shrink ray to Trina and Robin. I always knew Australians were deviants.

And then they all got in a Pringles tube.

Trina and I did a bunch of jumping.

The Salar has an "island" of rocks and ancient cactus, some of them thousands of years old.

You see, it's this ginormous, um, gargantuan, um, LIMITLESS plain made of SALT. Apparently they could keep mining the salar for another million years, at present rates, and they still wouldn't use all the salt. (I might be misremembering this statistic, maybe.) Wikipedia tells us that Salar de Uyuni is the largest salt flat in the world at 4086 square miles, was formed by the transformation of a few lakes 30,000 years ago, and contains 50 – 70% of the world's lithium reserves. Really, other than it being huge, who cares? You just need to go there and see it. It's incredible.

And this was just the first day! I haven't even started telling you about the salt hotels or llamas or rocks or lagoons or flamingos or vicuñas. Wow. More to come! For now, I give you the A Team.

No trip to Bolivia would be complete without a visit to that lake so elevated, so wonderfully named: Titicaca. The name refers neither to anatomy nor excrement but rather means "Rock Puma," referring to its similarity in shape to a puma chasing a rabbit. The lake surface is at 12,500 feet. How big is Lake Titicaca? I don't know: it's friggin' huge.

Trina and I took an easy bus ride from La Paz to Copacabana, the primary city on the Bolivian side of the lake. The best bit of the ride is crossing a little strait at Ancoamaya. We got on one boat; the bus got on another.

Trina and I lunched in Copacabana—the trout there is amazing—but then immediately embarked for La Isla del Sol, the birthplace of Manco Capac, the first Inca. The island is quite rustic—it has electricity, but just barely, and certainly no internet. For three days, I did no work, tweeted not twits, checked no email. Shocking I know. Turns out the island is totally worth it.

We stayed at a lovely little hotel called Inti Kala, on the Peru-facing (western) side of the island. I loved it there—their bread was delicious—but the shower still electrocuted us when we requested hot water. All the same, we did our best to relax, despite requiring as well some hiking about old Incan mazes and ruins and rocks.

The island was surprisingly fertile—some of the best agriculture of Bolivia is produced on the old Incan terraced fields. At times, I felt I was in California with the eucalyptus trees or in the Mediterranean on an rocky cliff-side path with the blue water below. And the island was full of llamas, mules and drowsing pigs. I loved it!

Trina did her best impressions of the Great Cornholio.

I jumped in the lake, naturally.

We lived the dream: taste that Paceña. So good!

I will offer presently, and so so late, some recollections of my time with Trina in Bolivia. I must commit all I have done ever to this blog, carved into the perfectly permanent stone of the INTERNET!

I departed from Sucre on March 12th, to reunite with Trina in La Paz. I found her waiting (read: napping) in our hotel room. All hugs and smiles upon this union of friends from home, we turned quickly to an important pursuit: catching Trina up on the new LOST episodes since she had been traveling. My thanks, again, to Sarah for the LOST season pass on iTunes—I would not be maintaining sanity without it. Indeed, interspersing adventures and exploration with LOST became a bit of a theme of my two weeks with Trina.

Trina and I explored La Paz on foot, heading through the market neighborhoods and around downtown. La Paz is huge and just so full of people. I never felt particularly unsafe but I was rarely relaxed, at least during the busy hours of the day. I believe I am inheriting my, ahem, father's dislike of people walking very close to him. Moving on!

We marveled at the amazingly dressed cholitas and the wide array of goods for sale all over. I always particularly enjoyed the action figures arrayed on blankets on the sidewalk—this presentation somehow lends them more value.

We visited churches and squares. I introduced Trina to salteñas. Generally, we were not incredibly successful, I would say, in our dining in La Paz. Some of the restaurants recommended by guidebooks (or my mother) simply did not exist anymore. Furthermore, the area in which we stayed was a little tourist center, full of the same shop over and over again selling ponchos and blankets and place mats. I missed the Bolivian cuisine of Sucre and Cochabamba and regretted my inability to share it with Trina in La Paz.

Regardless, I enjoyed La Paz. I did not necessarily view it with the same wonder I held as an eight-year-old but the city was a wholly unique and unquestionably significant part of Bolivia, and my experience of the nation.

Trina and I spent one day venturing out with a tour group to Tiawanaku, the ruins of the center of a pre-Columbian, pre-Incan culture. This people maintained a nation stretching over Lake Titicaca, western Bolivia, and the coasts of Chile and Peru for some five hundred years. They were concerned greatly with astronomy and Tiawanaku was arranged in conjunction with the passage of the sun and constellations.

As previously mentioned, Trina and I spent another day in La Paz riding bikes down the World's Most Dangerous Road. I took no photographs during this tour—I was too concerned with not dying—and I have not yet posted the (low-quality) photographs provided by Gravity Bolivia. Here, all the same, are my notes on this day:

1. Gravity Bolivia is the shit, and by that I mean that they know what they're doing far better than the other tour companies. I cannot recommend them highly enough.
2. This ride is amazing, and I never felt particularly in danger. I tore down those 10,000 feet of elevation loss and it was AWESOME. If you are in Bolivia and enjoy fun and excitement, you have to do this ride.
3. You read me correctly: we started at 14,400 feet and descended to approximately 3700 feet, from cold high mountains into warm humid jungle. Bolivia is an incredible land.
4. Trina wrote a wonderful post describing the ride in more detail. I suggest you read her story of the World's Most Dangerous Road.

I am so thankful for this opportunity to adventure with Trina and I have much more to recount. She likes, I like fun, and we both speak English and Spanish. You understand, I hope, why this worked out well?

Up next, Titicaca!

In certain moments, gloomy moments, when I question this trip and lament this chosen solitude, I find peace in a Camera Obscura song and the words once written: Leaving Seattle and Looking South, from October 26th, 2009. The song is still haunting and the words are still heartening. I made the correct decision: this adventure is true and good.

What good use, this blog! And what good opportunity, now, to delight you with a more upbeat Camera Obscura offering!

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

I think I will go home on June 12th. Thirty-seven days? That'll work. Triumphant return!