La Paz

An oasis for some, an unfortunately neccesary stop-over for others, La Paz is a city of clashes and contradictions that combined with a potential case of altitude sickness leaves the traveler confused and exhausted. Between the highs ( the mountain of Huayana Potosi peaks at 6024 meters) and the ´highs´of the 24-hour Cocaine dens, there lies a wide realm of the eccentric and curious.

A sign warning what product will be confinscated at random drug search...OR, the recipe for some great Bolivian Yay...

Walk down the ´Witches Market´and you will see dead Llama fetuses, used as a good luck charm when buried under one´s house, or coca-leaf reading fortune-tellers. Coming across Plaza San Pedro, one could never guess this pristine centrally-located square neighbors a major prison. For those who haven´t read ´Marching Powder¨, San Pedro prison is quite unique in its nature- It is so corrupt that some prisoners own ápartments´within the prison, stocked with all the amenities of a modern household, while others freeze to death without a cell. There are restaurants, pool-halls, and the best Cocaine labs in the country. Even more, the children of prisoners are allowed to live within the prison walls, leaving through the front gate every day for school...

Back home from school...

For the ´Gringo´trail, La Paz represents a point of leisure. Given the cheap prices, ready availability of supplies natural to a major city, and an entire network deticated to gringos, some find themselves stretching a week stay to several months. For Israelis, La Paz is a chance to buy gifts cheap, and send packages back home. There are several hostels geared towards Israeli travelers as well as a nice selection of places for hummus, falafel, and anything else the mochilero potentially misses. I had proper turkish coffee for the first time in almost half a year, accompanied by a Bolivian attempt at Knafeh...at least they tried.

A semi-regualr sight by the Presidential palace...



Personally, La Paz represented the highway to Gringo-sterility. I seriously believe that some of the travelers who have spent over a month in this City alone haven´t actually ventured from the secure walls of the Irish-themed party hostels. Surely it is their prerogative, but i would ventire to say that if somehow miraculously the ´Gringo hostels´were to be transplanted onto another country...say Uganda for example..I´m not sure the guests would notice, at least for the first week. They will still eat, drink, sleep, party, etc. in the same complex. Sure, the currency would be different, but to many of the travelers here in La Paz its little more than monopoly money...The language would naturally be a bit different as well, but that shouldn´t bother the majority too much, seeing as they haven´t bothered to grasp Spanish either. This is quite a generalization, and I clearly do not mean this about everyone. But you know how much fun stereotyping is, right?

Midway through the World´s most dangerous road

Those scrapes there on the helmet, yea...I made those.

On a completely different note. Dawn today represents the Winter Solstice, a day of magnificient importance for the Aymara people in Bolivia. Last night We were fortunate to share in the celebrations all night in the ruins of Tiwanaku, about an hour out of La Paz. All-night concerts, dancing and drinking was then followed by a ceremony of ´sun-receiving´. Traditionally, the Aymara would receive the new sun at dawn, arms lanced forward, in order to receive its rays during the frigid morning, and hopefully receive good fortune for the coming years. The night was spent dnacing with others in large circles, communal sharing of drinks (including heated wine, and te con te, which is coca tea and Potable- %96 alcohol), jumping over camp-fires, and keeping warm in -5 degree weather.

The cultural gap, bridged by alcohol...

Jumping that burning ring of fire

The ceremony consisted of raising the Bolivian flag over the ruins of the great temple in Tiwanaku as the sun began to shine. Our view was somewhat limited, yet unfortunately a last-minute plunge into the line of diplomats entering the premises bore new fruit. Apparently I don´t look official enough...The festival was incredible, especially since it was a first real interaction with the local population since i´ve arrived in La Paz.

Receiving the Sun...

With a little help from the sun, the roadblocks leading to Cuzco will disappear by tomorrow and I will be able to make it to the Inca Sun Festival, Intiraymi, set to take place during the night of the 23rd.

Who said Bolivians don´t like israelis?

Last, and assuredly least, I´ve been constantly baggered by fans to upload more photos with my mug in them. Here´s one from back at the camp. More to come...Happy now, Mom and Dad?

My girls and I (three pumas, that is...)

Apologies for the lack of communication. I have been living in the Bolivian jungle for the last month, taking care of Three pumas...don´t worry, i´ll give you some time to digest that...No, I haven´t tried any of the hallucinagetic roots...ok, here goes.

The name of the Organization is Inti Warra Yassi, founded about 15 years ago by a man who wanted to combine his love for ecology with his concern for Bolivia´s impoverished youth. Over the years, he was able to fund and create parks spanning hectares upon hectares of now-protected primery forest lands, and brought various animals who had been mistreated by circuses, private homes and bars, in order to provide for them the best home possible. There is zero Government funding, and thus all costs and expenditures are derived from ´Gringo´volunteers (like me) who come to donate their time and money for this amazing cause. I arrived at Ambue Ari park, and was fortunate enough to join a team taking care of three amazing sister pumas named:

Inti (Sun in Quechua)

Warra (Star in Aymara)

Yassi (Moon in Guarani)

Needles to say these beautiful cats have become the mascots of the organization. The last month was spent with an ever-changing assortment of volunteers from around the world (Australia, Israel, USA, Chile, Slovenia, to name a few) who share the common denominator of an amazing personality and a love for the wildlife at the park. Amenities at the park are less than comfortable, but nothing to cry about. The Cold Showers are fantastically luxurious after a day of running with the cats. In addition, there are 5-6 Bolivian teens living and volunteering in the park as well, providing for a continuous exchange of culture and language.

The Volunteers putting on a play about the environment at the local school for Mother´s Day.

The daily schedule is as follows:

6:30 am wake-up: About %60-70 find this extremely hard due to cheap rum hangover (will explain later)

7:30 am: Breakfast after weekly and daily chores (general upkeep of park, feeding of house animals such as monkeys, tapirs, and parrots)

Its not always Shakshuka for breakfast, only when Israelis are the majority...

9:30 am: off to morning shift with cats. This part is different for every volunteer. With las chicas (the three pumas) this shift generally consists of giving a little love and taking them out for a walk. A walk can mean running the entire trail, swimming, and just lazying about and taking a nap with them.

Yassi and Inti are ready to get out of the Cage...

1:00 PM: Lunch

2:30 PM: Afternoon shift. Another walk if their still energetic. We then feed them (about 1.5 kilos for Warra and Yassi, 1 for Inti as she is on a diet) Clean up the cage a bit and hang with the girls.

The only place in the world where the animals eat better than the humans

6:15 PM: Dinner after washing up (not required)

Beats a cold shower any day!

7:00 PM: ride to nearest ¨town¨Santa Maria, which is made up of several thatched roof huts with generators and outhouses. ¨civilization¨is genrally good for cold drinks and lots of rum (12 bolivians a bottle) Pictures are provided for a better understanding of the life...you´ll get it.

All-girls boat race. Life is GOOD in the jungle...

to conclude: my experience at Ambue Ari Park cannot be done justice with words. I built relationships with three puimas to the point of recognition of their personalities and wants. I also built relationships with the volunteers at the park, ones I truly hope will develop into life-long friendships. Memories of running through the jungle as well as around the bars will definitely remain in my mind, (as well as on my hard-drive). I remain indebted to Inti, Warra and Yassi, and hope that the future volunteers will give them the love they deserve. As for now, I must get my mind back into travel mode. I have an 18 hour bus-ride to La Paz tonight, and the Sun Festival in Cuzco is coming up soon.

Yassi checking out the new Mezuzah on her door...One day she´ll marry nice doctor and settle in the Upper East Side...

´Lazy Cat´ the Ocelot

Warra hanging on a post-meal break

Rupi, the sweetest 120 kilo Jaguar this side of the Mississippi

Morocha the sapider Monkey, Princess of Ambue Ari

i know what you´re thinking. No, i couldn´t get them to do the deaf, dumb, blind pose...

cheers!

Oh yea,

http://abcnews.go.com/Video/playerIndex?id=7820383

Ignore the false, sensationalist bullshit. Enjoy the animals and the Warriors´shirt!

Sucre and the Bolivian Lifestyle

Following the shock and awe that is Potosi, a 3 hour cab-ride brought us over to Sucre (Cabs are only a bit more expensive than the bus). Boasting 146,000 residents and a the title of a U.N. world heritage site, Sucre is a real treat for any aesthete. The city boasts massive colonial buildings drenched in white, accompanied by wide plazas and parks. As I entered the city, advertisements for 2 cultural festivals were displayed throughout the city center, as tourists gathered in the main plaza for live folklore music. Any traveler´s dream, right? well, not exactly. The cultural aspects of the city are certainly a treat, but anyone truly seeking to explore the Bolivian way of life would be be lost in this Oz. And so, we decided to trek through the country-side. Before I move forward, i must once again stress the difference between the Average tourist in South America- i´ll stereotype them as being Blonde, European, and all too willing to shell out for outlandish prices, and the Israeli Mochilero- Usually wearing sandals or trekking shoes, always wary of being played for a sucker. Though experience shows that i waver between these two very distinct worlds, I usually lay my fiscal fortune with the latter. Back to
the story...

Sucre, the ´White City´ of Bolivia

After a little research, We discovered that there is a three day trek through the villages to the West of Sucre. The hike is offered by the local agencies as a sterile two day event with a hefty price-tag of 300 Bolivians each. This was utterly unaffordable both due to principle and financial logic. And so, after purchasing supplies and a map, we headed out ourselves. 5 Israelies, 60 bread rolls, 2 jars of jam, 6 bags of cookies, 3 bags of deli meat, 3 cans of tuna, 3 kilos of rice, 2 tents, 2 camp-stoves, 2 ipods with speakers, and some clothes. All together, costs for food ammounted to 90 bolivians a person. We had to cab it out to the first stop, the chruch in Chantaquila. Cost per person = 25 bolivians.


Even in a Roman Catholic chruch, a shrine to Pachamama


From there, a 2 hour hike to Incan cave paintaings, followed by a 4 hour hike down a 600 year old Incan trail, used centuries agho to connect the vast Incan empire, which stretched from Peru to Patagonia. The view was sublime, but i´ll let the pictures speak for themselves. We slept outside Tourist information in Chaunaca, a town of 15 houses and 300 chickens.

View from the Cave



The Inca Trail


We awoke the next day and headed on to Maragua, a town nestled within an immense Crater. Having to ford a river and then make our way up 2-3 mountains, we were quite tired by the time we arrived at the town, though not tired enough to play a little soccer with the locals. I spoke a bit with an Italian Anthropologist studying the cosmology of the local population on beghalf of the University of St. Andrews. He´s been living in this 20-hut town since November, studying the way in which the Incas of the past and their descendants today use the stars for Agriculture, Navigation, Religion, and even to tell time. Many living in these towns (over %70 of the Bolivian population) Lack hot water, electricity or much of an education. Yet there is a massive wealth of knowledge unknown or unimportant to the standard Western person. We purchased some water from a six year old girl manning the only store in the pueblo, and set camp in the Soccer field.

Fording the river...

On the way to the crater...



View from an Incan graveyard onto the crater.

The next day, we got a bit lost...Our ride back to Sucre was to leave at noon, and an easy 3 hour hike became a 5 hour ordeal as we took a few wrong turns in the canyhon leading out of the Crater. We ended up climbing 2-3 too many mountains, and sliding down most of them on our bags. David, one of the travel-mates, and I made it out of the bush first and ran to the church at QUila-Quila in order to stop the truck. Yes, the 2.5 hour ride back to Sucre was aboard a flat-bed truck. At first I attempted to stall the driver by speaking to him about Israel and Bolivia, as well as offering him Cocoa leaves. I held him off for 20 minutes, but as he grew angry I grew desperate. I bribed the driver with double payment for all five of us,. that´s 10 Bolivians instead of 5 per person. We picked up the straglers and headed out to Sucre. I was sitting on a bag of Corn listening to Bob Dylan´s Gas-light sessions as we stopped by every pueblito on the way picking up goods and people. The truck miraculously made it upo and down the central Andes, even fording a river that reached its grill. We got back to the hotel just in time for the European tourists to wake up from their siesta. Oh yea, total cost of the the trek was 138.5 Bolivians a person.

On the truck back to Sucre...

We had to infrom him she wasn´t for sale...

Back in ´civilization´, I decided to explore the city a bit before we head out to jungles of Santa Cruz. Today begins Sucre´s bicentennial celebrations, and the entire city is spotless and white. Within 3.5 hours, I´ve managed to check out 2 photo exhibitions, spy on a dance-troup practicing in the national theatre, and catch a film depicting Aymara (An indeginous tribe) life, as part of the human rights cinema festival. Unfortunately, I won´t be here for the celebrations, But this small taste of Sucre leaves a want for more, and a rejuvinated excitement for exploring Bolivia, a truly astounding and underappreciated Country.


Apparently trance festivals are popular in Bolivia, as well...



All hail Christopher Walken, apparently one of Sucre´s founding fathers...

The long road to Potosi

There´s no avoiding it. The time had come to leave the comforts of Chile and Argentina, and dive into the chaos and adventure that is Bolivia. South America´s poorest nation, Bolivia is ironically heralded as the continent´s richest in natural resources. The country is essentially divided into halves, the antiplano and the wetter lowlands. The antiplano is made up of high elevation-deserts, salt flats, and dry-lands. Miraculously, it holds %70 of the population, mostly scattered in small villages. The lowlands, which constitute most of the country, is made up of pampas and jungles, and is home to about %10 of the worlds birdlife , as well as multitudes of flaura and fauna. The Country is truly third-world, with all its advantages (cheap food, cheap accomodations, cheap everything else) and disadvantages (food-born diseases, non-potable water, crime). As my friend who had been living in Cochabamba for the last 3 years says, ¨you either fall in love with Bolivia within 10 seconds, or suffer through it while doing the gringo trail.¨

We hired a car and guide on sunday, leaving from San Pedro towards the Salar De Uyuni. Now, getting into chile is quite a frightening experience. Apparently their border guards still believe they are living under the Pinochet regime, because those guys go through EVERYTHING. If there is a piece of garlic in your gear, you are fined and not allowed in. Bolivia, quite a different story... Our bags were left in the car.

My homage to Into The Wild, waiting on the Bolivian border...

A quick smile and some jokes in my bad spanish got me 3 30 day stamps, convention being only 1 30-day grant. And yes, i immediately fell in love. My body didn´t. within hours, our jeep catapulted us from 2500 to over 4000 meters, in order to visit Laguna Verde, Laguna Blanca, the Dali Desert, and Laguna Colorado.

En Route to Leguna Verde

The first two are sites are lakes whose colors are an unnatural green and white due to the immense amount of minerals (sulphur, graphite, borax, etc) found in them. The third site was a landscape used by the famous artist for some of his famous works. And the last is a nominee for the World´s new 7 natural wonders. Its name is derived from the fact that algae and plankton cause a red tint to the lake, while 3 types of flamingos flock to it. Now, this all sounds great and worth the walk there, but not when you feel as though you might dissolve at any moment. The Altuitude hit me, and it got me bad. Headaches, shakes, vomits, the whole nine yards. The drugs didn´t work! so I had to move onto the Bolivian method, Cocoa leaves. Yes, it helped, yes it helps. So at least on this one, Evo Morales is right, ¨Cocoa YES, Cocaine NO!¨

The Salar´s celebrities

My weak attempt at getting ¨surreal¨ at Dali´s desert

The next two days were for sightseeing, but i´ll spare you the details and leave it to the pics.

Laguna Blanca turning white...

´Arbol de Piedra´, the Rock-Tree.

Just wanted to give a nod to El Dueñito, the 8 year old boss of the hostel we stayed at the second night. The Kid, destined for glory as a hostel slumlord, marched to each of us personally and declared that it would cost 5 bolivians for a hot shower. After most of us respectfully declined, he changed strategy. About tio head over to my usual pre-dinner pish, the kid charges across the hall and demands 5 bolivians for the bathroom. After a laugh and a feint towards the ádult´ bosses, he grabs my hand and promises me a special deal. I get in gratis (free) because he likes me. I knew my boyish charms would be put to good use sometime. My friend David was not as lucky. He went for the shower option. Other than the fact that the agua caliente (hot water) took a short siesta mid-shampooing, he came back fairly happy. This is when the hustling began. El Dueñito barges in, all 8 years of him, demanding 5 bolivian. My friend is still in his underwear and asks to pay after dinner. El Dueñito gives an unsatisfied look but gets lets his 8 year old mind get distracted by another friend playing the guitar. He begins air-guitaring in accompaniment and forgets about the cash, FOR NOW. Dinner´s over, and after forcing loud bolivian music on us, El Dueñito goes back to the hustling. This time, David pays. But another member of the group, a poor Japanese guy with little english and no spanish, who was unfortunate enough to be sent on a 3 day desert trip with Five israelis, needs to pay as well. NO CHANGE! uh uh, El Dueñito doesn´t take kindly to this slight. David attempts to remedy the situation. He asks for his 5 Bolivians back in return for a crisp tenner. No, El Dueñito shouts, first you give me the ten, then i give you the five. David is a bit leery of this 8 year old bully, and so the battle of attrition begins. Tu! no, tu! no tu! no, tu! This continues for a good 7 minutes, with me off to the side barreling over. El Dueñito is a master strategist, changing facial expressions and octaves. Finally, David breaks down and starts cursing in Hebrew, which only causes the malevolent pre-peubescent to laugh. This farce goes on for a bit more until...yes! the Israeli Mochilero is actually more stubborn than an 8 year old!!! David wins, and we get to sleep.

Dawn at the Salar De Uyuni. We survived el Dueñito!

The conventional Salar photos...

I am currently in Potosi, in Southern Bolivia. It is the world´s highest city, at a sheer 4060 meters. It was also once the world´s wealthiest city. of course this means that the Spanish colonializers extracted enough silver, using indeginous and African slave labor, to finance the entire Spanish empire. for 300 years, over a million lives were lost and 300 meters of a mountain were extracted for the benefit of el Rey. Currently, the mines are a cooperative industry, in which every miner gets paiod for his share of the extraction. No longer is there silver, but rather a mix of different minerals, ¨fool´s gold¨. Many of the miners begin at the age of 15, as the average miner makes much more than other bolivians (50 bolivians as compared with 20). With that, the average miner dies after 10 years of mine-work, whether due to mine collaps, fumes, or other hazards. While in the mines, they subsist on Cocoa leaves and alcohol

(172 proof alcohol, apparently bottles by Canada Dry) They owe their luck and lives to their devil saint, ´Tios´. Yes, it seems strange that in a population that is overwhelmingly Catholic, the belief in spirits exists, but the explanation is quite logical. Tios is the devil, the opposite of Christ, who is the savior of the Spanish colonizers. The inuidigenous slaves hated their Spanish rulers, and thus took Tios as their. In fact, Tios is Quechua for Dios, which is god in Spanish. There isnt a ´D´in Quechua, and so they chose El Diablo as their Tios. El diablo, Horns and all, has the face of a European. He also has quite a large penis, meant to impregnate his companion Pachamama, or mother nature. Their progeny are the minerals in the mountains. Now, these facts beg the question of why worship a European looking devil? Two reasons. The first one is that Tios is the only European with the balls to enter the mines, which was unheard of at the time. The second reason is that he is the devil, after all, and thus the antithesis to the Europeans. And so, the miners would bestow gifts of alcohol, cigarettes, cocoa, and whatever else they deemed proper for their god. And so, we as guests had to follow tradition. Check out the photos below, and wish me luck. its been 10 days without any food poisoning!

The miner´s market, for purhcases of Alcohol, Cocoa, and yes...Dynamite

Dynamite´s already inside. The Americans called him Dubya...time to more on folks!

He calls himself Ivan the Terrible, don´t ask me why...

They start at 14-15 years old...

Tios, the Miner´s devil-saint

A few Cocoa leaves for safe travels...

Suerte, mi gente!