Death Road and on to Rurrenabaque 17-19 de nov

Death Road, and on to Rurrenabaque.   Sábado 17 de noviembre – lunes 19 de noviembre.

Saturday morning. Up at 5:45. Patricia and I are going to go pull some Bolivianos out of a casajero (electronic bank machine) as we are heading on to Rurrenabaque, in the Amazon where I have  been told there are no machines. We will meet Jason at the Agency we are heading out with to bike down the ‘Death Road’.  Jason looks pretty rough this morning. He did meet friends at a bar last night, but I think it is more that he did not sleep. Apparently there was a solvent smell in his room and I am sure that was not pleasant.

We are all there by 7 AM, have breakfast and meet our fellow bicyclists. Besides the three of us, there is Kristian, a Finnish journalist in his 40s on vacation, and a young French couple, Jeremy and Océan. (I really enjoy many of the French women’s names. Océan is really pretty too like most of the French women I have met.) Our guide is Javier, and he has brought his girlfriend with him.

What is the Death Road? It is part of the road from the high pass not far outside of La Paz (on the altiplano or high plains) to Coroico in the Yungas. The Yungas is a beautiful region of forested mountains and and fertile valleys which is between the Altiplano and the Amazon basin, and one of Bolivia’s major coca-producing regions. The road, after climbing up to 4200 m, descends to 1200 m near the town of Coroico. The Death Road part starts at about 3500 m and is a rough, stony, dirt track, about 50 km long, mostly one lane wide, which has been cut out of steep mountain sides for much of its length and so has dizzying drop-offs with no railing or anything between your vehicle or bicycle and hundreds (or more) of meters  of air. The Death Road designation comes from the fact that more people have died on this section of road than anywhere else in the country (by far). Although there is now an alternate route for this section which is paved, the old road is still used by some truckers, locals, and tourists, as well as cyclists mostly in the dry season.

                                                    My group in the fog at 4200 m.

At 8, we ride in the van from La Paz at 3500 m up to 4200 m, check out our bicycles, and by 9, we start. The first section is a two lane paved highway. It is beautiful country and it is a pleasant ride. I have to keep passing slow-moving vans which I believe are for biking groups of which there are several on the road today. Within minutes of starting, we are strung out a lot. I am in front so I pull over to wait. Soon Javier catches up and I find out that Jason has blown a tire, Océan’s chain has broken and Javier’s girlfriend has decided this is too fast and scary and will do the rest of the trip in the van that accompanies us. I am glad she has made this decision now because we are still on paved road. We come up to a tunnel and we have to take a rough track to bypass it as it is dark and I guess there have been accidents with cyclists in there. After a half hour or so, we hit a police checkpoint where they are checking for drugs coming up out of the Yungas. We pay an entry fee to the region (again), have a snack including what Xavier calls ‘Cocaine Cola’ and we get back into the van to drive through a flat to uphill section. I ask if I can bike it, but it does not fit with the ‘program’. Too bad. By 10:30 we are out again and at the beginning of the road we came for. We are at about 3500 m and have a downhill which takes us two and a half hours (although I spend a good deal of that waiting for others) and is about 50 km long.

 

                                              The beginning of the 'Death Road'

On the old road, we are instructed to stay to the left of oncoming traffic England-style, because we can navigate more safely near the cliffs than cars or trucks can. There is not a lot of traffic. There is one heavily loaded pickup truck that comes barreling up the road as if it is being chased, and I find the first wide spot and pull off to wait for it to pass. A van of German tourists going uphill passes us lower down, where again I pull off. Patricia tells me that they were angry with her for passing on the left: I guess they do not know the rules of the road here.

We see a lot of birds of prey soaring along the road, songbirds, and butterflies. This is cloud forest and very beautiful. I ride fast, much faster than the other tourists, and am really enjoying the ride. However, I cannot quite keep  up with Javier. However, he and I spend a lot of time waiting for the others at various places and he tells me a lot of the many sad stories of this stretch of road. At one point we stop where there are a number of large rocks in a circle on a small pull-out where he says that road crews hang out and chew coca.

Javier points out the ‘French corner’ where a French female tourist fell to her death, the Italian corner where an Italian tourist, also female, met her death. He told us there have been 28 cyclist deaths including 4 guides since 1998 when they first started making a tourist destination out of this road. He shows us where two buses collided and both went over the cliff. He tells me that there are three main reasons why vehicles go over (mostly buses and transport trucks, which clearly have less room to manoeuver. First, drunk or fall asleep at the wheel. Second, going downhill too fast and do not know the road well enough. Third, coming uphill with too heavy a load, and when they meet oncoming traffic on a steep uphill and have to stop, they do not have enough power to get going again and when they try, they end up rolling back over the cliff. One bus driver, meeting another vehicle, was too scared (or tired or drunk) to back up. So, after the passengers got  off, the other driver backed up the bus, right off the cliff.

                                                               You get the idea here.

Océan has had a bike accident  and has not biked in a long time so she is going very slowly and prudently, and Jeremy is staying with her. Even though they informed the agency they would be going slow I doubt that Javier ever heard this and gives them a bit of a rough time for it. Clearly not the right thing to do.

                                                         Local wildlife of the cloud forest

Towards the end of the ride, my chain keeps slipping: likely the chain and freewheel are worn. Fortunately this is near the end, although they probably have spare parts in the van. We stop at a bar in the town we come to for a beer, which is likely an agreement made to drum up more local business. We then move to a small resort where we take showers and have a buffet lunch.

I get a chance to talk to Kristian who works for the Finnish national news agency writing stories for their internet news service. We talk about my summer project and he seems interested. This is good news and we will keep in touch.

At this point, Patricia, who has been having second thoughts about her plans, decides she will go back up to La Paz with the van and others, and not on to Rurrenabaque with me. This is due to two things. First, the rest of the road from here down to the Amazon basin is reported to be a slow, difficult and dangerous road, and so she is thinking of flying which is what a lot of people do. Jason has a flight booked to avoid the bus ride. Second, she has only a few weeks left on her trip and, like a lot of people, she is starting to get antsy about getting the most out of her remaining time: she is thinking about going south and not into the Amazon at all.

We pack up and get going and five minutes later I am dropped off where I can catch a Trufi, a van that has a travel route but only leaves when it is full. The rest of the cyclists are going back to La Paz with the van. An hour later I catch one and make the uphill drive for 20 minutes to Coroico. The next day I will have to get a Trufi down here which is where the bus from La Paz to Rurrenabaque passes. I get a hostal room, have supper and go to bed early. I am looking forward to some good hiking in the morning as it is a beautiful area and Jason has told me about trails here. Unfortunately, overnight and all morning it is pouring rain. I buy a bus ticket which is supposed to stop below at 2:30 PM and arrive in Rurre about 7 AM. But the ticket agent tells me to come back at noon. I realize that this is because the buses are often delayed and later that evening I see why.

When I go back the agent tells me the bus is on time and I end up talking with Guillaume, another Frenchman who works with handicapped teens and adults in France, and who seems to spend  a lot of time traveling. His last home in France was a car! He is in his 20s, and idealistic but laid back. We end up traveling together. We wait for the bus with a couple from Belgium, Marion and Sebastien, who have just finished university and are traveling before settling down.  They have an interesting way of safeguarding their luggage in the hold of the bus: they chain their two backpacks together. 

The bus heads off and we are soon on a road very reminiscent of the Death Road: narrow, very rough, and very big drop-offs. I can see why people prefer to fly. The road is mostly not wide enough for two vehicles and so we repeatedly stop and wait or back up as there is a lot of traffic both ways. I am not sitting by the window although I am on the cliff side, but I hear later from several who were. There is no question of sleep at this point, although there really is not much you can do if the bus goes off. After several hours of this, we appear to be down near the valley bottom and I relax. Not only that, but I have the best sleep ever on a bus. When we arrive around 8 AM Monday, I am refreshed and we are only an hour behind schedule. Apparently I am one of the only people who slept. More of the night was spent  on hair-raising road sections!

Climbing Huayna Potosi 13-16 de noviembre

Climbing Huayna Potosi.  

Martes 13 de noviembre – viernes 16 de noviembre.

The next day in La Paz, Tuesday, I visit the Iglesia San Francisco. It is very beautiful with clean and simple architecture. There is the prerequisite dozen or so altars with statues that you can pray to and tons of gold leaf at the front.  The church is in the main square, Plaza San Francisco.  The main square is very busy with lots of people and things being sold on one side. Unfortunately, a new main thoroughfare has been built right through it. On the other side, there is a good market  on three floors where you can buy really good meals cheaply.

I also visit several tour agencies as I have decided that I will climb Huayna Potosi, a glacier-topped  peak not far from the city which is 6090 m (19 975 ft).This is higher than Mt Logan (5959 m), the highest mountain in Canada and higher than all but Denali in North America. I have kind of caught the climbing bug and I want to climb at least one peak over 6000 m. Huayna Potosi means ‘little Potosi’ and is so named because it it similar in form to Cerro Rico, the mountain in Potosi, Bolivia, which had the richest silver deposit that the world has ever seen.

I remember working for the Geological Survey of Canada in the summer of 1977 in the St Elias mountains where Mt Logan sits. I talked to climbers from a couple of Logan expeditions. Logan may be lower and no more technical than this mt, but at its latitude of around 61^o, the snow line is much lower, around 3000-3500 m in the summer. Also the approach (other than by ski plane), requires climbers to ski the 40 km or so up the Kaskawalsh Glacier.

On this mountain, unlike Misti, there is a big glacier which comes all the way down to 5000 m, so there is no way I am doing this without climbing boots, crampons, and a guide to rope up with. I make a deal with a tour operator (Adolfo Andino Tours) for B770 including transport, guide, fee for staying in the refuge at 5030 m (much like the huts of the Alpine Club of Canada in the Rockies), meals, and most of the equipment: climbing boots, crampons, harness, ice axe, wind suit, gloves, balaclava, and a heavier sleeping bag. For another B70, I rent a big packsack (mostly to hold the sleeping bag as well as my other gear), and hiking poles. Total B840 ($125).

That evening I get an email from Bruce and Lucie, my good friends in Ottawa who are taking care of Willow. It seems that Willow has bit their dog, Miles (who would not hurt a flea), and they would prefer that I find another home for her. Willow has spent too much time with too many aggressive dogs on three different reserves. She does not have the best of manners. I spend most of the evening emailing friends and other people I know hoping to find an alternative placement for her.

The next morning I arrive at the Agency early to get fitted for boots and the other clothes. Adolfo has no boots my size nor a backpack so he sends me to another agency nearby with a better  selection. I find out that the French couple that I am supposed to be climbing with are already at the mountain having done a 3-day trek nearby. However, Jason, an American biologist living in Florida and Mary, a broom-maker from Vancouver, walk in and they decide to come out to the mountain for a hike for the day. Mary is flying home the next day.

When we get to the base of the mountain around noon, I find out that the Frenchwoman has taken ill and the couple has left for La Paz that morning. There were supposed to be 2 guides as there is a limit of 2 clients per guide since we have to rope up. However, inexplicably both guides have left. I have no guide, which means no rope, no meals, and, I find out later, my stay at the refuge is not paid for. I tell Elias, the driver who is going to wait for Jason and Mary, that I will leave with them if I cannot work something out up at the refuge. Elias gives me my lunch and the lunch which was supposed to be for my guide. I have that and 2L of liquid, snacks, the rented gear, and a few other odds and ends. I leave one of the hiking poles behind as I cannot get one of the joints to work (there was some paper stuffed up the inside to hold it in place), but I do not really want two anyway.

 

                                                                        Huayna Potosi

The climb starts at 4600 m, 1100 m higher than at Misti, so it is not surprising that there is virtually no vegetation, just rock. Correction there is a little vegetation as there are viscachas here, too.  Since the lodge is at 5100 m here, it is not that long of a hike up, and it only takes the three of us 2 hours to get to the lodge. It is a pleasant hike, scrambling up through loose rock at times, but mostly on a trail. I have maybe 12 kg of gear in my pack below the refuge and I will have about 5 kg above it to carry. Of course I will still have most of that 12 kg (other than the sleeping bag but I will be wearing or carrying it.

In the refuge, which is held down with cables, there is a main eating room, a back room with 10 double decker bunk beds, and an attic above the eating room with the floor covered with mattresses for the rest of us. Behind the building a tarp shelter is set up with portable propane burners for cooking. Fifty meters below the refuge is a two hole outhouse also held down with cables. There are about 12 climbers and 7 guides and the lodge caretaker.

In talking with the guides, I find out that Alfonso (tour operator) is well known for leaving clients high and dry. Reading between the lines, it appears that he pays his guides less than the going rate and so they do not feel a sense of obligation to him and often leave him and his clients. One of the guides, David, offers to guide me although he already has the maximum allowed of two climbers (another French couple). I tell Jason and Mary that I will be staying. Several of  ffered food by several guides soup, hot drinks, spaghetti and meat, and crackers.

 

Daniel and others tell me that it is possible that another guide will be sent up for me. ‘Todo es posible, nada es seguro’ they say repeatedly. (Anything is possible but nothing is for sure.) I like this expression and will here it again and again in Bolivia. It is almost exactly what I have been saying to myself since before my trip started.

Later in the evening, when it is becoming more definite that I will not have a guide, David tells me that he could rope up with me only over dangerous sections, but realizes he can’t legally do even that. He asks Andreas, the lodge caretaker, to come up with me and he agrees. I will pay him.

 

             The guides play cards and give me advice on what to do without a guide.

 

After supper and after dark, most of us lie down, but I cannot sleep, nor can most of the others. I get up a couple of times to pee and to see the outside conditions. It is pretty cloudy outside and not too cold. The foot of the glacier is just beside the refuge and ends a few 100 meters further downslope.

I am awoken by David (along with the French couple, Canella and Cyril) at 11:30 PM and have a cup of hot chocolate and suit up. The harness I have is a little small so I cannot put my hooded shell jacket over my insulated vest, so I leave it in my pack. The four of us head off at 12:30 and by 1 AM we have our crampons on, ice axes in hand, they are roped up and we are on our way. Andreas does not head out with us, so I start out unroped and lead David and his 2 French clients behind me. Daniel is extremely clear, explains every step of what needs to be and why.

A little higher up, I decide to take off the vest and put on the parka. The wind is blowing but it is not too cold. We reach the first snow wall. It is not exactly vertical but very steep, with small indents hacked into it by previous climbers. I am not concerned as below it is not too steep and I do have my ice axe in hand.

Andreas does catch up with us soon enough and I rope up with him. He is extremely quiet which I take to mean that he has not had much experience as a guide. As we go, this becomes clearer. However, he is competent at climbing and is so well acclimatized to the altitude that one would think we were 1000s of meters lower. However, Andreas is going too fast for me. He stops every now and then to let me rest but this is not working for me. I do not want to rest but I cannot travel at this pace, or I will burn out, rest or no rest. Since he is hard to talk to, I decide to climb at my pace and since he is attached, he will soon get the message and he does. On one short break, I decide to eat a piece of chocolate and drink some Gatorade and it makes me nauseous, so I do not do that again until we get back down to the refuge much later. The route is long not too steep over the glacier with a few crevasses we walk over or in one case jump over. There is one big one where we cross where the snow is very steep and we climb through it. With over an hour to go to the summit, we climb two short very steep sections with a mixture of rock and snow. After that, it is a long knife-edged and corniced ridge, steep at times, but well-covered with snow. There is a long steep drop on both sides. On the side we came from a fall could be stopped with my ice axe but not on the other. It is a cliff.

I recognize that Andreas is not properly securing himself where needed for a proper belay over

tricky parts. I guess he does not think this is dangerous. Note to self: do not fall. If you do, be ready to stop yourself. As we get higher, I am more and more out of breath. For the last hour, where it is steep, I have to stop to catch my breath after each step.But slowly the summit draws near.

We arrive at the summit at dawn (6088 m) and stay there while the sun leisurely makes its appearance. David and his two charges are first and we are right behind them. We all unrope, but there is a 300 m drop off on one side and a steep slope followed by a similar drop off on the other. There is not a lot of room for doing stupid things here. We take pictures and just enjoy the amazing view: many rocky peaks sticking out of a thick blanket of cloud. In the forty minutes we stay on the summit another 10 people or so arrive. The summit is really only part of the knife edge ridge although it is a slightly flatter ´part here.

 

                                                   Me on the summit at 6088 m

I am starting to get cold, so I signal to Andreas that we should start down and I go first. The way down is obviously a lot quicker. The steep sections are a little trickier going down than up. None poses a problem until we hit the steep section through a crevasse. Shortly before we stopped and let a group of Americans and one Canadian get ahead of us. They do not appear to have a lot of climbing experience and they take a lot of time going through here slowing us down. At least their guides are securing themselves properly for the belay.

 

 

                                 Other climbers on the summit as we make our way down.

Finally, we get down and just below the refuge we unrope and take off  the crampons. Once back at the refuge, I cannot wait to get the boots off as I have a few pressure points that are very sore. There is some food out and I eat and drink a bit, and discuss what I need to do back in La Paz. The guides are adamant that I need to get some money back (they say all, but clearly he has provided me with equipment and a ride and that would not be reasonable). They feel that he does this regularly and it needs to stop. On the way back, I arrange with David for him to meet me a little later and come with me to back up my story with the Tourist Police (yes, there is such a thing here).

The refuge where we spent the night is in the middle of the photo, taken late morning on the way back down.

Back at my hostal, just as I am about to leave with the pack full of rental gear, Alfonso comes to my hotel to apologize and gives me back a small pack that I had left with him. I tell him I will meet him shortly at his agency with the rental gear. I do not tell him anymore because previously when a client tried to get a refund from him, he simply closed up his agency until the tourist left town. Strange but true. Also, I do not just want to get a partial refund (mainly for all the additional money I had to pay out. I also want to make the Tourist Police aware of him for future reference.

I meet David, and we speak to a couple of the Tourist Police. David has to go so I go to the Agency with just two of the TP. We confront him. There is one part of what he owes me that I cannot substantiate, but just then Jason happens by and is able to substantiate my story, which helps. There is another part that he lies about but I let it go. I still end up getting back a little more than the extra I had to pay for the refuge, the guide, and the ride back. And the TP are aware of him now so I am happy.

Back at the hostal, I am still feeling the effects. I am very tired (having not slept) and have a bit of cough which again disappears within a couple of days. I look for my camera to download the photos to my laptop but cannot find it anywhere and I am praying I did not leave it with Adolfo by mistake. When I unpacked a couple of hours before, I remember knocking a few things off a table and hearing a thump. I did pick up some things but looking down I see that there is a garbage pail beside the table. Sure enough, my camera is in the garbage.  A little later, I go to run a quick errand, and I need to cross the main street that runs through the main square (Plaza San Francisco). I am impatient as the only proper way to cross is on a pedestrian overpass 300 m away. Usually I wait for a thinning of the traffic like most people but this time I decide to dash across when there is a slight break. I sprint looking in both directions. Unfortunately, I do not look down and catch my foot on a pothole, and down I go, hard. I am up in a second and across where I can survey the damage. Slightly ripped pant leg and a couple of good scrapes, and nothing more. In the main square, I am approached by a man selling trilobites and I look at one that is perfect. I am impressed and purchase it for $3. Later when I look at it I cannot believe I bought it (which I blame on my lack of sleep). It is an obvious fake. I try to snap it in my hands and it breaks. Sure enough it is made of clay and was made in a mould. Later I see many more people selling these. Clearly some of them are genuine but most are fakes. There are trilobites in the area, and in fact I plan to go to a major fossil area south of La Paz in January.

I have been in email contact with Patricia and she and I are planning to travel the ‘Death Road’ together (see next Blog entry). We have agreed to meet that evening and I email Jason and invite him to join us as he is considering doing it too. We meet, have supper and talk it over. It looks like he will come.

The next morning, we visit an agency and book our trip on the ‘Death Road’.  I and Patricia (I think) are going to bus to the Amazon afterward.  I was going to book some tours in the Amazon afterward but I may do this with Jason and/or Patricia and they are unsure of their plans so I hold off.  Jason is going to fly down to the Amazon as he had heard bad things about the bus trip down.

For the rest of the day, Patricia is off to a major ruin site and Jason will try to work on his plans for the Amazon, as he is trying to get some serious bird-watching in. I want to rest up after the climb, so I visit the Mercado and get some good food, visit the Witches Market (a street with a lot of dead animal parts and herbs used for various purposes. The most obvious thing is the many dried llama fetuses which are placed in a new home to bring good luck.

Into Bolivia at Lago Titicaca 9-13 de noviembre

Puno, Peru;  Copacabana, Bolivia (both on Lago Titicaca);  La Paz.  

Viernes 9 de noviembre – martes 13 de noviembre.

At 11, I take a taxi to the bus station ($2.50) and at 12:30 I leave Arequipa for Puno ($8), near the Bolivian border. It takes about 7 hours through very dry altiplano: cactus, short grass. Puno first became a Spanish settlement when a silver mine was discovered nearby. It  is shabby in parts (streets full of rubble) but the main square is beautiful (the large cathedral dates from the 1600s when the city became the main port on Lake Titicaca) with a shiny new tourist strip off the square. Here the street is newly paved, many shops and restaurants and street stands. I walk one block off the strip and find a nice restaurant used by locals (no signs here in English).  Puno is at 3900 m, and so is cold at night. I find a fairly nice hotel for $18 run by an elderly couple that is very welcoming and helpful. I am still dehydrated from yesterday morning’s climb (still drinking more than usual) and my chest is still congested. It takes a couple of days to clear up. My bed has super heavy (and warm) blankets but they are so heavy that  every time I turn over they fall off. I do not sleep much.

From Puno, one can visit the Uros floating islands: islands made of reeds (and continually replenished) that have been inhabited for centuries by the Uros Indians. They also use (now mostly for the tourists) boats made of reeds, which are quite beautiful. I do not stop here even though these are ‘must-sees’. I am not opposed to seeing amazing things, but when a place or activity becomes a ‘must-see’, often what made it that has been largely lost.

The next morning (Sat), I am up early to get a 7:30 bus to Copacabana, on the Bolivian side. The bus ride this morning is all along the shores of Lake Titicaca although I did not see it the previous evening as it was already dark. Titicaca is about 150 x 55 km in size and 284 m deep. I am guessing that it may hold about as much water as Lake Ontario. There are lots of fishing nets on the water: mostly they fish for trout here. There are also many small vegetable plots (big enough to sell produce from) all along the shores and back from the shores. This area is the heartland of the Aymara culture. The Aymara language is supported as a second language by the government in this area, as is Quechua in some of the valleys to the south. There is not the same kind of support for the Amazonian languages, mostly I think because there are too many of them, spoken by too few people.

 It does not take more than a couple of hours to get to the border. A third of the bus passengers are tourists: mostly European, a few Americans. The bus stops for us to do our border dance. There are two places we have to go on the Peruvian side and one on the other side. I have a bit of trouble with Peru. When I entered Peru back in September, I was asked how long I would be there by the customs agent. I said 30 days without thinking although I knew you could stay there without problems for 90 days. After I said it, I realized I should have said a longer time but it was already entered. I figured I would be out of Peru by then, so I did not bother trying to change it. Unfortunately it is now 59 days later. So I have to do fill out some more paperwork, make 6 (count’em, 6) photocopies of my passport and the paperwork I have just completed, and pay $1US per day. That should be $29 but somehow the agents tack on an extra $10 without explanation and then give me a very poor exchange rate so I end up paying $44. It is not enough of a rip-off (if that is what it is) to be worth missing my bus for, so I swallow it.

Americans (and to a lesser extent South Africans, of which there are two on the bus) have it worse on the Bolivian side. They must buy a $130 US visa (good for 3 or 5 years) in US funds. Not only that, but they have to be bills in good condition. One American digs through the bowels of the bus to find his backpack where he has some extra US dollars stashed because one of his $20 bills is slightly torn and is not accepted. Three other Americans have to go back across the border to Peru to buy more US dollars as they also have some bills which are not up to Bolivian border official standards. They miss our bus. I guess this is President Evo Morales’ way of getting back at the American government for its treatment of Bolivia which is actually trying to share the wealth (always a no-no for American governments).  Reportedly, McDonald’s and Coca Cola are also being asked to leave the country at the end of this year. (I recently learned that Inka Cola, the most popular soft drink in Peru, a fluorescent yellow soda that tastes like cream soda, has been bought by Coca Cola.)

For all foreigners, there is a small entry fee (couple of dollar’s worth each time) to pay to enter the  country, another to enter Copacabana, another to land on Isla del Sol (as I do around midday), and another to enter the northern half of the island which I do the next day. It is not a lot of money and it is a very poor country. But it is kind of funny.

Bus assistant offers me a ticket for the ferry to Isla del Sol, for he takes payment in Peruvian soles at an inflated exchange rate. I do not know if he also ripped me off or not, but I think he does. I go back and argue with him in my best Spanish but he won’t budge. I am starting to have a sneaking suspicion that he is right. Anyway, I get him to give me back the part of the money we agree that I paid and I buy the ticket with the ferry company at a better rate. After the border hassle, I am in no mood to be ripped off. (It is not the money either; it is more the psychological peace of mind of standing up for yourself.)

I catch the 12:30 ferry (second of two, holds 65 people or so) for the hour and a half, 12 km trip across to Isla Del Sol and sit on the open upper deck where there . I end up chatting for much of the way with Patricia who I had met on the bus, an attractive graphic artist in her mid-20s from Berlin who is traveling for a few months. Her Spanish is very good as she used to have a Mexican boyfriend and spent time in Mexico. After she takes cover inside from the wind, I chat with Adrian who is sitting across from me, an Argentinian photographer and computer programmer in his 30s who is on a four week holiday.  On our way off the ferry, the three of us decide to explore the island together.

Isla del Sol  (S 16^o 2’ W 69^o 9’ Elev: 3987 m; south end, halfway up hills) is the biggest island on Lago Titicaca, measuring 9.5 x 6.5 km. The island was one of the most important sites in the Andean world in the sixteenth century, revered as the place where the Sun and the Moon were created and where the Inca dynasty was born. For this reason, I figured that the island must have a special presence and so decided that I would spend a couple of nights here.

 

Isla del Sol: the biggest island on an immense high altitude lake. The Inca presence here is huge including the terraced fields which make up most of the island.

There are ancient ruins here, and three traditional Aymara communities. Yumani, where  we landed is the biggest and most touristic, with many hostals and restaurants. Many of these though were closed as this is not the tourist season. The island is one big elongated hill with both sides quite steep. A very large part of the island was terraced by the Incas and these terraces are still being used for agriculture. There are also very many cattle, pigs, donkeys, alpacas, and chickens everywhere.

Off the ferry, and after paying the island entry fee, we head up the ancient Inca stone stairs which bring us maybe 150 m. Adrian is ahead at too fast a pace for this altitude and we are sucking air and have to slow down. As we wind our way up upwards through the narrow streets (no vehicles here), we find a hostal that seems reasonable, with window and a balcony that looks out over the lake and get a couple of rooms. After dropping off our gear, we head upwards to explore a bit. The next hostal we pass is cheaper (but without private bathroom) and a little nicer balcony. Patricia wants to change but I try to tell her it is too late and, while Adrian and I are OK with moving, tomorrow would be better. But she is adamant. While we wait she goes back down and has a slightly heated conversation which turns slightly unpleasant. We do end up changing the next day.  We explore the island a bit for the afternoon, Adrian the photographer giving his camera a very heavy workout. The terraced fields are planted with beans, corn, and potatoes primarily. I see a man digging potatoes using an implement which is a curved branch with a metal blade lashed on with rawhide. There is a bewildering maze of pathways through and around the terraces, and we get kind of lost as we enjoy the sunny skies, the beauty of the lake and Isla del Sol, with many snow-covered peaks in the background.

 

                                                          Patricia making friends.

That night we look for a restaurant but many are closed and we end up at a place that has good food but surly unhelpful staff. There are a few other tourists there as well. I gather that the locals are tired from the tourist season and would just like a break. There are no lights after dark, and we navigate by flashlights and headlamps.

On our balcony, we talk for a while and look at the stars. It is a beautifully clear night.  I see the Southern Cross for only the second time in my life. The most exciting thing I see though are the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds, the two small satellite galaxies to our own Milky Way that one can never see in the northern skies. This is thrilling to me!  I note that some of the constellations I do recognize (Orion and Taurus) are upside down while Leo, on the other side of the sky is not. (On Misti, I had noticed too that the First Quarter Moon was facing the opposite way it normally would at home. But I think that this may change at this latitude depending on whether the Moon is in the North or the South at different times of the year.) This balcony has a narrow walkway and no railing and it is a long way down, so while looking up I also have to keep looking down.

I get up at 3 in the morning, to go out and have another look at the stars and see how they have moved. As makes sense, looking south toward the southern cross, the stars have moved clockwise around the south pole, rather than counter clockwise around the north pole.

The next morning we have breakfast in our hostal and Patricia is getting funny looks from the daughter of the owners as she heard the heated conversation yesterday. The breakfast is good and after we strike out for the north end of the island, stopping to buy a bit of food and drink. It is another beautiful day: warm with some cloud. We stick to the top of the island where the views are magnificent and we encounter ruins from time to time. The only trees, other than mangoes, oranges and other fruit trees close to dwellings, are a large stand of (planted) eucalyptus halfway down the island. We do arrive at a fairly extensive ruins at the north end with the same kind of inset ovals in rock walls which almost look like window frames, but are likely for storing mummies. There is also a very big flat rock which was likely used for sacrifices and other ceremonial purposes. I am finding that, as the day wears on and we get tired, I am struggling with Spanish. I switch to English with Patricia whose English is excellent, and I find myself struggling to understand Adrian. It is very frustrating for us both. It seems to take forever coming back (we take a low route through the towns and over a few beaches). We begin asking for directions as there are several options and some are shorter than others. We arrive before dark and Patricia is anxious to get her internet fix. There is always an internet access place somewhere. That night, Sunday night, we end up back at the same restaurant because it is late and we can find nothing else open. Patricia has really wanted spaghetti but this restaurant has none. The food is still good and the staff are still surly and unhelpful. There is a weird vibe in the restaurant and other patrons are very quiet.

 

                                                                    Locals enjoying the view.

Monday morning the three of us get an early morning ride with a family going into Copacabana (same price or B20 = $3). I buy a bus ticket to La Paz. Patricia is going to stay here for a couple of days: it is a beautiful town. Adrian is heading south towards home. I only have 45 minutes before my bus leaves a block from here. We decide on a tiny restaurant/street stand to have a quick breakfast. We order eggs and bread, coffee, and some fresh juice. A lot time passes and I am getting nervous. I try to impress on the woman that time is short. However, the coffee machine is not working. Scratch the coffee. The gas stove stops working so I tell her to give us the two already fried. The others graciously let me have them. Adrian gets his freshly squeezed orange juice which is good. We are still waiting for the carrot juice. After almost half an hour it arrives and looks great. But it tastes…really sour! I wonder if this is some different kind of carrot. So I take another swallow. No, this is definitely off. I tell Patricia not to drink it (she has also has had a taste). Clearly the lady has not cleaned her machine often enough. I do not have time to tell her or get something else. I just pay, say goodbye to the others  and hop on my bus. This bus actually leaves on time!!

The bus will cross the lake at a narrows. There we get off the bus, buy tickets for 25 cents (B1.50) and hop on a little Passenger  ferry. There is one passenger who gets on who has no ticket. The boat person who stays on shore tries to get him to pay but he tries to ignore him. So the man calls over a policeman who escorts the man off the boat. On the other side we wait for the bus to arrive on a small wooden barge. It is early afternoon when I arrive in La Paz.

La Paz   S 16^o 30’ W 68^o 8’  Elev: 3643 m (Plaza San Francisco)

 The city with its population of 1 million, is situated in a gorgeous bowl with high snow-covered mountains all around. It is the political and commercial hub of the country.  But the city has grown quickly and chaotically. Like many large South American cities I have seen, the poor build their houses in the less preferred sites: right up the mountain side and right up to the lip of the bowl where it is very steep.  I also have never seen traffic like this. The streets are very narrow and there are frequently huge lines of cars barely moving. I would never want to drive in this city. Bicycles would be much faster. There is also a street near where I am staying where there are always huge lines of people. They are waiting in line with papers for some kind of government papers. I guess there is no waiting room big enough and not enough employees serving them. I will never complain again about Canadian government services (although the Long Gun Registry, and Gun Licensing was definitely a nightmare for several years. See, there I go, complaining again.)

Climbing el Volcàn Misti 4-8 de noviembre

Volcán Misti (2 X).   Domingo 4 de noviembre – jueves 8 de noviembre.

There are two volcanoes very visible from the city of Arequipa: Misti (5821 m) and Chachani (6075 m). Chachani, due to its extra 300 m of altitude, has a significant amount of snow on top while Misti has little snow. These are not extraordinarily high by South American standards:  there are 102 peaks in the Andes over 6000 m.

 In North America, however, the two highest peaks are Alaska’s Denali (6194 m or 20 320 ft) and Canada’s Mt Logan (5959 m). Outside of the Himalayan Range (Nepal , Tibet, Bhutan, India; includes Mt Everest) and the Kakakoram Range (Pakistan, India, Tibet; includes K2 and has more peaks over 8000 m than the Himalayas), the world’s highest mountains are in South America. Denali is the only other mountain in the world over 6000 m.

Denali is known in Alaska by the Koyukon native name, meaning the ‘Great One’. When Alaska attempted to have the name changed officially by the US government from its current name of Mt McKinley, the attempt was blocked by a senator from Ohio, the state that US President McKinley was from.

I have wanted to start climbing some of the mountains in the Andes for a couple of months especially a volcano but I am finally in good enough shape and reasonably acclimatized to altitude (at least to 3500 m). I will climb one of these. I decide to try Misti, mostly because it is such a perfect volcanic cone, and so

I try for two days to find others interested, or a group going with a tour operator but both are negative. So I will go it alone. I rent a tent and a sleeping pad and arrange with a tour operator to get a ride out there (it is 4x4 country). This latter is a mistake as he charges me far too much ($130) but at this point I am only thinking beautiful. On the other hand, Chachani looks like it must have exploded more than once: there is no obvious volcanic cone. In spite of the snow, Chachani is less challenging because the upper slopes are not as steep and the road goes a lot higher onto the mountain making the climb shorter.of getting up to the top.

I am nervous that night and sleep very little. This is earthquake country and there is a major tremor at about 1:30 in the morning. I am half asleep but later I remember thinking that there must be some very heavy machinery going by and wondering whether the roof will hold. It did.

A guide (Alfonso) picks me up in a Jeep at 8. Once we get out of the city, I see that the entire area is very dry and desert-like; there are few trees, few streams or rivers, and lots of cactus. On the way to the area from Arequipa, we pass a steep drop-off beside the road, and clearly lots of people have been throwing garbage over the edge in spite of signs saying that is illegal. I have found that cliffs beside roads close to cities seem to be prime places for disposing of garbage in Peru.

 

                Volcán Misti. Fifty years ago you would have seen a lot more snow.

We arrive at about 9:30, at the end of the (4x4) road, at about 3500m. The last part is very rough and Alfonso seems not to care about the Jeep as he goes too fast. I first assume that the Jeep is not his but I am wrong. He is just careless. I start to hike up the plateau and then over through a valley onto the rocky spine that will take me up (and up and down) to the first major flat area half way up at about 4500 m. For the first part, there is a good trail through grassy areas with a lot of loose rock. After that, once I start climbing up the spine,  I am on my own  through  loose rock and sand. To my left is a chute of sand and loose rock, with some parts of the chute almost pure black volcanic sand. The rocks are mostly volcanic (no surprise there). They are fine grained, gray, smooth, almost greasy, and the fractures are smooth with rounded edges. These fractures are glass-like and it may be that there is a lot of melted silica in the rock (?) There is also some black volcanic rock, and also some brown very sharp-edged rock, scoria I think it is called.

These are the mountain's down escalators. The part of the sandy chute at the top of the photo is almost pure volcanic sand.

As I climb, I see a number of viscachas, 2-3 kg rodents with rabbit-like ears and a long bushy tail that live among the rocks at high altitude and eat alpine vegetation much like pikas do in Canada. Their droppings are very widespread. I also see the occasional bird: mostly two species. There is a gray finch or sparrow (female is brown with a speckled breast) and a rusty-coloured thrasher-like bird with a long slightly curved bill and a short upturned tail. I notice that every time I open a bottle of liquid, even my water bottle, it is under pressure as I am continually moving to lower and lower pressure with the ascent.

Arequipa in the distance below, Peru’s second biggest city, is covered with yellowish tinged smog. As far I can tell, it is coming primarily from diesel engine buses which spew a disgusting amount of black smoke, and an awful lot of cars in poor repair also spewing large clouds of burned oil smoke. I believe that the valley shape will tend to hold in the pollution, although it does dissipate that night only to start building again throughout the next day.

When I hit about 4000 m, I develop a headache which never leaves until I arrive back in Arequipa. At the same time, my energy seems to disappear and I slow down considerably. After continuing on, with my breaks getting longer, I arrive at the flat area at about 4500 m, and walking about 500 m over to left is where I find a pyramid-shaped rock outcropping, that the guides call El Piramide. It is 3:15 PM. This is one of two camping areas (4580 m) and I will camp here. The pyramid provides excellent shelter from the wind, and people have created flat tenting areas by shoveling the sand, and surrounding each campsite with rocks (for wind protection and to use to tie down the tents). There is also a very large amount of graffiti on the pyramid, mostly with names and dates, as well as a small amount of garbage. I have seen a lot of graffiti coming up and will continue to see it the next day although there is less as one gets further up for obvious reasons. I have also seen a staggering amount of garbage coming up: mostly abandoned plastic water bottles, but also cans, liquor bottles, lots of Kleenex, the occasional broken piece of equipment or discarded pieces of clothing including the sole of a hiking boot.

I set up camp and eat a supper of canned fish, bread rolls, apples and oranges, and a chocolate bar. The same bird species are scavenging about as are a number of field mice. Because of the latter I make sure that my camping area is very clean. I clean out my empty can with sand, and make sure there are no smells in or about my tent.  At around 5 PM or so, two young Brits arrive, Dave and Joe. They are armed to the teeth with climbing equipment. They have only arrived in Peru from Britain a couple of weeks ago, and their plan is to climb as many mountains as they can, culminating with Aconcagua in Argentina, the highest mountain outside of Asia at 6962 m. After that, the rainy season will be here and they will send home their climbing equipment and just travel. Their gear includes some sophisticated camping gear, hiking poles, water proof suits, down jackets, orange plastic climbing boots, crampons, harnesses, climbing rope, and ice axes.  Much of the gear is overkill for this mountain as there is virtually no snow at the top, as the snowline continues its retreat upwards. It is worth noting that the Cordillera Blanca in northern Peru, the highest mountain range in the tropics with 35 peaks over 6000 m, had a crest of white that could be seen from the Pacific Ocean until the glaciers began to recede early in the 20^th century, and of course this recession is speeding up.

 

                                               A beautiful sunset due to the Arequipa smog.

I go to bed around 6:30. Since I did not bring a sleeping bag, I put on my fleece hoodie, long underwear, and an insulated jacket. I cover myself with a small light blanket.  I cannot sleep. I feel like I cannot get enough air and I have to re-arrange the blanket every time I turn over. Iget up at 1:30, eat a bit and start out at 2:00 with a headlamp. A Canadian climber in his 40s who comes up during the night with a guide and gets to us just as we are getting ready. They drop their excess gear here (although they do not have much) and the two of them disappear into the darkness, their hiking poles clicking rhythmically on the rocks. Dave and Joe are ready minutes before I am and I wish them luck. I have a headache, and have had little sleep. I leave some gear behind including the tent. I go slow. Today there is loose rock and sand, with pure sand in the chutes between the rocky ridges. Here and there are flatter areas where there are trails (better packed) but much of it is up to me. I take a fairly direct route up and over steep sections. By 7:30, I estimate that I am only at about 5000 m and am making very slow progress. I have to turn back.

 It is fun running downslope through the sand chutes but I stop well above the campsite to sleep for an hour or so. Because of the Brits’ bright orange tent, it is easy  to spot our campsite, and therefore I have no problem guiding myself down. When I get to the campsite, I meet the Canadian, but only for seconds as he seems in a big hurry. He is just the opposite of the Brits, carrying almost no gear with him, like me only less so. He has been to the top (about 9:30) and then they make tracks for the bottom. I leisurely take down my camp after another snooze and wait for the Brits. They have been successful but arrived up top quite a bit later than planned and were slowed down considerably by the thin air.

We go down quickly together and they have a ride with another tour group. This group of three plus guide never got as high as the camp. One member was sick, and got a ride out on the same day, while the other two camped low and then hiked a little bit upward the next day. I end up getting a ride with them too, and then try to get some of the exorbitant fee I paid to the tour operator for my return ride when I get back to Arequipa: I am only very modestly successful.

I did not plan to return here, but when I am standing at the bottom looking up at Misti, I feel I have to try again. Like Dave said, it is unfinished business. It is so beautiful and I know I can do a lot better. So I decide to take a day to rest up and try again.

The next day I get ready. I feel very positive in spite of diarrhea, a runny nose, a cough, and chapped lips. This is mostly a result of the altitude except for the diarrhea. I attribute that to nervousness as well as a digestive tract which is being continually challenged in my travels. 

I spend time reading about altitude sickness on the internet. The main things I learn to do is to keep well hydrated, increase the carbohydrates in the diet, get lots of sleep, and only increase altitude by about 300 m per day. I have done none of the above. This time I will- except for the slow increase in altitude: kind of hard to do that. There is also a drug, Diamox, which increases breathing rate even while sleeping so I pick up some at a pharmacy. I also buy more food and drink (Gatorade and apple juice), and filter some water. I figure that juice and Gatorade will be easier to consume in large quantities than water. I also buy several liters for today to hydrate myself before hand. Altitude sickness affects everyone differently and apparently has little to do with fitness or age. I imagine that the fact that my hemoglobin levels have been low for the last 10 years cannot help.

I buy a light sleeping  bag and a hiking pole. Through Sylvia, a woman who works at my hostal, I arrange a ride up for half the cost. I talk to another agency, Quechua Tours (on Calle Jerusalem on the east side, that Sylvia used to work for and highly recommended) about renting a tent and pad. I realize that this agency is more active with climbing trips and I could get on a trip with them but at this point I feel  like I need to go it alone. The agency has a group on the mountain today, and can probably get the guide to leave the tent and pad on the mountain so I do not have to carry it up. (The beauty of cell phones.) I get a call at the hostal later telling me where the tent is (the upper camp site).

I start out again the next day at 8. I slept great and I feel  great. This is one of the few places I have stayed where I have a tv in the room.  While I am packing up, I listen to a bit of US election results. Thank God Obama is back in. Not that he has done great things in my opinion: almost nothing on the climate change front. However, at least there is some sanity in the White House. This time I also bring my GPS so that I can keep track of my upward progress (reading my altitude).

I have the same driver that I came back with two days ago. Alberto is a careful driver who wants his vehicle to last. On the way out, we discuss the training of mountain guides and it seems pretty much the same as in Canada. It is a three year process with a lot of training in the mountains. When the training started a few years ago, it was a pilot project funded by the Italian government. Since the project ended and Peru is on its own, the cost of taking the training has doubled so I am guessing that the number of guides being trained has dropped.

It is another beautiful day. The hiking pole is helpful. Half way up on the first day, a rock totally unexpectedly moves under me. I am always looking out for instability underfoot but I do not see this coming. I go down and as I do I try to get my hands under me, but am only partly successful. I see a rock coming up very rapidly toward my face and hear a crunch as they connect. I grab some Kleenex from my pocket and hold it against the numb spot on my forehead expecting lots of blood. But there is not much. Surveying the damage, I have a big lump on my forehead with a cut, a scraped nose, and a scraped thumb. I am very lucky. Even with the fall, I do not have much of a headache. I arrive at the first campsite a little faster than the last time in spite of taking time to enjoy the view. However, my tent is at the upper site, and I do not know where that is. All I know is that it is ‘a little higher’, and that I remember walking through it in the dark last time by coincidence and that it was in an open area. It takes me about an hour to find it, using the process of elimination, and the sighting of several bags of garbage. It is about 150 m higher at 4729 m and probably about 1 km away. It also has a staggering amount of garbage stashed around it. There are more tent sites here so this is clearly the most popular campsite;  the higher altitude is, I am sure, the reason. Because of the garbage there is a much bigger and more aggressive population of field mice here. So I am extra careful. At one point, I drop an apple core near where a mouse is foraging. A finch finds it first and pecks at it for a bit and then leaves. The mouse, on the other hand, hauls it under a rock where it proceeds to eat a significant portion.

I have drunk 2.5 L by the end of Day 1. I know I will not be able to drink much on Day 2. It will be too cold during the ascent, I won’t be thirsty and the drink will be too cold.  I still have not much of a headache in spite of the large lump. The only symptom I have is tingling fingers and toes from time to time, which is one of the side effects of the Diamox. The Diamox acidifies your blood (by inhibiting a blood enzyme which causes you to breathe harder. In doing so, I imagine extremities are more likely to vasoconstrict which is the cause of the tingling.

There is a beautiful sunset and it is a clear night, the stars and the first quarter moon are out.

I go to bed again at 6:30. It is colder this time with the clear sky. I am thankful for the sleeping bag and I sleep well, getting up at 1:30 AM.

                                                    Misti's pointed shadow just after sun-up.

Again I start out at 2. I take a more direct route upward at first. I wish I had gloves. The rock is very cold on the hands. I zig zag through rocks more, and scramble over steep pitches less. I stay on trail when I can. While I definitely have much more energy this time, when I stop for a  bit of breakfast at 5:30, I am only at 5250 m, and have not quite climbed half way up between my camp and the summit: almost 600 m of vertical left to go.  As I get higher, the trails become too steep and not packed enough and I therefore make poor progress on them because they are mainly loose sand. I find it is better to go along the edges of the outcrops, or through the loose rock on the outcrops, although I find the latter a little too dangerous for my liking and I avoid this when I can. My energy is waning with the altitude, and I am starting to get a headache, and I go slower. Whenever the going gets steep, I have to pause every few steps to catch my breath. Finally at 8:15, I can see the 5 m tall metal cross marking the summit beyond and above the rim of the crater.

By 9:20, I reach the rim (5700 m) and look down into the crater. It is magnificent. There is actually an older outer rim that I am on which is higher:  further to my left along the rim is the summit. There is a newer crater inside. On the walls of the inner crater there are two areas where clouds of steam puff out. Alberto told me that there is temperature monitoring equipment on the floor of the crater. Generally the crater floor is at about 200^o C. A few years ago when there was an earthquake nearby, the temperature spiked to 600^o C. But the volcano has not erupted in 500 years. The outside wall of the inner crater has eroded over time leaving steep beautiful piles of volcanic sand piled up on the outside of it.

 

                                                       Looking down into Misti's crater.

There is a good, although steep, path along the rim to the summit, and after I drop my pack  I follow it… slowly. I arrive at 10:10 AM (5853 m according to my GPS, 5821 m officially). A bit later than I had hoped, but I am thrilled. Looking down is amazing. I can see the city in the distance far below. I almost feel like the mountain should be swaying in the wind, so high is the summit. I guess mountains do not sway. The area of the camp, even though half way down, looks like it is in the valley. From the camp it looked like I did not have far to go to the top. Perspective!

After 20 minutes on the summit with the wind blowing hard, it is time to go. I make my way back to the lower part of the rim, grab my pack and head down the slope. I leap downhill, my shoes filling with sand but I do not care. The fact that I cannot see the tent as I go down, means I have to leave the sand chutes twice and climb up onto the rock where I can look for it. On the second try I think I spot it but I am mistaken, and end up dropping down a bit below the camp before I realize my mistake and then have to climb up a bit. When I get there it is noon and it takes another 20 minutes to pack up. I am supposed to be at the meeting place at 1 and I still have 1200 m to descend and a fair bit of flat to cover. I descend the sand very quickly but  then I am on a trail. My legs are very tired and the trail has a lot of sand and loose rock. I slip repeatedly, and then I fall. And then I fall again and break my hiking pole just after I pass a big group coming up. And then again. OK, I decide it is better to slow down and arrive in one piece. I still have several more minor falls. I arrive very tired and very happy about 1:20, 10 minutes after, in the distance, I see Alberto arrive.

On arrival, I immediately down another half liter of liquid. My headache disappears on the way home, but I continue guzzling liquid for the rest of the day, feeling that I am dehydrated. I look like I have been in a fight with my head lumps and scrapes, and in a sense I have. I have a very sore elbow from the fall at the bottom where I busted my bastón (hiking pole). However, I feel great!  When we get back to town, I return the tent and mat. I ask there and elsewhere to try to find a replacement section for my broken pole but such does not seem to exist. I consider taking it into a welding shop and getting a replacement made, but after examing it I doubt that this will be worth it, so I give it to the agency for spare parts. I have never used a hiking pole before but I have to admit that it was helpful at times, and I will get another at some point. I give my blanket, which I no longer need now that I have a sleeping bag, to Sylvia at the hostal for her really cute 3 year old daughter.

Food eaten in a day and a half: 2 oranges, 1 apple, 1.5 chocolate bars, 125 g of raisins and peanuts, 2-175 g canned fish, 8 bread buns, 100 g Edam cheese (although I brought more). I brought 4.8 L liquid but only managed to down 3.4 L.