Sucre and Onward

We woke up on the leg cramping bus of claustrophobia in the middle of foggy who knows where Andes mountains. After waiting twenty minutes behind a 3 dump truck road block, we passed along our narrow winding road to a quaint little mountain community. Without a toilet in sight we were required to pee on the side of the road. Thankfully in Bolivia it would seem inappropriate if we were to use an actual toilet. I perused the snacks available, all of which were hand baked goods literally being served out of a wheelbarrow on the side of the road. I opted for nothing. Bus rides are generally a bad time to be experimenting with diet. To the tune of our bus driver shouting "Vamos, vamos, vamos" we stampeded back onto the bus and were off. Sucre is a pretty conflicted city. Picturesque mountains surround massive industrial complexes which surround the cute and classy colonial interior. Walking down the steep cobble stone streets through the marketplaces of Sucre was full of many exciting sights, sounds, and smells. At one point I looked over my shoulder to see a small Bolivian boy moaning and rushing towards me with a huge smile on his face. He caught me and gave a big hug before running away having a good chuckle with his friend. Naturally, I checked my pockets and with everything accounted for I coined him the cutest welcoming committee I have ever experienced. We found an exotic pizza place in the main square before returning to the hostel. We called it early that night and I had a dream that Eric and I were battling terrorists on Ellis Island in a post apocalyptic New York City. When I awoke, my legs were covered in bed bug bites. Man are they itchy. But that wasn't going to ruin the day. This was the day that we were to explore the fabled dinosaur park. We caught a cab to the top of the hill. The park itself was located behind the concrete factory at the edge of the city. We (or I) had nothing but high hopes for the park, loving all things dinosaur from Denver the Last Dinosaur to Jurassic Park. But this park was pretty hurtin. Present were all my favorites; Carnotaurus, Titanosaurus, T-Rex, Ankylosaurus, and Pteranodons. Absent was anything else of interest. Unless you count the genuine dinosaur footprints plastered to a wall of upturned rock to be viewed from about 200 feet away. Something was apparently lost in the translation. We returned to the city rather forlorn wondering if the city of Sucre would end on a low note. Enter our recent travel companion Stewie with a single word in four syllables: Tarabuco! Yes Tarabuco!



Tarabuco is a city located just outside of Sucre that hosts the festival known as Pujllay (which is apparently Quechua for 'play') At the festival, many indigenous communities from the surrounding area come to Tarabuco in their traditional garments to sing, play music, dance, jump up and down, and march up and down the streets. They circle the plaza many times, each community getting a chance to strut their stuff, before everyone heads down to the lowlands en mass for a final showdown/throwdown near a massive flagpole. Meanwhile merchants everywhere sell a myriad of handmade collectibles. Eric and I bought 100 hand rolled cigarettes for 5 Bolivianos. Neither of us are die hard smokers, but when vices are this cheap you really have no choice. I also bought a sweet sombrero a la Indiana Jones for about $10 Canadian, which was destined to make me the talk to the town in the comming treeplanting season. Watching people dance and chant is tiring, and when comrade Simon got his camera stolen, we knew it was time to go. On the drive back to Sucre, I took pictures of waving children on the side of the road, who appear to live in quite literally the middle of nowhere. How very admirable of them.




Back in Sucre we booked a tour of the silver mines of Potosi. Our 7:00am bus took us to what was historically one of the richest cities in Bolivia. However, in it's present state, Potosi is more or less similar to all other Bolivian cities apart from being over 4000 meters above sea level. We left our things at a hostel and were picked up by a stout red man with a blue blazer that displayed the cities emblem; a devil with a fake halo wearing a mask. He introduced himself as Hugo Chavez and whisked us away to 'cerro ricco' (rich mountain) where we stopped at the miners market for some supplies. We purchased dynamite, coca leaves, and drinks for the miners. Hugo explained that the mines are of the utmost importance to the Bolivian economy and that some people work in the mines their entire lives, beginning when the are as young as 12 years old. We walked to the entrance of the mine in our cute headlamps and coveralls. Gazing into the hole we could hear the ominous echoes of miners and feel the dank dark breath of the earths interior. We entered the pitch black mine with only the tiny circles of light from our headlamps illuminating the walls like gigantic firefly's. Walking in the mines was claustrophobic, requiring at least a bend of the neck and at most a complete crawl through tiny 3ftx3ft holes. At other times, our guide would frantically call to the back of our 8 man convoy urging us to run to an opening to avoid being crushed by a passing mine cart. Each group of miners pushed a massive cart full of ore with super human strength to the exit, where they would sort it and determine if it contained anything of value. Often they would find little to nothing and have to turn around and face the abyss for another go at making a buck. But we were always sure to give each group all sorts of treasures that were sure to make their days. Can you say Orange Pop?

After questioning a tiny shrine I saw, Hugo decided that we take a massive detour to find a mystery hidden deep within the mine. Our first effort to penetrate deep into the earth was thwarted by a padlocked gate that was our access to a network of pathways winding over eight stories underground. Not to be outdone by a mere padlock, Hugo took us in another direction. As the oxygen became scarce and the air heavy with the scent of rock and ore, one of our companions began to have an asthma attack. This sent a small wave of insecurity throughout the entire group who became convinced that we should turn back immediately. Hugo diffused the situation as casual as ever. He brought the victim of asthma to a massive shaft cut into the mountainside that was meant to provide air circulation to the lower quarters of the mine. After a few minutes of the freshest air a mine can provide, out friend was calm and collected, ready to discover the secret of the mine. We eventually reached a small enclosure. Sitting in the corner was a monkey faced creatures sitting about 5 feet tall with a waterfall of ribbons spilling out of its entire body. Surrounding the creature were many cigarettes, coca leaves, and beer cans. His name was Tio ('uncle') and although Bolivia is considered predominantly Catholic, the miners decided it was appropriate to provide offerings to this Lord of the underworld to ensure that their days were safe and profitable. Giving a live demonstration of a ritual sacrifice, Hugo began sprinkling the remaining coca leaves around Tio's feet, asking for blessing and prosperity to the miners and tourists. After this interesting and slightly creepy ritual, we headed towards the exit. The light was bright and blinding as we sloshed our way out of the mine. Our day ended with a ceremonial lighting of the TNT that we purchased. After some very apprehensive pictures holding a bag of ignited explosives, we watched Hugo slowly waltz over the hillside, plant the bombs, and then run quickly down the road. Two grey halos exploded from over the hillside with an ear shaking bang that was punctuated only by one Paul Maidment cry of "@%#&ing Hell!" After a long day, we rolled down the hill back into Potosi where our nice warm bed bug free beds awaited. And we slumbered. Boy did we slumber.

Welcome to Bolivia

Before entering Bolivia, we waited in the tiny border town of Corumba. While looking for a hostel at the bus station we were approached by a blue shirted man who we named Blue Shirt Man. We soon learned that he was not to be trusted. Unfortunately I watched as an Australian acquaintance we met in Foz Iguazu climbed onto a motorcycle with him never to be seen again. I am convinced to this day that he perished. Corumba was full of all sorts of disturbing things. Gangs of small girls with flowers parading the streets in uniform, church services in supermarkets at midnight, statues of saints in the middle of the street, and some greasy square dough pockets stuffed with liquefied meat. All of this accounted for our hasty retreat into Bolivia the following morning. We rode the most crowded bus in existence for about five minutes and then caught the second most crowded bus in existence for an additional ten before reaching the border of Bolivia. Here we met up with Blue Shirt Man and watched as he wheeled and dealed with his many associates. We hesitantly changed our remaining Reals into Bolivianos with a street lady while Eric processed his travel visa, which again was hastle free. I was starting to think that all our travel preparations were simply North American paranoia because they even provided Yellow Fever vaccinations right there at the border (of the highest quality I assure you).

Crossing into Bolivia felt like entering the merry old land of Oz. Driving in the dilapidated taxi cab we noticed that the dirt roads had no traffic lights. Drivers are simply required to honk the cars horn when speeding towards and intersection and hope no one else is comming. Why didn't we think of that? Every car ride is like Fast and the Furious Bolivia Drift and I witnessed a car accident within an hour of being in the country. It was not uncommon to see babies peeing or pooing in the street. The number of street dogs were on par with the other countries, but Bolivian dogs had far more battle wounds and travelled in much larger packs. The currency in Bolivia is approximately 7.5 Bolivianos to 1 Canadian dollar, which meant that the cost of living was dirt cheap. So dirt cheap that it made me feel dirty. Our first hostel in the town of Puerto Suarez cost us $4 Canadian, a new record. Bolivia also offered an opportunity to experience some fantastic new products including yogurt in monkey shaped plastic bottles, strange cheesy poofs with the consistency of bubble gum, and everyone's favorite rum and coke in a can, Cuba Libre. Apparently rum and gin are phonetically impossible in South America and must be pronounced 'ron' and 'jim'. Interesting.

Our next goal was to catch the aptly named Death Train to the city of Santa Cruz. Apparently the train has a history of derailing and it is not surprising. Any time during the ride, you could close your eyes and pretend you were on a cargo ship as the train rocked back and forth. What would a ride on the Death Train be without a death. Looking for a place to snooze, I climbed into the pair of empty seats behind me and curled up like a kitten. I placed my book in the pouch of the seat, took my shoes off, and hung my glasses on the steel shutter that covered the window. I woke an hour later to a gentle jab on the shoulder accompanied by a flash light in the face. One of the train conductors was demanding that I leave the seats so he could have a sit down. Never one to toy with the demands of a train conductor in training, I scrambled back to my seat in a daze. I sat and listened as the conductor unlatched the shutter and threw it upward into its tiny home above the window. My stomach dropped as I remembered that my glasses were dangling from that very same shutter. I salvaged what I could, but my glasses are now the proud owners of some pretty horrid scratches. I wipe them daily in hopes that it is just dirt...it is not. We had our share of fun in Santa Cruz, but our goal was to travel to the quaint town of Sucre. However, Pachamama was angry and sent floods to destroy many of Bolivia's roads, including the one required for us to travel to Sucre. Because of this we had a 5 hour delay in Santa Cruz. During the wait a card game was invented that brought Bolivians, Americans, English and Canadians under one roof. It consisted of going around the circle laying down cards in your hand until a card is duplicated. At this point you slap the deck and claim the cards in the stack. It was easy enough to transcend the language barriers and we soon had quite a following, with multiple Bolivians surrounding us to get a view of the intense card action. Finally the bus was ready to go. As we left the terminal we were treated to an in person infomercial from a man trying to sell snail cream and muscle relaxant. He even let us sample it. As convincing as the production was, we had to decline. Five Bolivianos was just too much for female hygiene products. We soon drifted into cramped, bumpy, rocky sleep and dreamt of Sucre...

The Pantanal

The Pantanal is a marshland in the south western corner of Brazil that attracts tourists from far and wide because of the potential for seeing a number of wild animals. It is not uncommon to see all sorts of animals running around doing animal things. We caught a bus to Campo Grande, which operates as a gateway to the Pantanal. Getting off the bus made the competition between tour companies quite evident. We were immediately approached a pair of rival representatives, both of whom gave their best efforts at winning our affection. We decided to follow a particularly persistent man to his base of operations located in the bus terminal. Here we listened to a yawn inducing and entirely unconvincing speech about the companies perks. We then visited another company called Pantanal Discovery. Here we were treated to the enthusiastic efforts of a man named Gil. Gil danced and sang about the inner workings of the Pantanal and the surrounding area. This in addition to a discount in price won our hearts. Before leaving for the Pantanal, we were scheduled for a visit to a small town called Bonito. Legend claims that Bonito holds the most beautiful crystal waters that are teeming with fish. We caught a bus to Bonito, and the next day we rented some bikes, an underwater digital camera and left for Bilearno Municipal Park a few kilometres outside the city. The ride was nice and plenty rustic, with a distinct South American feel too it. Exotic birds flying around and less than exotic cows in nearby fields. Although a few beers exploded during the ride, out of sheer excitement I presume, we made it to our destination. It was easily the most incredible body of water I have ever swam in and I have swam a number of bodies of water. It was said to be a public swimming pool and this was not a lie. But when I think of a public swimming pool I think of chlorine and skin cells mixed with urine and pubic hair. Instead, this public swimming pool was a river winding along the edge of a jungle, with nearly invisible waters and unlimited schools of fish {you have to see the pictures, honestly}. We spent the entire day in the water, relaxing and eating pineapple. We made friends with a couple of locals who used some mini tomato like things to lure the fish out of the water where I tried my best to catch them in mid air. I showed them some monkey maneuvers, swinging from the trees and dropping into the rivers below, which earned me the name macaque man.

The experience was perfect and the next day we were off to the heart of the Pantanal via bus. We awoke early to catch our bus as the sun was slowly rising. After a few hour bus ride, we were dropped off at a junction that can only be described as a truck stop in the middle of picturesque South American nowhere. Swinging screen doors, more exotic birds, and a mud road against the marshy backdrop that is the Pantanal. We waited for a few hours in the company of the Brazilian owner who walked around in his boxers with a small black puppy. Eventually there was signs of life on the road. A group of tourists exiting the Pantanal arrived and we were loaded onto a truck with four Germans and a group of middle ages Brazilians who were decidedly college for there age. One of them looked and laughed like a giant hybrid between a gremlin and a leprechaun. Upon our arrival, we were upgraded to the dorm rooms because our campsite was swimming with the piranhas. The campsite was awesome. It had a swimming pool, incredible food, and a pet pig.


Our first activity was a boat tour of the nearby river. After walking through some flood planes we boarded a boat and went down the river. We saw alligators, Howler monkeys, and a variety of birds before jumping into the water for a long float most of the way home. The next morning we awoke with the excitement of Christmas morning at our chance to go fishing for piranhas. We boarded the same boat as before and rode to a river junction that was piranha central. Our guide produced a large slab of meat from the cow killed for dinner the previous evening, and cut it into bite sized portions for use with our bamboo fishing rods. Dipping the hook into the water is greeted with rabid tugs on the line, which leave an empty hook in about 10 seconds. You must be quick at yanking on the line and with a little luck, you too can land a piranha. I first caught a massive Black piranha, followed by a medium sized white piranha, and then a yellow bellied piranha. Piranhas are savage little fish. They snort and growl when pulled out of the water. They are less savage when battered and deep fried on a plate.

That night went on a jeep and walking tour of the Pantanal. Here we saw an armadillo, American coatimundi, wild pigs, howler monkeys, macaws, and deer to name a few. It was so great to see so many animals in close proximity without any human interference. At one point I wanted to stay with the monkey to study them and let them accept me as one of their own. Only in dreams. We returned to the ranch under the cover of darkness to see pack hunting night foxes and the glowing eyes of the alligators on the water.

The next morning was our final day in the Pantanal and possibly the most anticipated. It was time for some horseback riding. I was excited to get back on a horse having been away from it since my younger years. I wanted the tan coloured horse, but in the end it is the horse that picks the rider. I received a beautiful old steed named Vinaigrette. Our guide had the horse that was appropriately named Loco. The horse pretty much lost it the entire time, running sideways and rearing up at every pool of water. Not old Vinny though. He was strong and steadfast, a noble steed.During our ride we were hit with the heaviest rain I have experienced in a long time. I was soaked from head to toe and the horses made every effort to take shelter under the trees with the stray cows. In the end we had to cut the ride short. The horses knew this and cantered most of the way home.

We then packed our bags and caught a bumpy muddy truck back to the junction with only a few of our sub aquatic trucks getting stuck in the mud. At this point it was goodbye to Justin, but hello to at least three people of whom we are still travelling with right now. We left for the city of Corumba at the border of Bolivia after one of the better South American experiences yet. Pantanal has stolen at least a tiny portion of my heart and it could have it all if only those monkeys would accept me in full. We are currently in La Paz Bolivia and recently had another incredible experience in the salt flats of Uyuni. Like something of a dream sequence. But I will fill you in on those details as soon as possible.

Rio De-O

The thing about Brazil is that Eric and I both needed travel visas to get into the country. Many moons ago we made an effort at getting them in Buenos Aires, but gave up when we discovered the extensive list of requirements; passport photo, 3 months worth of bank statements, bank cards and photocopies of bank cards, drivers licences, verification of the travel itinerary in and out of the country, a contact address in Brazil, and approximately 3 days of our precious time for processing. Here in Puerto de Iguazu it was different. We were required to stumble up to the consulate located in a mans garage, fill out an application form, hand him a passport, $230 Argentine Pesos and wait for about an hour. It was so childishly easy that we thought he was either cheating us or that we were cheating him. But sure enough, we had our visas in an hour and were on the first bus to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. Brazil is a very unique part of South America. It has an incredibly diverse culture rooted in a number of ethnicities unified by the common language of Portuguese. Eric and I were entirely unprepared for Portuguese. Having spent our entire trip trying to scratch by with our limited Spanish, it was a little bit depressing coming to Brazil and beginning at square one again. We decided that Portuguese is a strange hybrid between French and Spanish. It is quite nasal and has many `oi´ sounds. We stayed in a region called Botafogo, which is in the neighbourhood just next to Copacabana. We spent a day testing out the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema to give the landscape some much needed gringo-fication. The beach is popular for a reason and we had a good time diving under the waves and doing front flips in the shallows while people surfed and baked in the sun. At the Hostel we met Justin Mason. He is a computer programmer for Microsoft who is fluent in Spanish and recently taught himself Portuguese. We quickly befriended him. That night we went out to a place called the Scenarium with our friend Laura and a local named Fabrecio who became our freelance guide during our time in Rio. At the Scenarium we had a tiny taste of what it is like in a Samba dance club. I got a lesson from Laura that I will now give to you. To make samba sound ridiculous, the dance consists of spinning in circles while stepping forward and then backward again. Now we are all cultured. Another day was spent watching a skateboarding competition. It was a Vert Jam sponsored by the local phone service provider `Oi´. Eric and I crossed our fingers for the appearance of everyones favorite Brazilian skateboarder, Bob Burnquist, but we were a day early for that. Later, we went to Ipanema beach to watch a Bossa Nova festival which featured some of Brazil's most famous Bossa Nova artists. It was a dynamic display that really exemplified the rich heritage found in Brazil's music.

One third and final day of touring allowed Eric and I to visit the gigantic Jesus, Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado, where we spent time spent pulling the tourist card with some elderly folk. The amazing thing is the number of gigantic Jesus knock offs in South America. Basically any city with a hill nearby will at least make an effort. Some places really make it there own. For example, Corumba Brazil was even so bold as to project a bright blue light onto their Jesus at night. Profound. Later that day we went on a guided tour of the Favelas in Rocinha, which were made popular by the film City of God. I have have never seen the film but I hear it is largely an inaccurate representation of the people that live in the favelas. Apparently the area is run by drug lords. The government stays out of their business if they don't cause too much trouble. They don't pay taxes in the area and because of this a number of businesses from the surrounding area are infiltrating Rocinha to cash in. The architecture within Rocinha is nothing short of claustrophobic. But with the claustrophobia comes a great sense of community as neighbours are forced into eachothers business, often forming one massive family.

Our time in Rio was a good introduction to Brazil. But as is often the case, Eric and I were prepared to get out of the big city to see some of natures finest. We said goodbye to Rio and friends, and with Justin in tow, grabbed a bus ticket en route to the marshland known as the Pantanal. Booyah.

(PS I will upload more photos when I get a better computer. Maybe even videos. As of right now Eric and I are in Tupiza Bolivia. There is lots to say about the Pantanal. In short it was incredible. Also Bolivia appears to be the only cultural experience we have had because it is such a sharp contrast from all the other countries we have visited. And its dirt cheap. $4 hostels, puleeez. Later)