Chewing Coca Leaves in Bolivia

We are in Bolivia, with a golf ball sized mashes of coca leaves in our mouths. Our technique of patiently macerating leaves in our checks is wrong. But we have the right plant ash too add and it barely matters at over 10,000 feet. The effects of coca leaves are still mild.

Nuestro peublo de Tupiza es fuerte con Bolivianos y  pocho viajars. It is a mass majority of local people, which is what we hope for. But it is not Botswana where a white person is a rare or unexpected site.
I have bought clothes for an occasion to be determined. A tea cup felt hat, an oversized poncho and a beautiful blanket. Nothing has cost more than 50 Bolvianos ($7). But the clothes that I buy or wear could not ease the transition. The dress here is thoroughly divided between traditional and western. A common sight is an older Bolivian women in full traditional dress, carrying a huge load on her arched pack. That being said, the traditional dress seems to be heavily influenced by colonial Spanish. The patterns and dress are typically functional blue crossed patterns.

The life here is equitable in its own way. The currency is of low value but all the towns seem fully functioning within it.  There are viable economies based on lower value goods, textiles and food. It reminds me of a fishermen  I was speaking with in Punta del Diablo, Uruguay.  In short, I described overfishing in Canada and he said he typically caught what could be sold locally. It was enough for him and enough for the surrounding community.

It illuminates the industry that we have in Canada. We have embraced intensive farming so that our economy can expand and diversify. We’ve gained a huge amount. The wealth and currency for people like me and Jackson to travel.
What have we lost? Sustainability and a connection to what is essential. In the end, we are luck but are clearly overusing our piece of the pie.

Canadians are foreign creatures in Bolivia. Our seasonal temperatures, location and size are beyond common understanding here. If you ever want to win a bet with a South American, purpose that Canada is bigger than Argentina or even more unbelievable Brazil.

It has been a stark but welcome change from Argentina. The land is rugged and the altitude so much higher (normally over 10,000 ft). The drop in living cost is marked with full meals on the street costing $1.50 or less. We’re hoping to stay in Bolivia for a while, hoping that we’ll get used to the thin air and simple forms of eating and sleeping.

Leaving Argentina

I was startled this morning by a man offering café con leche. It was light outside our bus and the surrounding station was active. My question awoke before I did, ‘Donde estamos?’. The man laughed before he moved on, ‘Jujuy, San Salvador de Jujuy’.
I woke Jackson and we scrambled of the bus, the last to claim our mochilas before our bus departed en route to Bolivia.

We passed through a busy market, not fully awake or receptive. I was wearing colorfully striped pants, slippers on my feet and a headband suspending my hair up and back.

The city we awoke in was too foreign. The faces of the people around us darker and longer than what we were used too. I had read that Jujuy was where Argentina begins to become Bolivia. I felt the transition as a shock, early in the morning.

We attempted to catch a bus to camping out of town. A vendor brought coca leaves to a bus driver, who in turn stuffed the leaves in the side of his mouth. On all streets a small mudslide was being cleaned. Walking over and around the mess, a small part of what has happened all over Peru and Bolivia became reality for us.

The only news which that had made it internationally is the stranding of tourists at Maccu Piccu. Thousands very safely stranded. I was wondering how long is would take the story to surpass Haiti on BBC news. It took less than a day.

We headed out of the busy, muddy city center to find a place to camp.  ‘Today is hippy hang-out day. Everyday is hippy hang-out day.’ is what we started saying in El Bolson. It endures as we continue to camp, wear colorful, dirty clothes and hang out with traveling minstrels.  That day we hiked 16 km in sandals along a riverbed and felt more and more like we were entering the jungle.

We hitchhiked successfully out of Jujuy, sitting in the front of a truck with a garlic farmer. He had indigenous blood, was jovial and loved all the music he played for us. Every few minutes he would change the song and explain to us each of the instruments.
He would let go of the wheel and mimic playing his own instrument, a small guitar with 10 strings.

The buildings are more basic now. Made out of mud bricks and corrugated metal. Surrounding all the existing town are the remains of older Quechan villages.  We are speaking more Spanish with more people, predominantly girls and women. Who knows why it works out like that.

Hippy Paradise, El Bolson

The recommendations to hit up El Bolson came from Woofers and other dirty travelers. We heard it was a hippy community with where everything is homegrown: food, organic products and more.
Juanito (Jackson)  and I arrived in true hippy fashion. We hopped out of the back of a small truck in the middle of town. He was wearing ripped jeans and sandals, I was wearing shorts and slippers. I was sporting a rasta fedora and he just looked dirty. Por supesto, nobody blinked and we eased into the crowd sitting in the park.
The town center is a market and the small park it surrounds. The youth are all bohemian, often with little bohemian babies in tow. We saw 2 large market days. Both times the market was full of wood, leather, metal and other handmade goods. The highlight for us was the food: waffles, baked goods, milanesas, papa fritas, fruit juices and organic beers.
The park in the center was filled with people searching for shade. The main informal event on Saturday was a clown with a trained dog. There was a great ska band Saturday evening. The people skanking had such an intense style. Guys and girls with shaved heads on the side and dreads on the back.

The three Americans that had snubbed us before hitchhiking were at the same campsite as us. We held a grudge as long as we could. The rest of the time we relaxed with them and had several hippy hangout days.

Time Around the Estancia

I feel clean and relaxed as Jackson and I have checked into our first hostel in about a month. We have spent the better part of the month hitchhiking, volunteering and working our way North through Argentina.

I'll start with our time at Estancia Santa Thelma.  We chose to volunteer (with WOOFing) at a sheep ranch in Santa Cruz, the most southern province of Argentina.This choice satisfying the small part of our egos that thought we could be gauchos if only given the chance. We had a rough time hitchhiking there, moving at a rate of about 200km per day and camping for free on the side of the road. From our last ride, from a Brazilian truck, we walked a few kilometers over barren land towards the estancia.
When we spotted the Estancia, it looked like a green oasis in a small valley. We cautiously walked in and found the gaucho, named Candido.

Candido is a small, weather beaten, solitary 64 year old gaucho. He lives on the estancia year round in a small house with a wood stove. Candido had lived on a farm since he was young, skinning sheep since he was 12. We later learned he was hired on good reputation from the nearby village. Candido does not drink alcohol, a pitfall for many other gauchos.
At the estancia, we always had the company of many animals. There were 8 sheep dogs, including one puppy Candido had found alone in the plains in the winter. Also a few lambs, turkeys and horses always made up our community.
Candido had no work with us until the owners arrived. We watched him do his tasks for the first two days, including herded and slaughtering one sheep for us to eat. He seemed indifferent too our presence and happy to have us at his meal times. Every meal we ate sheep in some form.

When the owners Marc-Antionne and Paulina arrived, we were put to work. Marc has owned the Estancia for 5 years and is living his dream as a cowboy. Paulina, 15 years younger, has been coming for 3 years.
We ate meals with this couple, but they only would speak French at the table. Jackson understood more than me and I only would respond in Spanish.
We dug ditches and built dams for 5 days in order to create an irrigation system. Other Woofers came and went and generally were all first language French.  This is where the experience went south for me. I didn't mind the work, but the meal times I never enjoyed. We never ate our fill and the conservation was always French. I would say very little and the meals became a sore spot for me. Without enjoyment of the meals, the days had very little to offer.
The reward was the small view on how life would be in Southern Patagonia. Not for us but for the gauchos and people making a living off the land. At one point, 2 months of planting crops was lost in a week to a small plague of grasshoppers. There are birds that would peck the eyes of the sheep out. Also a rough winter had been hard on many ranches in the area.
Two men and two boys came for lambs one morning. Candido had herded about 100 sheep the night before. They selected, dragged, washed, killed and skinned 20 lambs before 9:00 a.m. 

One evening, Jackson went for a horse ride after much pressuring of our hosts. He was kicked by a horse the next day. He was lucky to take the hit in the thigh but could barely walk for a few days. I continued with cement work while we waited for a day off. When we were to be moved to a different Estancia, with no animals, to fix fences for an indefinite period of time,  we decided it was time to leave.
We had no food for the road and had not had a day off to buy any. Paulina gave use crackers, pasta, sauce and cheese to get us to the next village and Marc gave us a ride to the Ruta 40.

The following afternoon would be the worst hitchhiking we would endure. We were dropped on the side of the Ruta 40 into what quickly developed into a sandstorm. The winds made it nearly impossible to walk and we pelleted with sand and small rock. We sat, faces and bodies covered, for 5 hours without any luck. During this storm, I thought mainly of all the different stages of the trip so far. They seem to stretch in front of me like a reel of film. To the left, experiences and places we have been. To the right, the trip and times to come. The present environment was right in front of us, but it only one scene in our continuum.

A truck stopped with 3 Americans in the back. The 3 would not make room for us and said the back was full. More on those Yankees later. The ride we did get was at best a mixed blessing. It was a large truck and the seats available to us were on top, facing forward into the wind. So we started down the road, not only did strong winds blow at us, but we were traveling 100 km per hour with no cover. The ride lasted for 30 min at which point the truck pulled into an estancia. We asked to be let off but they waved us off. All truck occupants exited the truck and went into a house at this new estancia. Jackson and I disembarqued, both half ruined from the ride and laughed about our unexpected situation. I went to the house only to realize I was interrupting a mate break. 15 minutes later we were on the road in the exact same position.

Our day and night was saved by an Italian couple on their honeymoon. Jennifer and Alejandro picked us up, fed us instantly and later that night bought us beer and dinner. A gift from fortunate travelers to unfortunate Jackson and I. That was a beautiful scene.

Hitchhiking into Argentina

Jackson and I took a few days to relax in Puerto Natales, Chile. Jackson wanted to fix his camera and buy fishing gear. I wanted to let my knee and blisters heal.
We had found a very comfortable, cheap hotel and saw no reason to quickly leave. Our hostel looked shabby from the outside. Inside there were more signs in Hebrew than Spanish or English.
The hostel was full of Israeli travelers, who seem to permeate every tourist section of South America. We learned that the norm for young Israelis is to finish their mandatory time in the army and then travel in South America. They travel often in large and distinct groups.
We did no planning for future travel. We knew we would hitch hike to El Calafate, Argentina. After our third night, we left early in the morning. We walked to the highway and tried to figure out the right way to go.
I sat to make sandwiches while Jackson stuck out his thumb. He always adds in a Chilean hand movement which looks like he’s patting a child on the head. Before I could make two sandwiches, we had a ride for in an empty mini-bus. The bus wouldn’t take us to the border but at least closer to it.We spoke with the driver about the seasons and where he was from. Then we fell asleep, waking up only when the car hit a bird.
We arrived 7 km from the Chilean border. Or so we thought. We walked 20 meters and quickly picked up another ride. What we didn’t realize, we had walked over the Chilean border. I was until we hitchhiked another 10 km to the Argentinean border that we realized our mistake. They turned us away.
We hitchhiked two more quick rides back and forth to obtain an exit stamp from Chile. Only then we were able to cross the Argentinean border.
We walked 150 meter and waited for our next ride. For 6 hours, we waited and no success. There was nothing around us and it was 100 km to the closest town. It was very windy, a bit cold and barren.
We were waiting close to a family of foxes and a hawk stole our sausages. Condors were flying high above us and we saw a large hare.
In the evening, when the cars stopped passing us by, we walked back to the border office to ask for water. The border guards told us we were doing our hitchhiking (‘hacer dido’) all wrong and should have been asking for rides right at the border. They gave us a place to camp and were friendly. Our Spanish failed us on this occasion and we socialized very little.
When we woke up the next day, the border was a bit more busy.
We sat, dirty and waiting on the steps of the border office. We received strange and confused looks from tour bus riders and other border crossers. We clearly had no car and there is no way we could have walked. I think most people thought we were being detained. I had two puppies which followed me incessantly. When people wanted to see the puppies, I would walk them over. Before long we started cooking sandwiches on our stove.
After a few hours, I followed a couple with a truck and spoke Spanish as they increased their pace away from me. When I switched to English, the Americans relented. When I asked if they could fit us, they asked me ‘Do you have cash?’.

It turns out they had under budgeted their cash and didn’t have enough money for gas home. The highway is gravel and the surroundings sparse. Scattered gas stations had wooden cash registers. As I had learned in Zimbabwe, they learned going to Torres del Paine: ‘Cash is King’. Plastic is no good. They gave us a ride and I gave them 40 pesos ($13) for enough gas to get us to El Calafate.

Torres Del Paine Continued (Great Pictures to Come)

Day 3:

We started our overland trek, encircling the Torres. Our packs were still overflowing with food. After descending for an hour, we turned off to a much quieter trail. We walked through the area where a friend had seen a puma. The only wildlife we saw (besides many types of birds) was a massive bull sauntering along the trail.
The hike was unique and low lying, but on this section it was covered in animal crap. I swear you could have hopped from horse and cow paddies the whole way. It was raining and the views of surrounding peaks were obscured. We were happy but slowly were worn down by weather and walking.
After a few more hours hiking beside a large river, we arrived at the refugio and were surprised we needed to pay. The refugio site was no different than the kilometers surrounding us. We noticed the quality gear and intense look of those around us; then realized we had a lot of good gear ourselves.
We settled into different tents, I believe it was our last night to do so. I was so cold during the night that I literally hid inside my sleeping bag. If I brought my face out it was assaulted by the cold.

Day 4:
We had our earliest start so far, around 10:00 p.m we were out of camp. We had 19 km to hike over the day. I was blissfully free of injury at this point.
The trail carried us up and along a side of a mountain while looking over a river and lake. It was a rough start but the views quickly became spectacular. After the first main uphill it was only distance to cover.
After being frustrated with paying for nothing, we decided to poach camping. But \we chickened out and mumbled about environmental ethics as we headed to the relative comfort of the refugio camping grounds.
These grounds, while offering little for amenities, had an incredible location. It was on a point with a black rock beach. I had wanted to swim but we could see glacier feeding water into the lake.
Gauchos (cowboys) came in late to the refugio, cracking wipes at their burdened horses. Jackson bought eggs that they had carried in. I resisted from buying cigarettes.

Day 5:
For breakfast, we had eggs, avocado and fried potatoes and onions.
We started a trek around a valley and our packs were starting to lighten. At this point, my knee was aching with each step and I had begun to limp. Jackson started to move faster than I did and I started to take Advil. We ate lunch by a waterfall and moved along a relatively flat trail.
By the time we were ready to camp, we had arrived at a small lake with a glacier hanging over it. The glacier had pushed a wall of rocks, creating an area for the lake and then receded. We did poach camping this time, by a river bed hidden from the trail. It was the best camping of the trip. It started to snow early and we consistently heard the glacier break and fall into the water.
We heard the gauchos on the trail above us but were well hidden until the morning. As I mentioned, Jackson and I were in the same tent and laughed for 3 hours before the light went down.

Day 6:

My knee continued to worsen as we began our most extreme day of the hike. We moved upwards all morning, moving from the river, through trees and then above the tree line until we were scrambling over rock.
We saw snow ahead of us and stopped to eat pasta with makeshift pesto. It was a very good idea. It was the last dry ground for hours.
We started walking through a least a meter of snow, though our shoes rarely sank through. We had joined up with a French trekker named Lucas. We were faster than him but we learned he covered consistently twice what we would in a day. Slow and steady.
We walked along the snow with a steep elevation for another hour and a half. It wasn’t as physically tiring as I would have thought. I just couldn’t believe we were still going up.
We were surrounded by snow in all directions as more fell from above.
At the peak of the trail, we gained a few to glacier Grey. I don’t know the dimensions, but it was kilometers across and 10s of kilometers long. The glacier was in the valley of mountains, leading out to a new lake. A redeeming and rewarding sight. My camera died after one picture.
The descent was what really did my knee in. It was a brutal muddy trail steeper than what we had climbed. We hopped and criss-crossed down the mountain.
We found free (legitimate) camping. We cooked up vegetables for our pasta sauce. At this point we noticed that Lucas and the other hikers around us were eating very simple meals. For Lucas, instant chicken soup.
Though the day was incredible, my body was very beat up. I had a hip so raw it had been bleeding, the blisters on my feet very painful and quickly infected. My knee made it difficult to sleep.

Day 7:

I fixed myself up in the morning but neither of us wanted to move. We were set on a lay day but ended up leaving camp at 2:00 p.m. The hike was all downhill and Jackson motored ahead of me. It seemed I was chasing a ghost. All I could was see his blue shirt ahead but he’d wait up just long enough for me to catch a glimpse.
We were hiking along the length of the glacier along the mainland. I had frustrating moments and was in a lot of pain. We settled around 7:00 p.m. but decided to keep pushing on a bit farther.
We had decided to leave the park in time for New Years, meaning we’d need to hike at least 8 hours before 6:00 p.m. the next day.
We poached camping along the lake and again it was breathtaking. Mountains and a waterfall were behind us. A glacier, lake and more mountains to our front.

Day 8: Dec 31st
I lead and we motored along the trail, motivated in the morning. We completed the first half of our hike before lunch and contemplated this choice:
#1) Take a 30 min ferry for $11,000 pesos ($22). Catch a bus at 2:00 p.m.
#2) Hike 17 km more. Catch a 6:30 p.m.

I took the easy way out and saved my knee from more distance. Jackson took option #2 and gave me a very distinct wave as he headed off on the trail.
I slept and relaxed in the afternoon as Jackson hiked more. After he collapsed into the hostel room, we went to a restaurant for sea food. We met a lively Argentinean/French couple to party in the New Year with.

Torres del Paine, Southern Patagonia

With minimal information but adequate equipment, Jackson and I prepared for around 10 days in the Southern Patagonian Park 'Torres del Paine'

I am writing in the hostel at 9 p.m. on New Years. I hobbled out of the park and paid $22 extra for a ferry. Jackson choose to hike an extra 17 km and has not yet returned home. But that is the end of the story, I should start with day 1.

Day 1, Dec 24th
Jackson and I scrambled to reach the park. We romanticized the idea of Christmas eve on the mountain. The travel gods smiled on us and we were able to store gear, buy fuel and arrange transfer in under two hours. We are astonished by several sights before we enter the park. I was happy to see flamingos and emus by the lake. We couldn't believe the $30 entrance fee. I couldn't believe that I ran into 2 friends from Buenos Aires, Sam and Reed. They were taking a break from school in order to visit Torres del Paine.
We quickly decided to spend Christmas eve and headed up the mountain.
Unnecessary items I carried in my overloaded pack:
- 10 potatoes
- 1 litre Pisco in a glass bottle
- 10 avocados which were carried but never ripened the whole trip
- Onions, green peppers, carrots, various sauces in glass bottles
- Milanesa (breaded beef to be fried)
We ate very well the whole trip and the first night we outdid ourselves. We camped near a bustling refugio which charge around $40 for a bed and $40 for dinner. We neglected to pay for our camping.
We did have a raging fire, a bottle of Pisco and several bottles of wine which seemed to appear as we made new friends. We had some late visitors to keep us warm in the tent and overall it was a great

Day 2:
We shared our breakfast of friend potatoes, unripe avocado and instant coffee with Sam and Reed. They had lost all of their food over the Chilean border. Jackson and I got lucky passing the same border with over $100 worth of food.
We headed up the relative cart trail to see the Torres, three pronounced towers of rock for which the park is named. I do not have a picture of my own, for the 8 days we were there the weather never cleared enough to see them. Not only was it generally overcast but it was cold. Close to freezing every night. Jackson and I started in separate tents (that's right, we carried 2) but would soon only set up 1.
Jackson's great camera broke at the highest point of our hike. The lens would work not for the rest of the trek.

** I'll need to finish this story later. Jackson and I are beginning our hitch hikng to the North. We hope to cross the Argentinian border tomorrow and move from there.