What you will not find in the US

I have 4 days left in Bolivia before I return to the United States. While I have gotten accustomed to a lot of things here, I am writing this blog to remind myself of what I won´t see when I return:

· A ten year old kid waiting on me at a restaurant: This has happened a half a dozen times by now—I tell the kid what I want and then he runs back to the kitchen to tell his parents who are cooking. The even weirder part is giving him money.

· Almost no airport security on a domestic flight: I splurged a couple of days ago and chose a 45 minute flight over a 16 hour bus ride. When I went to board the plane, I did not walk through any metal detectors or security. A security person looked through one of the two pockets in my bag, and no one checked what was in my pants or coat pockets.

· A fifty year old woman shoveling a pile of rocks wearing a long skirt and dress shoes: I have no idea why she was shoveling these rocks into a wheel barrel, but this would have been backbreaking labor for a fit twenty year old guy.

· No change, period: I tried to buy 3 mandarins the other day at a market, which cost about 15 cents. All I had was a 75 cent piece (5 bolivianos), and no one would sell me mandarins because they did not have enough change. After being rejected from five different ladies, I gave up.

· A 13,000 foot mountain bike descent in a single day: I rode from 15,500 feet, and below freezing, to 2,500 feet and 80 degree weather, where we spent the latter half of the day enjoying the warm weather by the pool.

· A seven dollar filet mignon wrapped in bacon

The Evils of Silver

Potosi, a Bolivian town colonized by Spain, has one of the most depressing histories that I have heard of. The town´s 120,000 inhabitants live at over 13,000 feet in constantly cold weather, strong winds, and an overcast sky. The only reason why the town exists is because there happens to be a huge mountain filled with silver, zinc, and other precious elements close by.

When the Spanish discovered silver in 1546, the city swelled to a population of over 200,000 and became the largest city in the southern hemisphere. The Spanish, eager to collect as much silver as possible, enslaved the indigenous people. The locals were forced to work in the mines for up to four months without ever seeing fresh air. They were dying by the thousands from a combination of dangerous labor conditions, mercury poisoning in the silver processing, and asbestos and silicon poisoning in the mines. To replace the dying workforce, the Spanish began importing up to 2,000 African slaves annually in 1608. The method proved effective, and after 200 years of forced labor in the mines, the Spanish had extracted over 45,000 tones of pure silver.

Now, the local people have formed cooperatives to work together to extract valuable minerals from their mountain. Fortunately, they all work voluntarily and are no longer enslaved. However, the working conditions have barely changed in 500 years. Men start working as young as 13 or 14 years old, and they work for less than $180 a month. They work in temperatures up to 105 degrees and breathe asbestos and silicon dust. To filter the dust and supply energy, the miners stuff over 100 coca leaves (the plant that makes cocaine) into their mouth at a time. They also smoke a special type of cigarette to get the bad air out of their lungs. Apparently, neither of these methods is very effective, as few miners live to see their 50^th birthday.

Hiking the Inca Trail

The Inca Trail is the famous trail that weaves through the Sacred Valley in Peru and ends in Machu Picchu. It takes four days of backpacking to complete the trail, and along the way are ruins of smaller Incan towns that supported the trekkers over five hundred years ago. My family arrived in Peru two weeks ago to do the trek with me.

I don’t want to mislead anyone when I say backpacking, so let me be more explicit. We had eight porters and a guide to help carry all of our stuff. We ate three course hot lunches every day with a table, chairs, and dining room tent. The porters woke us up in the morning with hot tea in our tents and hot pans of water to wash our hands and face. They rolled up our sleeping bags, packed up our tents, and ran to our lunch and dinner spots with their 55 pound packs in order to have everything ready before we arrived. “Backpacking” the Inca Trail was by far the most luxurious part of my time in South America.

However, the trail was no walk in the park. We were hiking 10 miles a day and climbed up to almost 14,000 feet, which is not a light day for a family activity. In addition, I persuaded my parents that we did not need to hire extra porters to carry our stuff, so I ended up carrying two sleeping bags, two pads, all of my mom’s clothes, and half of our snacks on my back. On day two, one of the porters was curiouos and lifted up my backpack during a break. He came over, shook my hand, and congratulated me on making it so far.

The Incas were a civilization that performed technological feats that we still cannot do today. They built homes and temples without using mortar—instead they carved each rock into the perfect shape so it stacked neatly on top of the next. In addition, some stones were so big that today, with all of our technology, we have to break the stones into smaller bits to move them. They built models of cities, experiented with farming different crops in different altitudes, and constructed fountains, drainage, and irrigation systems. Their buildings could withstand earthquakes and the ground sinking underneath. And they did all of this without a written language. 500 years later, with no maintenance, their buildings are still standing.

The Incas were only a couple hundred years behind the Europeans, which in the sceme of human evolution is nothing. The Spaniards wiped out most of their culture when they came to conquer South America. Fortunately, for the Incas and for us, Machu Picchu was never found. To this day, it remains 75% intact and remains one of the best insights on earth of an extinct civilization. Hiking the Inca Trail and ending in Machu Picchu was like going back and experiencing their civilization, and it is a trip that no one should miss.

Lifeless Volcan Cotopaxi

At 19,347 feet there is half of the oxygen than sea level. Nothing lives. Winds are at least 40 miles an hour. The cold seeps into your bones. My friend Tyler and I found ourselves standing on top of Volcan Cotopaxi at this height over two weeks ago after one of the most difficult journeys of my life.

Because of the high elevation, we began a series of acclimization days to prepare our body and lungs for the big day. For those interested, I gave a day by day account for the days leading up at the bottom of the blog. For everyone else, my story begins at 15,800 feet, at 11:00PM, and after 4 hours of "sleep" in the base camp.

We were woken up by our guide. Ty and I slippped out of our sleeping bags and tried not to wake the 40 other people that were attempting Cotopaxi that day. We ate breakfast, went to the bathroom as many times as we could, packed our gear, and by 12:10AM we were out the door. With headlamps on, we began the long, slow slog up the volcano. After an hour of hiking in pitch black, we got to the snow line. We stopped quickly to put on our crampons and rope together. At this height, nothing lived. Snow, wind, cold, and darkness was all we could see and feel. Stopping to eat, drink, or rest was not an option.

Two hours in we found an ice cave, and we needed the rest. We giddley crawled into the ice cave on our hands and knees, and we celebrated the warmth by chomping on gorp, chugging water, and peeing in the corner. After our rest, we trodged along for two more hours until our guide found an ice wall. Our moods were not so celebratory. We crouched next to the ice wall, huddled together for warmth, and ate and drank as fast as we could. Our nalgenes were beginning to freeze. My body started to shiver uncontrollably as it would every time we stopped all the way to the top. In four hours of hiking and climbing up snow, we had climbed to 18,700 feet, almost 3,000 feet of progress. With only 650 feet till the summit, we were feeling pretty good.

They say the last 600 feet are the toughest. The volcano charges straight up, with slopes at a constant 45 degrees. The wind howls. The air feels empty without oxygen. We moved slowly. Take a step. Rest five seconds. Take another step. Rest five seconds. Any unexpected movement, a little slip, a fall, or turning to talk to Tyler, would require a thirty second rest. I was fighting a balance between dissiness, nausea, and slowly putting one foot in front of the other. The wind knocked me over a couple of times. At times I was crawling on my hands and knees.

After two more hours, Ty and I tackled the last 600 feet. We couldn´t believe it. I took my camera out for a picture, and it was so cold that the battery died almost instantly. We got up just in time for sunrise. I would like to say the view was amazing, but Cotopaxi happened to be in the middle of a cloud. We celebrated, looked around, and then quickly started our decent down.

In the light, we were able to see what we had climbed up. We walked over bridges of snow with huge cravasses on either side. Walls of ice rose up to one hundred feet. There were holes in the ground that dropped down to what seemed like the bottom of the earth, and the ice on the sides looked green and blue from the sky. After less than two hours, we were safetly back at the refugio, and celebrated with beers at 15,800 feet at eight in the morning.

Of the fourty people that tried to climb Cotopaxi that day, only 7 people made it to the top. Ty and I were the only foreigners. It proved to be an unforgettable experience, and I am already thinking about my next mountain to climb.

Our acclimization days:

Day 1: We climbed Rucu Pichincha, a volcano at 15,400 feet. We took a tram just outside of Quito to 13,400 feet, so we were able to do the climb in under five hours. When we got to the top, we stayed for 50 minutes to try to get used to the oxygen for as long as possible. We got great views of Quito and it was an easy, non technical hike. There were a couple of out of shape locals who tried trading us their whisky for our water about an hour up, and unsurprisingly they did not make it.
Night 1: Slept at Otavello, 9,300 feet, which was a small town outside of Quito known for its markets and beautiful surroundings. We woke up the next morning, toured the markets, and went on a two hour up and twenty minute down mountain bike ride.
Night 2: Slept in PapoGuyo, a hostal run by our tour company at 10,500 feet. They gave Ty and I the option of camping outside or sharing the matrimonial room...
Day 3: We climbed Volcan Illinizas with a guide, a volcano at 16,800 feet. While the climb was relatively non technical, we needed a guide to keep it that way. There was some very tricky route navigation that we would not have been able to figure out with the best contour map. Volcan Ilinizas was the highest I had ever climbed.
Night 3: Immediately after Illinizas, we jumped in a car and drove to Quilotila, a small community of 150 people and at 13,000 feet. We slept right next to a crater with a lake in the middle so we could expore it the next day. Look for Quilotila in a future post.

Night 4: We did not think PapoGuyo, at 10,500 feet, was high enough, so we were driven to the bottom of Volcan Illinizas to camp at 12,800 feet. They dropped us off at the base of a mountain with a tent and sleeping bags, and Ty and I were able to stay warm until they picked us up the next morning.
Day 5: After getting all of our gear (ice ax, crampons, boots, and snow pants), we met our guides and went to lunch. After lunch, we were driven to the base of Cotopaxi, as far as cars could go, at 14,800 feet. We hiked with heavy backpacks (Ty and I carried 5 liters of water, 6 liters of gatorade, and 4 beers before counting the rest of our gear) to the refugio, or base camp, at 15,800 feet. After an hour of hiking, we made it to the refugio around 3PM. After claiming our matresses and unpacking, we began to eat. We ate everything in front of us and drank tea until dinner at 6:30, where we ate more. By 7:30PM, we tried going to bed, as we would have an early start the next morning.

Volunteers in the Bull Pitt?

Tyler and I took a night bus to Quito, and at 8:30AM we arrived well rested and ready to tour the city. After running around the city all day finding as many churches to see and Basilicas and hills to climb, we stumbled upon a semi free bull fight that night. Although these fighters were amateurs, we were constantly surprised how close they could get the bull to goring them. It was a great event with the community, and we thought we really learned something about the culture.

After all of the fighters had their chance with the bulls, the announcer started to wrap things up. He said that the bull fighting was over, but then he asked for volunteers. Ty and I got ready to get up and leave, but after looking around, we saw that not one person in the audience was planning on leaving early. Okay, so the volunteer thing must be pretty intertaining, but what could it be?

The announcer got two teams of five guys each to volunteer. One team was the jovenes, aged from 20-35, and the other team was the viejos, men from 35-50. They stood at opposite ends of the ring, and they set up two sets of cones like they were about to stay for a soccer match. Ty and I thought about leaving again, but everyone in the audience remained in their seats. The announcer then did something that shocked the hell out of me. Remember, we are not in the United States, so there is no such thing as liability here. The announcer brought out a bull with the volunteers in the ring! The game was for the volunteers to try and get the bull to chase them through their goal. The team that could get the bull to run through their goal the most would win.

What happened next was one of the scarriest and most hilarious moments in my Ecuador experience so far. We watched grown men run out into the ring, try to attract the bull´s attencion, and then run back to safety behind the boards as fast as they could. We watched the bull run after unarmed men, and if the bull was close to gorring a guy in the butt, we would watch the man leap over the wall and fly headfirst into safety on the other side. Just imagine a 40 year old, slightly overweight, Ecuadorian man running as fast as he can with a bull on its heals and then soaring over a wall only to land face first on the other side. Remarkably, no one got seriously injured, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

After six weeks

After six weeks, I felt like Montañita was home. After six weeks, I could no longer wake up without my mom knocking on my door. I started to expect breakfast with fresh squeezed juice and coffee. I began to think that men really were incompetent in the kitchen. After six weeks my stomach realized that the butter, grease, and sugar diet was not going to stop. My skin got used to the salt water every afternoon and sometimes cold showers afterwards. My brain was thinking in Spanish more and more.

After six weeks, I had made many close friends, between profesoras, a couple foreigners, and my family. And after six weeks, it was surprisingly difficult to leave. I took all of the profesoras out for lunch on my last day, and they all promised me that I could practice my Spanish on Facebook when I got back to Los Estados Unidos. But to leave my family was the most difficult. Statements like "you should change your travel plans to stay in Montañita longer" or "when you come back, find our family, and you are always welcome to stay in our house (for free)" made it hard to say goodbye. The time eventually came, and after hugs and tears, my mom Belhika did her last motherly thing. She waited on the street with me, flagged down a local bus, helped me put my bag inside, hugged me goodbye, and put me on the bus. Next time I find myself in Ecuador, I will see my family again.

Fortunately, my close friend Tyler had come to Montañita two days before to begin our adventure in Ecuador. So off we were, two young "adults" with all of the clothes on our back and no plans. The next two weeks proved to be quite an adventure. Ten different places in the first 10 nights, a bullfight, over 19,300 feet in elevation, volcanos, camping, biking, bird watching, kayaking, go-carting, waterfalls, and plenty of local bus rides kept us entertained over the next several weeks. Read the next posts for the highlights of the trip. I apologize for the mast posting all at once, so take your time over the next couple of weeks to read them one at a time. I won´t have time to write again for a couple more weeks after this.

Night Fishing

Plenty of the locals live off of the sea. They head out in their fishing boats just before dark, and if the fishing is good, they fish all night and come back at 6AM in the morning. Boats of all sizes go out-- from the size of a college sailboat to a small pirate ship (and they look like them too). I was bored and looking for a cultural experience a week ago, so I weasled my way onto one of these boats. I arranged everything through a friend of a friend in Spanish, and I really had no idea what to expect.

I showed up in a tiny pueblo at 5PM looking for Don Pedro. I was the only gringo in the town, and as I walked down the street heads turned. Apparently everyone knew to look out for me, and almost immediately after getting off the local bus, I found a friend and he took me to Don Pedro. After an intense argument with an older man about how homosexuals are normal people and should be treated normally (I have no idea how the convo started), Don Pedro pulled me away for us to go fishing.

After seeing the boat, I debated leaving immediately. It was an all wooden boat that was a little smaller than a rowboat. It was sitting on the beach. And it had no motor. We pushed the boat as close as we could to the water, got in, waited for a big wave to come, and then pushed off the sand and rowed furiously. Thankfully, after a couple minutes of rowing, we got to a boat a little bigger, sturdier, and with a motor. For those of you on the NU Sailing Team, the boat was about the same size as the crashboat we use for practice.

The four of us motored out to sea, anchored, and waited till dark. Once everything was pitch black, they lit lamps on either side of the boat and watched the fish come to the light. Through a combination of fishing with fishing line (no poles) and a net at the end of a stick, we caught about 20 small fish from 7PM to 10PM. At 10PM, we moved locations to fish for the bigger fish with the smaller fish. If the fishing is good, they can catch 20-30 big fish, between one and a half and three feet long. When this happens, the boat is literally full of fish, and they stay out until 6AM. That night the fishing was horrendous. We only caught three large fish, and by 3AM we gave up and motored in. I slept that night on the guys couch, woke up early the next morning, hitchhicked back to Montañita, and made it home 15 minutes before my 8AM class.

These guys do this every night. With a little bit of gas, some line, and bait for small fish, these guys can go out there and catch enough big fish to make a living. While it was a great experience, I am very grateful that it is not my nightly routine.