I Walked Right in to the Sky

So far in Bolivia, my luck with excursion brochures had not been good. Climbing Mount HP was certainly not easy. The whole brochure for the Jungle Tour was a mean joke. So you can understand my worry when I read the brochure of the 3 day tour of Salar de Uyuni, and it said this word for word: We only work with safe tour operators and we can assure you will not have any problems about drunken drivers, jeeps in bad conditions, or you being stolen during the tour. Me being stolen during the tour?!?!?! What had I signed up for this time???

We decided to splurge and spend the extra money on a tourist bus to Uyuni. The price difference was 120 bols or about $18. It was the best 20 bucks I have ever spent. The contrast between the local bus we took from La Paz to Rurennabaque and the tourist bus was extreme. Read about my bus trip to the jungle here. On the local bus we had big, nearly fully reclining seats. It was clean. It smelled like regularness. We were served dinner and then breakfast. We had movies. We had pillows and blankets. I had a great sleep for being on a bus. The 20 hour ride flew by. This was the way to travel!!! We arrived in Uyuni right on time and ready to start the tour.

I was excited for the tour of Salar de Uyuni. I had seen amazing pictures of the pure white salt desert and the bright blue sky. It was one of the main things I wanted to see in Bolivia. So far Bolivia had left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth, but after the great tourist bus, I had high expectations for the salt flats.

The salt flats are dry for about 10 months out of the year, and covered in water during the wet season. During the dry season you can get some amazing pictures because of the lack of perspective. With nothing but flat ground and sky as far as you can see, any which way you look, there is nothing to judge the distance of things against. In pictures, you can look like you are standing on top of a wine bottle that appears 10 times the size of you, or you can appear to be squashing an SUV the size of a tiny toy truck with your fingers. Some of the members of our tour had bought some props like little army men, a plastic helicopter and finger puppets in anticipation of the photo opps,

Six of us set off for the full three day tour. We were going to see the salt flats, coloured lagoons, flamingos, and active volcano and beautiful scenery. Our guide was named Waldo and although he spoke almost no English, he was always happy and smiling. When he spoke to us in Spanish, he spoke slowly and clearly so even I could understand. People like that are rare in Bolivia. Our jeep was in good condition, Waldo was not drunk and therefore I had no anxiety that I would be stolen during the tour. Finally, a brochure that didn’t lie to me!!!

Our first stop was the famed salt flat. Only 2 weeks before we had arrived the salt desert was bone dry. Now wet season was in full swing, and the salt was under 6 inches of water, giving it an appearance of sand. We stopped in the middle of the desert, with miles of salt, sky and nothingness for as far as you could see. I rolled up my pants and jumped out of the jeep. It was pretty chilly outside and I expected the water to be ice cold. I was pleasantly surprised when my feet touched the bath like water. The landscape cannot be described in words. The sky was reflected perfectly in the water below, creating a surreal mirror image. The sky seemed endless, as if we were walking into infinity. It was beautiful, and I cannot do it justice to even trying to describe it. You need to go!!

We walked for awhile, watching the clouds change and marvelled at the mirror image reflected in the water. Sticking out above the water were occasional piles of salt, built up like huge ant hills. Of course, I needed to taste it… it looked almost fake; I had to be sure we were really standing in a giant salt desert. I kicked over a pile and picked up a chunk of the white stuff. I brought it to my mouth and stuck out my tongue. Sure, enough it was deliciously salty!

We took a break for lunch and ate on a little dry spot, an island in the middle of the wet salt oasis. My feet and legs were covered in dry salt and my skin was screaming for moisture. Just being around that much salt sucks all of the water right out of you. We stopped in the little town just off of the salt flat, where the miners work harvesting the salt. Entire buildings were made out of salt. I know for sure because I licked the wall, just to make sure. There were tables and chairs made out of salt, as well as statues and decorations. Everything was salt!

After lunch we headed towards a tiny town to spend the night. We drove for awhile and I gazed out the window. The salt flat glowed in the background of the rest of the sand desert. The only vegetation for miles were little tufts of grass that looked like hedgehogs. Other than that, you could see for miles and miles. I felt so small in this vast land all around me. We spent the night in a little share house, with very uncomfortable beds, a third world bathroom and no heat. Luckily, the amazingness of the day was still with me and I didn’t mind much as we drank beer and played cards.

The next day brought all kinds of new wonders. As we were headed to see some lagoons, my gaze hardly left the landscape. Throughout the day we passed through the moon, mars, mountains and vast nothingness. The scenery changed constantly. From a maze of beautifully random rock formations, to bright red soil, to a valley of rocks and craters, to the Andes in the backdrop, to absolutely nothing besides the ground and the sky; it seemed like we were jumping from planet to planet, not driving around rural Bolivia.

We saw some lagoons that changed colours with the light of the afternoon and wild flamingos just hanging out on one foot. We went to a petrified forest which reminded me of Jurassic times. What used to be huge trees had solidified and were eroded by the elements, leaving these oddly shaped rock formations in the middle of the empty dessert. Around every corner I fully expected to see a brontosaurus come charging at me. We spent the night in another camp similar to the previous night, and again I did not mind the shady accommodation.

The last day of the tour we were up before the sun to make it to an active volcano and a natural hot springs. Of course I fell asleep in the jeep. When I awoke, the ground was covered in snow. We really had covered all types of landscape on this tour! We drove to the top of the volcano, an elevation of 5400 meters. Snow breezed by us but I was not cold. You could feel the heat of the volcanoas soon as we got out of the jeep. Steam billowed out of the mouth of the volcano.

The greatest thing about the third world is the lack of safety precautions. In Canada, the mouth of the volcano would have been roped off, so you could look, but not get close enough to fall in. In Bolivia, there are no such ropes. Waldo told us to be careful not to fall in. We would not be the first tourists to tumble into the volcano and die a hot fiery magma death. I loved it. I hate anything that is roped off. I got as close as I dared and tried to look inside the mouth of the volcano. All I got was a face full of steam.

We drove back down to the hot springs and hung out there for awhile. After that we headed back to Uyuni. The drive back was uneventful as I slept most of the way. Me and before dawn don’t get along too well.
Back in Uyuni we had a few hours to kill before we jumped on a bus to Villazon, the Bolivian - Argentinean border town. There was no tourist bus going this way, so we were at the mercy of another local bus. After this amazing trip, I was barely even worried. Bolivia was looking up after all!!!!!

Or so I thought……….
Up next, the adventure of getting the hell out of Bolivia!!!!
Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!!!

Rurrenabaque = Never-going-baque

                                               We had planned to be here for 3 days. Now 5 days had passed and we were still here. And wanted to leave more than anything!!!

The world`s shittest airport

After our flight was cancelled, we went to the airline office to rebook the next possible flight out of jungle hell. It was at 6 am. No problem, the sooner the better. After we left, I thought of a slight problem. My phone was dead, we had no watch or alarm clock. The front desk guys didn’t speak English and couldn’t understand my Spanish. The worst thing ever would be to miss the flight and have it be our very own fault!!! Luckily, they were plenty of other travellers who were on the same flight, and we managed to borrow a watch with an alarm.

We made sure we were there with plenty of time to spare. At the airport we encountered what bolivia is famous for; a game of hurry up and wait, an abundance of fees that no one told us about and a lack of information. The airline office stressed to us that we must be on time (at 5 am) in the morning to catch the shuttle. We were there with a few minutes to spare. It was 5:30 am before the bus showed up. At the airport, we were shuttled from one desk to another to pay some fees so we could leave the jungle. At the first desk we paid an airport tax. Then we were sent over to another desk to pay a departure tax. Then another desk for another jungle tax of some sort. With the lack of ATM`s in the city we were very short on cash. By the time we got to the last desk we were short. No way was I going to live in the jungle forever because the stupid town didn`t have a bank machine!! We had to borrow a few Bolivianos from another traveller who, thank the lord, had come more prepared than us and used the ATM in a real place. Besides that….what the F is jungle tax?!?!?! And why couldn`t we just pay everything all at one desk?? Bolivia blows my mind.

After that, we waited. And waited and waited and waited. Our boarding time came and wnet withou any sort of annoucemnt. Our flight departure time came and went and still not a word from anyone about what was going on. When I have to get up at 4:30 am I am never in a good mood. Top that off with feeling stranded in the jungle and an ass more itchy than you can even imagine, you could say I was not in a peachy mood. I loudly complained to Laurie about all of my Bolivain woes, and right after someone came over and explained in Spanglish that the flight was delayed due to the weather.

I fell into a fitful airport sleep and awoke because a stray and probably diseased dog was licking my foot. God, I just wanted out of Bolivia!!!!!!!! I looked outside; the clouds had dispersed and the fog had lifted. But for somereason, I still had my feet on the ground. Five hours after we should have left, we boarded the plane. I knew we were flying on a small plane, but I had no idea how small. It looked like a Barbie plane compared to the size of a regular plane. Laurie and I had the front row, which looked right into the cockpit. As I stared out the window and cursed the jungle, she overheard the piolets talking. The pilot was in training. And he was behind the controls. The guy in the passenger seat was telling him what to do. It would be fitting for me to die in the Bolivian jungle at the hands of a pilot in training. That is just how things go in Bolivia.

Thankfully, I survived the flight. As for the jungle town of Rurrenabaque, I am with our fellow Canadian Octavia on this one….it is not Rurrenabaque, it is Nevergoingbaque!!

Our original plan was to land in La Paz, and book a bus to Uyuni, Bolivia that night. With all of the delays, the tourist bus was all booked up for that night. We had other options, but as soon as the words `local bus` came out of the tour operators mouth, Laurie and I vigorously shook our heads in unison. There would be no more of that. We spent the night in La Paz and booked the tourist bus for the next day.

The jungle sure was an adventure, what would Uyuni and the salt flats bring????

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!!!

3079 Mosquitoes Bit My Ass in the Bolivian Amazon

                                                          

                                                     We headed to the Amazon with an eclectic mix of people from all over the world. Laurie and I as well as another Canadian, Octavia, an Aussie boy, Jake, a Norwegian boy called Haccon, an American girl, Mica and an Argentinean man named Jorge. We jumped in a van on route to the Beni River. It was a 3 hour ordeal reminiscent of the bus ride to Rurennabaque (read about that here). It began to rain. Already I was thinking that things could not get worse. At the boat launch area, we were swarmed by mosquitoes. Half a bottle of mosquito repellent between Laurie and I and we figured we were ok. We waited forever for the boat to be ready for us, and once we got on the way, we were cruising down the Beni River. Our guide was named Jonny, and he didn’t speak a word of English. The mosquitoes were everywhere, but our repellent appeared to be working.

The view from our motorized canoe was beautiful. The banks of the river were framed by lush green vegetation and the clouds had cleared away leaving the sun shining down on us. The tree branches hung down in the water like Tarzan vines and bright red flowers spotted the greenness of the jungle like freckles. Monkeys played in the trees and birds soared in the air. Finally my lungs were enjoying the oxygenated air, unlike the altitude and pollution of La Paz. There were many other boats on the river, all filled with tourists heading deep into the Amazon just like we were. After 3 hours of cruising, we began coming up to the camps. Slowly, each boat stopped at their camp. Just when I was starting to enjoy the jungle, we arrived at our camp. It was deserted. A layer of grime coated everything. It seemed like the camp hadn’t been used in years and years. Around this time, my ass began to get extremely itchy.

We settled in the sheltered kitchen area for a delicious dinner. Easily, the food was the best part of the jungle tour. After that we hung out in the screened in hammock room, where we ended up spending most of our down time. It was the best part of the jungle. As long as we only opened the door just enough to sneak inside and closed the door right away, the mosquitoes stayed out. Twelve hammocks hung in a circle from the edge of the room to a central pole in the middle. It was relaxing to swing and get to know the other travellers. It is also very easy to scratch your ass in a hammock, and mine was growing itchier by the second. We went to see the sunset at a soccer field near by, where the gringos played the locals and usually lost. There was a concession stand selling beer, coca cola and chocolate bars at exorbitant tourist prices. I am still unsure if I feel like it was a tourist trap or if we were helping out locals by paying those prices. All I know is that stand must make a killing!!!!!

That night we hung out in the hammock room and talked about life, music and travel. At 10 pm the generators shut off and we all went to bed. It was really hot and humid out still, so I slept in my bed wearing only a tank top and underwear. My ass had been sooooo itchy all night. When I scratched my bare ass cheek, I was shocked at what it felt like. My entire ass felt like what I imagine the moon would look like. Big swollen craters and small valleys in the few spots there was a lack of bites. My entire ass was a mosquito bite! It was dark so I couldn’t see exactly what it looked like. But I knew it was bad!

When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did was look at my ass. It was worse than anticipated. Actually, I didn’t have an ass anymore. Every single inch of skin was bit by multiple mosquitoes. They had feasted upon my ass meat. I guess on the canoe ride I neglected to spray my ass with repellent. Bad mistake. Those crazy jungle mozzies bite right through pants.

The next day, we were off to hunt for anacondas. I was really excited about this part! I love trudging through the wilderness looking for wildlife. Our boat pulled up alongside a few other parked boats. Immediately, I wondered if we were really going to find some snakes with 50 gringos combing the jungle. We walked through a wet field to some tall grass and reeds. It really didn’t seem like the jungle, but if this is where the snakes were, I was excited to be looking. One step and my rubber boot filled with water. There was a hole somewhere, just big enough for water to get in, but not enough for it to drain out. The entire time I was walking around with one boot full of water and one dry foot. The mosquitoes in the air seemed more abundant than oxygen. It was a sunny, hot and humid day in the jungle. But any inch of exposed skin would immediately become lunch for 300 mosquitoes. I trudged through the 40 C jungle in my rain jacket and long pants.

Jonny, our guide, explained to the one fluent Spanish speaker on our tour, Haccon, that we had a great chance of finding some anacondas as a sunny day in the rainy season is rare and the snakes should all be out in the open. After that, he told us to spread out and look for anacondas and cobras. SERIOUSLY?!?!?! Man eating snakes and we were just going to be off on our own in grass taller than I am??? I was surprised, but I love that kind of stuff, so I was off on a mission. Thirty minutes went by; I was soaked in sweat and not a snake in sight. Some people headed back to the boat. I continued my mission. After awhile, I was over it. Were there even snakes in this place?? No one found a snake that afternoon, and we headed back to camp a little defeated.

The afternoon brought the chance to swim with the pink dolphins. We just had to find them first. We went into a bay off the main part of the river. The water was still. It smelled terribly of methane and rotting. According to Octavia, our new Canadian friend, the entire jungle smelled of methane and sadness. I agreed. Jonny revved the engine and sped our canoe in circles. As much as I wanted to swim with these beautiful endangered species, I didn’t think it was right to come into their territory and disturb them from the depths just to see them. Slowly, a few began to appear. I didn’t get a great look, as the just skimmed the surface. I saw a lot of dolphin backs and maybe a side or two. It certainly was not like the brochure pictures, where a happy gringo is swimming in beautiful green water, one dolphin face up and posing for the camera beside him, while others jumped in the air behind. I have certainly learned my lesson about believing brochures in Bolivia.

Two out of the three of the Amazon activities I had been excited for had been a bust. I was REALLY hoping to catch a giant piranha the next day to make up for it all.

That night it rained. Not a good old city rain shower, but an Amazon Jungle rainy season rain. I awoke in the middle of the night from what sounded like machine gun fire, but was really raindrops. After the previous night’s fitful sleep in the suffocating humidity, the rain was a nice breath of fresh air.

As we got in the canoe the next morning it was still raining lightly. I didn’t mind, because I know in Canada, the fishing is usually better in crappy weather. I was going to catch a giant piranha!!!! My feelings of hope were dashed when I saw our fishing gear. A piece of ply wood, about 10 cm long and 4 cm wide acted as the rod and reel. The line was so thick you could have caught a 700 lb fish on it, or knitted a sweater. We had rusty barbed hooks, from which we threaded a little chunk of raw llama as bait. Trying to stay positive, I gripped the ply wood and threw my line in. And waited….and waited. Eventually, I caught some jungle reeds.

We were all fed up with the jungle by this time, and were anxious to get back to Rurrenabaque. We had a flight at 5:45 pm (the tour agency promised we’d make it) and we knew it was a long way back.

Jonny wrapped our stuff in a tarp, and we were headed back to civilization. When our canoe arrived at the boat launch, we were anxious to get into the van. Looking at the time, we knew it would be close if we were going to make the flight. An hour went by. Jonny didn’t seem to be concerned. He said that we were waiting for a different van to come and pick us up. We watched the clock apprehensively. We just wanted to get the hell out of this jungle!!! Missing our flight would be a kick in the junk. Every van that pulled up, we ran up to it with hope and always were disappointed. Jonny got tired of us asking him when we were leaving and hid from us. Finally, we got in a van. We had 2 and a half hours to make a 3 hour drive. The driver promised we would make our flight.

True to his promise, he got us there before the plane left. Because it didn’t leave. Delays throughout the day caused our flight to be cancelled.

Will we ever escape this jungle hell???????
Find out next!!!!

In all the negative memories of the jungle, I almost forgot the best part. We saw many wild crocodiles, and one of them, I was close enough to touch it. In the issue of safety, I only stuck my hand out about a foot away from his open mouth. I could have gotten closer, but I like my arm.

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!!

No ATM???!!!!!!????? In a tourist town???!!!! Somebody should have told me……….

                                                The brochure sold it for me. Motorized canoe, swimming with endangered pink dolphins, searching for anacondas, cobras and crocodiles and fishing for piranhas. After Mount Potosi, I should know not to believe the brochures…but once again it sure was an adventure.


It started off with the plan to be a real backpacker, skip the 40 min flight and take the 19 hour local bus and save $80 bucks each way. A few hours into the bus ride I would have sold my soul to be on a flight. As my Dad always says, you get what you pay for, and I should have known that a 19 hour bus ride for $11 just didn’t add up.

Figuring out what bus we were supposed to be on was an ordeal in itself, and I will spare you the tiresome, not very exciting melodrama. All I will say is that Bolivia is a disorganized mess of hurry up and wait.

The bus looked like it had had its day before my parents were born. The inside was a mess of broken green seats covered in dirty, 1970’s green fabric. The entire bus smelled of armpits, urine and the third world. In times like this, sleep is my savoir. I can sleep anywhere and especially well in a moving vehicle. Poor Laurie cannot. We began by driving down a road that was similar to Death Road (check out the details of my experience here), narrow one lane dirt road with a sheer cliff face on one side, a mountain on the other, and at times it was partly washed away as it is rainy season. The bus was tearing down the road like it was a paved 4 lane freeway. As we would come up to a blind corner the driver would lay on the horn to signal our appearance out of nowhere. Quite a few times another horn would blare, vehicle unseen and we would slam on the brakes. What happens next is something like a game of chicken. The drivers stare each other down for a few seconds, until one decides to back up and let the other pass.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and the bus was stopped. Well not just stopped, broken down. We got out to see what was going on. It was not a good situation. Laurie and I watched as a few men worked under the bus. Hours went by. Of course none of the other passengers spoke even a word of English. My Spanish was not even close to good enough to have a conversation, had anyone even tried to speak to us. Instead, they stared. Not out of the corner of their eyes, and not when our heads turned the other way. They stared at us full on without even a hint of a smile. I did not feel welcome, or even safe. Outside in a Bolivian slum, at 3 am, unable to communicate and surrounded by locals who I am sure would have sold me for $20 to anyone who wanted a exasperated white girl.

Seven hours later, well into the light of day, we set on our way again. We were less than half way there and our tour was just about to start. We had already had enough of this adventure, and it hadn’t even began.
27 hours after the bus had left La Paz, we finally arrived in the jungle town of Rurrenabaque. But the fun had only just begun………………

We showed up at the tourist office to make sure we could do the tour the next day. No problem at all. Next, we needed to hit an ATM and withdraw some money. The jungle tour required us to pay an entrance fee at the park, and we didn’t have much cash at all. The tour office told us there was a bank on the next corner. Sure, there was a bank, but no ATM. No way to withdraw money. We pooled what we had, but only had enough for the bus to leave Rurrenabaque. No way we were going to go through that hell again!!! We only had one option…to beg for a refund on the tour and if we got a full refund, we could manage plane tickets back to La Paz. We would miss out on the jungle tour, but so far, this excursion was sheer hell. I was not sad at the possibility of missing the jungle, I was only sad at the thought of taking the bus back.

At the tour agency, the lady listened with sympathy. I am sure we were not the only backpackers who had been stranded due to the town’s lack of an ATM. When we were done begging for our money back, she smiled and picked up the phone. Speaking quickly in Spanish we had no idea who she was talking to or what she was saying. After a few minutes, she explained that she had called the manager down and had booked us plane tickets back after the jungle tour was over. We began to explain again, that we couldn’t go because we didn’t have any cash to pay the entrance fee into the park. She shhhhhhed us, and told us not to worry. Once the manager of the tour office arrived, she explained. The tour office was letting us go on the tour tomorrow, had booked our plane tickets back to La Paz, and handed us 400 Boliviano (about $60) for our accommodation, the entrance fee, and some dinner.

We were shocked!!! We did have to hand over our passports until we paid the company back - eeep! - but we were so surprised at how accommodating they were. So, we were getting the best of both worlds….we would be adventuring through the jungle AND we got to fly back!!! So we were off on our adventure in the Bolivian Amazon to hunt for crocs and anacondas, swim with pink dolphins and fish for piranhas. Oh, if we only knew what the jungle had in store for us!!!!

SIDE NOTE: Anyone looking to make some money, Rurrenabaque, Bolivia DESPERATELY needs an ATM. You could charge $20 or more for each withdrawal and make a killing!!!!

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!
Up next, my adventures in the jungle…oh the jungle!!!

Crissy VS. Mount Huayna Potosi, Summit Day

                                                  Read part 1 and 2 of the story before this one. 

After a freezing night tossing and turning in my sleeping bag, we were awoken at the blackness of midnight. During a quick breakfast, I managed to stomach some coca tea and half a piece of bread. My stomach was doing summersaults of nervousness and excitedness. Did I have what it takes to get to the top of Mount Huayna Potosi? Only time would tell. Already, we had lost another climber. Nikolas, who had convinced me to climb this mountain, was not feeling well and opted to stay at High Camp rather than attempt the summit climb.

We donned our snow gear and mountaineering boots, packed our backpacks full of water and snacks and were off. The first part was tricky...trying to make our way down the rocky mountain side in the pitch black, with only a weak headlamp to light the way. Once we were down the rocks, we came to the snowy peak that would be our stairway to the top of the world. Crampons on, ice pick in hand, harnessed to my guide, I started to make my way up.

Right away, I could feel the effects of the altitude. I was dizzy, my head spinning, and my breath was coming in gasps that did nothing to satisfy my lungs. One step at a time, I continued to climb. I knew this was going to be one of the biggest physical stuggles of my life. My vision blurred and I had to shake my head, which sent me into a wave of dizziness that nearly knocked me off my feet. I stood still for a few minutes, hoping it would pass. My guide urged me on. He wanted me to finish this almost as much as I did myself. A few more steps and the dizziness would not go away. Now I was fighting vomit back down my throat. A wave of nasuea over took me, and I had to turn my head and let my breakfast go on the mountain.

Nearly hyperventilating and vommiting at the same time is not an easy task...especially when you are half way up a mountain. As soon as the wave of sickness passed, I climbed up further. I would will myself to take 5 big steps followed by 10 little steps and then take a break. I managed to do this a few times before the nausea took over again. Now I could only manage a few steps before I was bent over gagging and wretching. My guide asked me if I was ok, and if I wanted to quit. When I heard him use the word "quit" I knew I had to suck it up and keep going. There is nothing worse than being called a quitter, and I could still put one foot in front of the other, although wretching the whole time.

It became a slow, slow process. A few steps followed by uncontolled gagging. At this point, there was nothing left in my stomach and I was choking on the thin air around me. The guide asked me again if I wanted to go back. I thought about it this time. At this point, it would have taken me forever to get to the summit. But, while dry heaving, I tested my will and put one foot in front of the other to take another step. I could keep going.

Up somewhere around 5600 meters, less than 500 meters from the summit, I had an uncontrollable vommit attack. I dropped to my knees and was racked with gags and dry heaves for nearly 20 minutes straight. My head was spinning so much I barely knew which way was up and down. At this point, the guide stopped asking if I was ok, and if I could go any further. This time he told me it was unsafe for me to go up any higher. My head was foggy, and I didn´t even have the breath to argue. I simply hung my head, and between vomit spells, let him lead me back down the mountain.

Back at High Camp, the vomit spells had passed. I crawled back into my sleeping bag, although sleep would not come. All I could think about were the others, who were now probably very close to the summit. Today, I would not look down at the world from 6088 meters. Today, I had failed what I had set out to do. I was not happy. In my sleeping bag, I began to second guess myself. Could I have pushed a little bit harder? A little bit further? Just taken one more step? I fell into a fitful sleep wondering if I really had given it all I had.

I awoke when the others returned. Seven of us had started this journey, and only 4 had finished. When I asked, they all agreed that climbing Mount Huayna Potosi was one of the most physically challenging things they had ever done. They also said that the last 200 meters were EXTREMELY difficult. I finally began to accept that at the state I was in, still 500 meters from the top, I would not have been able to make it. One little thing made me feel a bit better. It was extremely cloudy at the summit, so the views were nearly non exsistent.

We headed back down toward base camp, and the hike down was SOOOO much easier than the climb up. I thought about what I had attempted, and how I had failed, and realized that it is not always about the destination, but about the journey. So many times during the climb, I doubted I could go any further. But for as long as I possibly could, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I climbed higher than I ever though possible, and pushed my body until it would be pushed no more. No, I didn´t make it, but I gave it my all trying. This was not a failure. I had succeeding in going further than I thought I could. I had tried something I didn´t think I could do. The quote "nothing ventured, nothing gained" popped into my head. I had tried, and although I didn´t make it to the summit, I had gained a sense of respect for the limits of my body and the powers of nature. I had also gained some confidence in myself and my ability to keep going even when giving up would have been easier.

But at the same time, there are still nagging doubts in my head. Could I have gone just a little bit further? What if I had acclimatized for a longer period of time...then could I have made it? Was that really EVERYTHING I had?

In the end, Mount Huanya Potosi must be declared the winner, but due to altitude sickness, and not for lack of trying.

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!
CG

Crissy VS. Mount Huayna Potosi, Day 2

                                       Read part 1 of the story here.

We awoke early in the morning after I had endured a restless sleep. At base camp, we slept on the top floor of a small house type building. It was much warmer than camping would have been, but you are sleeping on a very thin and dirty matress, side by side with all of the other climbers. A high altitude can often make sleep difficult, never mind having to listen to others as they restlessly toss and turn. And the dreams. I had read quite a bit about the effects of altitude before I left, but I didn´t read anything about how it effects your dreams. Strange dreams, so vivid, accompanied with the inability to tell what is dream and what is reality and heaps of sleep talking. So trying to sleep on a thin matress on the floor while others right beside you are talking in their sleep, tossing and turning, and thrashing out randomly, makes a good night sleep difficult.

Neverless, at 7 am we were on our way to High Camp. Today was a 2 - 4 hour hike through rocky terrain. We would not need our cold gear today. I had a much better idea what today was going to be like, so I started off the hike with vigor. It did not last long. My pack was probably 25 pounds, carrying all the water, warm clothes and hiking gear I would need for the next two days. After 10 minutes I was huffing and puffing and generally wondering how I was going to make it through the day. My guide had a couple of friends who were accompanying us for a few hundred meters of the trek. One offered to take my bag. I thanked him a million times, and gratefully handed over my pack.

Slowly we climbed. I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to keep control of my breathing. It is a terrible feeling to not be able to catch your breath when you are just standing still, and it is even more terrible trying to physically exert yourself when you constantly feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. Off in the distance, I could see this rock mountain, with a little house on top. I had a terrible feeling that this was High Camp. I looked at the path of this nearly vertical ascent and wondered if I should go back. Earlier in the morning, the skinny Brazilian kid headed back to Base Camp, unable to hack the altitude and the physically challenging climb. Before we ascended, we took a break and reasembled as a group. I was glad to know that everyone was struggling, and it was just not me. At this point, 2 other climbers had given up their packs to the helpers. We were lucky enough to have them climb all the way to High Camp with us.

Up the rocky mountain we went!! It was extremely steep, with loose and slippery rocks everywhere. Sometimes the path disapeared and I had to do my best to figure out the safest route. At anytime, a rock slide could have swept me away. At anytime, one false step could have me tumbling hundreds of meters to the rocks below. Soon, everyone had passes me. Even my guide wasn´t waiting. He would climb quickly and them wait for me, 20 or 30 minutes ahead. Quite often, with no one in sight I felt like the only person on the mountain. I started thinking, "what was I doing here? I am not a mountain climber. I am a fat, out of shape, city girl, who likes to pretend to be able to do outdoorsy, athletic, adventerous things. I did not belong here." The more I thought about it, and the more I looked up at this never ending steep, steep climb, I knew I was in over my head. But I am never one to just give up. I had made it this far, and I could still take one more step, so up the mountain I went. And even if I am pretending to be athletic, outdoorsy and adventerous, I had better keep on pretendind and keep climbing.

When I thought that just over the next rock face will be sweet,sweet flat ground, I picked up my pace. When I climbed over that rock face and saw an even more steep incline, I felt all of the life drain out of me. It was not a far distance, but it was so steep. I sat down on a rock and stared up the mountain for a few minutes. I was so close, but felt so far. That last 100 meters took longer than any other 100 meters in life, and when I got to the top I could barely stand on my feet. But, I was happy to have made it. After all those doubts creeping in and out of my mind and the memory of the view of high camp from the bottom, I was thrilled to actually be here. Hello High Camp!!

The walls of High Camp were signed and drawn all over of people who had made the trek before us. I did not find their words encouraging. Some of the writting said ¨"made it. satisfied. would never do it again." and "nearly killed me, and I didn´t even make it" and "next time moutntain, I will defeat you". Some of the writing had a more positive tone, but I could still see through to the darker undertones. For example, "if mount potosi doesn"t kill you, it will make you stronger". But still many were celebrations about summitting the 6088 meters. At High Camp we relaxed, played cards, ate an early dinner and went to bed in the early evening. We would be waking up at midnight for the 5 - 8 hour climb to the summit.

I had made it this far, and only a few hours of climbing seperated me from the summit. Could I actually do this??

Up next, Summit Day....who wins, Crissy or Mount Huayna Potosi?
Join me, as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!!
CG

*please excuse any spelling errors...I don´t know how to turn the spell checker into english!! Any corrections can be emailed to be at crissy.godwin@mts.net. Thank you!!*

Crissy VS. Mount Huayna Potosi, Day 1

            "THE EASIEST WAY TO SUMMIT A 6000 M PEAK!!", read the travel agent´s brochure. That was enough for me, it said easy!! I´d climbed a mountain before...and by climbed I mean walked up... to an altitude of 3128 meters in South Africa. Someone should have told me that "easiest way to climb a 6000m peak" and "easy" were not even close to the same thing.

A Sweedish boy named Nikolas convinced me to do it. We bonded over the survival of Death Road, and he told me about his plans to climb Mount Huayna Potosi over lunch. He asked me what I was doing for the next few days, and I told him I had some Spanish lessons planned, but that was it. He invited me to join him, and with my lack of fondness for the Spanish lessons, I gave it a thought. But I wasn´t sure...could I climb a 6088 meter mountain?? Then he said that line that gets me everytime, ¨well what have you got to lose?¨". I signed up at the travel desk after giving the brochure just a quick glance. Tomorrow I was off to conqure a mountain.

Of course from the begining, I had my doubts. I had arrived in La Paz, Bolivia just a few days before and was not entirely acclimatized to the 3700 m altitude. The travel desk reccomments that you should be in Bolivia for about 7 - 10 days before making the climb. I asked if it was hard, and of course the travel agent slash sales person said no, it was easy and it is the cold that gets most people. Well, being Canadian, and a Winnipegger at that, I told her that -15 C is not really that cold. She said I should have no problem then. I wish I had gotten those words on paper. I guess it also slipped my mind at the time, that I am pretty fat and out of shape right now. Even the hills in the city of La Paz were making me huff and puff. Well, too late, I was off to climb a mountain!!

We drove a rugged, twisty path up to base camp. The altitude here was 4700m. Already, I could feel my breath bcome heavier, just standing still. We ate some lunch, met the other climbers, a German girl, a skinny Brazillian boy, an annoyingly talkative Swiss boy, a couple of Belguim guys who looked like mountaineers, and then Nikolas, the Swede who had convinced me to be here, and me, a fat Canadian girl who hadn´t even seen a mountain until a few years ago. We certainly made an eccentric bunch!

We were shuffled into a little garage area. The guide began to unload his bag, pulling out snow suits, facemasks and elbow length mittens. Next he started pulling out the hard core mountaineering gear. Ropes, harnesses, headlamps, crash helmets, crampons and ice axes. This was my first clue I was in a little over my head. What was I going to need an ice axe for?? I still thought we were just going to be walking up a mountain and that it might be cold.

I was fitted with ski pants, a heavy jacket, a full body harness, a ski mask, plastic mountain boots and had my ice axe in hand. My crampons (metal foot spike things, like cleats on steroids), helment, rope and water were in my backpack, and we were off for some "practice".

Right from the get go, I didn´t know if I was going to make it. The thin, less oxegenated air and  my body loaded with gear, I was gasping for air after just a few steps. On the first gentle incline, my breath was taken away like I had just gotten hit in the stomach with a soccer ball. The huge, snowcapped peak of Huayna Potosi loomed in the background, taunting me. Over loose rocky paths, through streams of fresh mountain water and up steep inclines, we made our way to the glacier part where we were going to learn how to use all of this mountain gear. The whole way there, I was gasping for breath and moving at a snails pace. And this was just practice!! It crossed my mind to quit right there. If I was struggling this much on a practice 1 hour hike, how was I ever going to do the 5 - 8 hours on summit day? But, I am not a quitter. The best things in life are not achieved without a struggle. As long as I could keep putting one foot in front of the other, I was going to keep going.

Finally, we made it to the glacier. It was actually kind of fun to use the cramptons and the ice axe. We got to scale an almost 180 slope, digging our feet in the snow, and hacking into the glacier with the axe. I actually liked to use the ice axe, hacking into the snow and pulling my body upwards. Coming down was hard, and involved a set of muscles that are not commonly used in every day life. My legs and core burned, and one false step or one not so great grip, and you would go sliding down the glacier. I was glad when practice was over, and the hike back to base camp was not as hard as the hike up there. Only 2 hours, and I was exhausted!! That night we slept at base camp. Often throughout the night, I awoke in a panic, gasping for breath. I had to sit up and take a few deep breaths before falling back into a restless sleep. My lungs had still not adapted to the lack of oxygen in the air. The next day, we were climbing to high camp, at 5300 m. It was going to be a 5 hour hike. I needed a good sleep!

Up next, day 2 of Crissy VS. Mount Huayna Potosi; the climb to high camp
Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!
CG

I SURVIVED....The World´s Most Dangerous Road

                                You can check out the details of Death Road here.
                               You can check out some pics of the road here. I will post some of my own pics very soon!!

The famous Death Road is a pretty big tourist attraction here in Bolivia. The road was a lot more dangerous before 2007, when a new road was built because between 200 and 300 people died on the road every year. Vehicles use the new road, leaving the deadly road just for cyclists. After doing the ride, I cannot even imagine how much scarier it must have been to have semi trucks coming at you around blind corners on a road that is barely 3 meters wide.

After my bike accident in Colombia, (read about it here), I was a little apprehensive about getting back on a bike, especially on The World´s Most Dangerous Road. But of course, a little fear has never stopped me.

After the hour journey to 4700 meters above sea level where we were begining the ride, I was a bit scared. It was cold, snow was falling from the sky and staying on the road, making it more slippery than ever. I was telling an English girl about my Colombian bike adventure, and I guess she could hear the apprehension in my voice. She was very sweet and told me not to worry about it, everything would be fine.

So, off we went! The first hour was on a paved 2 lane road. No need to pedal, gravity did the work as we made our way down the steep and slippery road, riding the brakes the whole way. It was snowing and sleeting and raining directly in my face, which made it difficult to see the scenery all around. The one thing you couldn´t miss though, was the steep vertical drop off the side of the road. What I could see all around me were snow covered mountain peaks above and lush green vegetaion below. The road was dotted with crosses, memorials and flowers for those who had fallen over the edge. It was scary to see just how many memorials there were. The first hour was easy and a lot of fun once my confidence level went up. Little did I know, this was not really Death Road. We had been biking the new part of the road, the safe part.

When I got a look at the REAL Death Road, a lump of fear welled up in my throat. Only 2 meters wide in some parts, 90 degree turns, blind corners, loose gravel, rediciously steep, holes in the road, giant rocks to avoid, and a steep, steep drop off with no gaurd rails if you fall prey to any of the above. One mistake, one second of lost concentration, one rock you can´t avoid or too much or too little pressure on the brakes, and you die. But the scenery was beautiful. Lush, green tropical jungle forrest surrounded but cliffs and dotted with waterfalls all along the way. You could only glance for a millisecond, or you risked going right off the side. I started off slowly, sqeezing the brakes hard the whole time. My arms vibrated from the uneven ground and the death grip I had on the handle bars. The wind in my ears sounded like someone had the windows open in a car on the highway. I gained more and more confidence and went faster and faster. Often I had to slow down and remind myself that being cocky is how accidents happen.

I came around one corner and noticed two bikers in my group stopped in the middle of the road. As I got closer I saw the English girl, who had reassured me that everything was going to be fine, her face covered in blood. She was in shock and bleeding profusely from the mouth. The other person who was riding near her only spoke spanish, and I was the next one on the scene. She had no idea what happened to her, she just knew it was bad. For a second I was in shock too, as I looked at all the blood and her broken front teeth. I had to calm her down and explain to her that she was ok, and had just cracked a tooth but there was a lot of blood. Others had gathered by this time and she was determinded to find her piece of broken tooth. As everyone searched for the tooth, I took a look at the road where she had fallen. Luckily, she was on a wide curve and had managed to stay in the middle of the road. Who knows what would have happened if it was on the turn before or after. She was lucky to have escaped with only a busted up face.

As she went to the hosptital, the rest of us continued on down Death Road. I was a bit shaken up after the girl´s fall, and took it very slowly. After 2 hours, we had made it through the most dangerous part of Death Road. The next part was still dangerous, but we didn´t have to be as careful. The road was a little wider, had less 90 degree turns and was a little less steep. This was the fun part for me!! I had all the confidence in the world as I ripped down the road, powered through S turns and splashed through waterfalls, only touching the brakes to turn.

Finally, we were at the end. I had survived the World´s Most Dangerous Road. No one in any of the groups died that day, but there were a few people who had to be taken to the hospital, and many others nursing wounds at the bottom. We had ridden from an altitude of 4700m to 1200m in 65 km. We had started in the freezng cold and snow, and now were sweating in our shorts and tank tops. We celebrated life and survival with a few beers, and called it a day!

Side note - Although Death Road is now largely a tourist attraction, it is important to remember that just a few years ago many Bolivians had no choice but to use that road to sustain life. They, and all the ones who have passed must be remembered and respect paid to the road where so many lost their lives.

On a cheerier note, the English girl was brave and went to a Bolivian dentist, who fixed up her tooth good as new. A few stitches and a few days for the swelling to go down and she will have a great story to tell others about the World´s Most Dangerous Road!!

Join me as I TRAVEL MY LIFE AWAY!!!
CG