Guani River Boats
For the better part of 2006 I found myself in South America. Here is a brief overview, as I recall it four years later, of my journey…
I purchased a guide book and bought a ticket to what I thought would be El Dorado. With no itinerary and little cash I was excited to be on my first real solo adventure into the realm of the unknown. Landing in Lima, Peru very early in the morning and after a few too many in flight cocktails I was stammered… my language lessons had been forgotten and now I was half a world away from home.
I spent my first week in Lima trying to brush up on my Spanish skills and putting together a rough plan of action. I decided it was best to stay out of big cities and connect with what I hoped to be the heart of the nation. Over the next month I traveled north up the coast and enjoyed Peruvian culture. Highlights were hiking in Huarez, the fresh seafood of Huanchaco, the culture of Tumbes & Piura, and the surfing of Mancora.
As I meditated in Mancora I received word that my grandfather was in Bolivia. Already abroad, starting to get bored, and even though an entire country away I was still motivated to say hi…
I spent far too long on a bus travelling back to Lima and immediately on towards Arequipa near the South-eastern border of Peru. I effectively by-passed what most tourists travel to Peru for – Machu Picchu – but was not disappointed after talking with the locals and other travelers hearing that it was a very commercialized spot (tourist trap). I was more disappointed that I packed my only jacket underneath the bus on the overnight journey from Arequipa to the border town of Desaguadero… as altitude increases the temperature decreases, which can make for a chilly journey on an unheated bus.
I watched the sun rise over Lake Titicaca as I waited for the day to begin so I could cross the border into Bolivia. I managed to get some help from a local who helped me navigate the border officials and secure a seat aboard a collectivo to La Paz. The relatively short drive to the capital city proved to be a giant eye-opener as the scenery passed by and I realized that Bolivia was even less developed than Peru. This gave the country a charm that I had not yet experienced in life… there was the promise of visiting a land that was seemingly still in a 1940s era of existence. At the time I had no idea how naive my cultural understandings were.
The altitude of La Paz proved to knock me flat down – I slept for two days trying to acclimatize. La Paz is on average 3,600 metres above sea-level – the most populated area is El Alto located up a steep gradient immediately West of downtown and is nearly 4,200 metres. It took about four days to get adjusted and find my grandfather who had already been in Bolivia for two years. Once we connected I was unsuspecting of the wild journey was about to begin.
As a prospector my grandfather had spent a considerable amount of time exploring the mineral wealth of Bolivia. Not to mention his years of experience in the far North of Canada mining for gold, diamonds, and gooey ducks. In Bolivia he had a Toyota Landcruiser, a considerable amount of mining equipment, and an elevated spirit that was enticed by the rush of the potency of the adventure ahead. However, he did not have the smoothest of Spanish skills – so I offered to tag along as an interpreter. We found a bigger apartment in La Paz and set up a base camp with some ex-pats from England who were teaching English, writing, and bartending.
On the hunt for a suitable area to ’set up shop’ or ‘find the mother-load’ we ventured forth on expeditions that would take us to hours past the edge of civilization. Highlights include driving the world’s deadliest road to Caranavi and onwards to the lowlands of Guanay, the return trip was done at night – where headlight problems plagued the early hours of the journey. We found ourself exploring around the Cochabamba where the Christo de Concordia is claimed to be a foot taller than the one in Rio de Janeiro of Brazil. We panned and dredged for gold near the small village of Locotani and prospected nickel deposits just outside of La Paz. It was interesting to meet local miners and see the equipment of former multinational operations. The most memorable was the abandoned bucket-line dredge on the Tipuani river that was said to have started in Australia then transferred by plane to the Yukon, Canada and eventually found itself in the heart of the eastern slopes of the South America Andes. We took some time in the relaxed village of Sorata on the way to Lake Titicaca. There are simply too many tales to tell of our journey together, but I was truly blessed to have been able to get to know my grandfather in such an intimate and bizarre way. After all, we attempted the Bolivian bureaucracy by applying for citizenship and upgrading visas, tested the Canadian consulate’s ability to overcome stolen passports, attended newfound friend’s wedding ceremonies and even our own lawyer’s funeral, experienced cultural frustration by way of inexperienced mechanics and bribing multiple police officers, hiked through mountains and jungles in an effort to explore spent and operational gold mines, and found ourselves at the other end of a gun barrel.
After four months of adventure and numerous unsuccessful expeditions it was time for me to get back on the road to continue my South American journey. I departed La Paz by bus forgetting my bank card somewhere along the way. The situation was made worse since, at the time, I did not realize that a Visa credit card requires a PIN to access money from the bank machines – access to money would soon become a real challenge (keep that in mind anytime you depart from home!)…
On a southbound journey by bus I found myself hopping on a train in Oruro to get to Uyuni. I did not realize that Uyuni was, more or less, the end of the line for trains. There was literally a graveyard that housed many of Bolivia’s earliest steam engines and well used train cars. From there I joined an 4×4 expedition through the Salar de Uyuni – one of the world’s largest salt flats – that would eventually lead to a large nature reserve that bordered with Chile and Argentina. The stunning landscapes were outer-worldly. That trip would lead to my departure from Bolivia and entry into Chile which would result in mild culture shock the moment the border was crossed.
Upon arriving in San Pedro de Atacama in Northern Chile I discovered just how expensive every other country is in comparison to Bolivia. Where Canadian currency was worth 1:8 in Bolivianos it was effectively worth 1:500 in Chilean pesos… BUT I was exacerbated by the fact that it took tens of thousands of pesos to purchase anything. The confusion of a newer land led to frustration and a wanting to return to the way things were a mere week earlier. Especially considering I now had a strict budget with no direct access to money without bank cards for a few weeks. Deciding that Chile was too expensive for my shoe-string budget I hopped on a bus bound for Argentina.
Along the way, my newfound bus-mate from Brazil was accosted by the border patrol and was effectively and literally stripped of all his craft materials that he had just acquired on his short trip to Chile from Argentina. Luckily he was accustomed to such hassles and had a positive attitude moving forward. He helped me get set up in the city of Salta and ensured I was set up in a central location with a nice discount at his friend’s hostel.
I spent a couple of weeks enjoying the Northern parts of Argentina but was still discontented. It seemed as though nothing could match the excitement of traveling with my vegabond grandfather. The only thing that I knew at that point was that I wanted to see the waterfalls of Iguazu. So I moved on again and decided to take the scenic route by going through Paraguay.
I didn’t realize that Canadians need a visa to enter Paraguay. This caused a bit of confusion at the border, since I had traveled nearly twenty hours by bus to get to the border I was not ready to be turned away. Using my ever-improving Spanish skills I managed to impress the importance of my entry upon the border official to the point he allowed me the pleasure of a tourist visa in exchange for a ‘donation.’ After a week of slow travel, that was not really that scenic, I ended up in Asuncion the capital city of Paraguay. I say ‘not scenic’ because the country is dense vegetation with very few hills. Imagine many shades of green and a warm humid climate. I really enjoyed the country, all of Paraguay seemed to be running on a different time than Peru, Bolivia or Argentina… everyone was contented with their fresh matte served with cold water.
From Asuncion I would go on towards the border town Ciudad del Este. I managed to visit the Itaipu dam along the way, which was the largest dam in the world at the time – it effectively supplied 95% of Paraguay’s and 20% of Brazil’s electricity. The area was also home to a prolific black market area that catered to the tastes of Argentinean and Brazilian visitors. The same river that feeds Itaipu also feeds the famous Iguazu falls that were now within an hour’s journey into Argentina. At the border my passport was subject to multiple rounds of scrutiny for not having the correct tourist visa. After another ‘donation’ I managed to enter into Argentina with little hassle.
to be continued… when I have time to finish recounting my journey…