La Paz - Bolivia

Watching someone dig through a pile of trash, hunched over others’ waste on the side of the road, taking handfuls of rice and transferring them into a plastic bag for the taking, as I walk into a restaurant to indulge in a delicious – supposedly expensive – burger really puts things into perspective.

I had been in La Paz for less than a few hours and I was already witnessing the hard reality of this country, where 60.1 per cent of the population lives under the poverty line of $1.25 a day, according the World Bank.

As I sat in the only opened restaurant in the center of La Paz waiting for my meal on a cold night, I couldn’t get passed the image of the man rummaging trough garbage in search for his. I wondered how could it be possible that I was about to eat a burger and fries that cost 30 Bolivianos, or, around 4 dollars, yet there was someone just outside the door who cannot afford even that. That is to say, a four-dollar meal is almost a luxury for some Bolivians. Yet for me it was one of the cheapest meals so far on my trip. How could we have such different realities? I asked myself. But the inequality that exists in our world is far more latent than what we’d like to admit or even think about. So, this is nothing new.

The World Bank has determined that Bolivia is “the most unequal in Latin America” and La Paz is living evidence of this. I explored many neighborhoods in La Paz and I saw the contrast between the chaotic and poorer Centro with the wealthier and more sophisticated San Miguel, where the small upper class hangs out; an upper class that derives from colonial times and that still benefits from the exploitation of the rest of the country.

<- Centro San Miguel -->

Centro--->

San Miguel --->

Bolivia has been poor ever since their pseudo-independence and will continue to be because the dynamic has changed very little, if at all, since the colony.

Bolivia was stripped of tons — literary — thousands of tons of silver and other resources during the colony. Nowadays, it is being robbed of the remaining resources in a more inconspicuous manner: by international corporations (benefiting only the already rich). It is being kept subjugated by the recommendations of the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, and defenseless without proper access to education.

Children working are a common view. The United Nations refugee agency found in 2009 that 22 per cent of children ages 7-14 work, but the worst part is the conditions under they do so.

“Children in Bolivia are exploited in the worst forms of child labor, many of them in agriculture.” Says the 2010 document. “Other worst forms of child labor include street vending, shining shoes, and assisting transport operators, work in which children may be exposed to a variety of hazards, such as severe weather, accidents caused by proximity to vehicles, and vulnerability to criminal elements.”

You can read more about it here.

Women work at least 12 hours daily as vendors on the street. They unload heavy potato sacks that they carry on their backs, early in the morning, and they sit out all day, rain or shine, in the cold streets of La Paz until eight or nine at night when they pack up and head home, again carrying the heavy load. Men usually work far away in dangerous mines and children help however they can. Everyone working to “merely survive” as a Brazilian tourist put it during our conversation.

No wonder why life expectancy in Bolivia is 66.

The bit I learned about the way of life of the campesinas (peasant women) I learned from Asunta Silicuana, a woman selling potatoes and hats on the street with whom I hung out for part of the day. Her husband is a miner and she told me this is the most common work among men. She speaks Aymara and Quechua and her ancestors have lived in Bolivia for centuries, according to her.

If hard work were all it took to progress, Bolivia would be the most advanced in South America, let alone, the richest. Because they have enough resources and a work ethic that should allow them to thrive, yet they struggle to make it day by day.

Despite the hard conditions under which a lot of Bolivians live, it is still a very lively society. I was greeted kindly and with a smile everywhere I went. Indigenous traditions still play an important role, so as an outsider it was fun to enjoy the “witches’ market” and learn about their ceremonies to Pachamama (mother earth) and their ancient traditions and remedies (which are pretty handy when there is no access to healthcare).

Although most people work without rest for most of their lives, they manage to stay positive and live happily. Not once did I encounter someone complaining about their condition, or even their day, they accept their reality and face every day with a smile and a prayer.

“Gracias a dios se puede trabajar,” said Asunta, which translates to: “thank god it is possible to work.”

This kind of perspective is not uncommon in South America. People are happy for the opportunities they have rather than frustrated about what they lack. Many are poor but happy.

Asunta smiles and happily tells me about her five children and how she’s worked for as long as she can remember.

La Paz was an incredibly interesting place, the contrasts, the landscape (there is a snow peak that can be viewed from almost anywhere in the city which lays on a giant crevice in the Andes), the flavors and colors, the people, the history, the reality. All of this comes together forming a pulsating society that represents what has been the history of this continent.

If you ever get a chance, give La Paz one; it can change your view on life.

Lake Titicaca

I spent the day at Machu Picchu (awesome) and then headed back to Cusco the same day. I spent the night there and headed to Puno, on Lake Titicaca. I made it from Iquitos in the north of Peru, to Puno far south on the border of Bolivia in 4 days. Phew!!!

This is the Uros Island on Lake Titicaca. The Uros were once a very peaceful people who moved to self-made floating islands on the lake, escaping warfare between Incas and other groups. This pre-Inca people survived by trading or selling fish, but nowadays the resources aren’t enough for them to sell any. The over-harvested lake is now only able to supply enough fish for local consumption; therefore the Uros rely entirely on tourism to subsist.

It is a bit ironic to see how this culture has been mainly preserved due to tourism, yettheir way of life and environment has been greatly affected by it. Without tourists they would have a really hard time surviving and would have, most likely, had to move and adapt to life on land; but they’ve kept their traditional clothing and maintained the floating islands (which need to be up kept constantly) in order to make a profit, which has helped preserve these culture. They went from being a fishing community to one whose life now revolves around getting money from tourists. If you visit and don’t buy any of the overpriced handcrafts, you will no longer be as welcomed. Many of the visitors I met during the tour told me they felt very guilty and forced to buy things.

The Uros can’t be blamed though. They were once a people that lived peacefully on the lake with an uncomplicated way of life, and throughout the years they’ve had to adapt to a capitalists society and the tourism that flooded the lake. These were concepts unknown to them and now they do as they must in order to continue living on the lake – a sacred place for the Incas.

The Uros speak Quechua, Aymara and Spanish. The islands they live on are made of layers of totora reeds – a very prolific plant that grows there – laid over floating soil that they cut and tie together. Totora reeds are very important for the Uros. Besides using them for the islands, it is also eaten and used to make boats and houses.

An example of how this community has changed their way of life in order to cater to tourists and profit is their “Mercedes Benz” vessel designed exclusively to take tourists for a ride at a varying price. This vessel doesn’t even have a Quechua, Aymara or Spanish name; it is simply called the “Mercedes Benz.”

Despite the uncomfortable reality of these people, it is for sure a place to visit. It is absolutely beautiful and relaxing, although a bit expensive and of course, although they depend on tourism, the many boats on lake Titicaca are not helping the declining ecosystem.

The Andes

I left Quito and traveled just a few kilometers south to a natural reserve in the Andes, on my way to Cuenca, still in Ecuador. I met an Ecuadorian guy who’s an Andean mountain guide and convinced him to take me on a short adventure to Illiniza Norte, a mountain with an elevation of 5126 meters (16,818 ft)

I am traveling on a budget, so the $200 he usually charges didn’t sound so good to me. We became friends though, and after a few beers he agreed to take me for free the following day, as long as I paid for transportation, food for both of us, and the rental of my tent. It was a done deal!

We left Quito Friday morning towards Machachi, the town at the foothill of what used to be a volcano, before it erupted, breaking it into two mountains, Illiniza Norte and Illiniza Sur.

We hired someone to take us to the camping area inside the park for $20 one way, we got $10 worth of food and paid a two-dollar entrance fee per person.

We got there in the afternoon. The freshness of the mountain was enjoyably overwhelming and the almost-forgotten sounds of nature flooded the air. I slept, to the sound of a flowing creek and the wind, until 4:00 am, when we started hiking up to the summit.

Alexis (my Ecuadorian friend) had showed some mistrust on my ability to adjust to the altitude. After all, I had only been in Quito for two days and he’s seen even the strongest succumb to altitude sickness. I wasn’t too concerned, but around 4:10 am Saturday, about 100 meters away from our tents, I was swallowing my words, or – better said – throwing them up.

My head didn’t feel right, my legs felt like Jell-O, every breath I took seemed useless; minutes later I was hanging over a rock, gagging in the darkness.

I felt terrible. Had I gone all that way to turn around without even beginning? No way. I wasn’t about to give up so easily. I reached into my daypack for a baggie of coca leaves a German girl had gifted me at the hostel in Quito. These have been used for over a thousand years in the Andes to heal altitude sickness, and besides being one of the many ingredients in the associated narcotic; it has not much else in common with it. They are also completely legal in raw form in some South American countries, for its traditional use.

I had decided to fight through my sickness, but I have to admit, I had no idea how far I could make it, so I took it –- literary -- step-by-step, as I chewed on a leaf.

Alexis asked me several times if I wanted to turn back but I insisted on continuing. I had to stop a few times, totally nauseated, in ten step intervals until he told me that the next time he would be the one to decide whether or not I could continue. So I told myself it couldn’t happen again.

Slowly I started feeling better. I was focused on nothing else but my breath and each step. Our headlamps were the brightest thing on the mountain and we kept walking through a forest.

As we advanced the vegetation started to change and sunlight began to peek through the clouds. It was also getting colder and windier as we approached the southeast ridge. I was definitely not in my normal shape, but I was able to keep going.

The scenery kept changing. It went from forest to tundra, to sand and rock covered in ice. It was absolutely beautiful. The sky was clearing, the sun rising, and I, still walking. I couldn’t believe it. The beauty surrounding me was making ever step worth it.

Three and a half hours later and at 5000 meters (16,404 ft), with a stunning view in front of us, I had to stop and rest once again. I was completely exhausted and, shortly after we stopped moving, absolutely freezing. But I was ecstatic to be there, contemplating first hand the beauty of the world, the powerful view of the Andes.

We were only 126 meters away from the summit, but we had to climb the last part of the route, and it would take another hour.

Exhausted, on an empty stomach, freezing and with no gloves, I couldn’t think of giving another step upwards, let alone trusting my life to my now-numbed hands as they grabbed on to frozen rock. I had reached my limit. I decided to turn back.

The hike down was easier and I was able to enjoy the scenery more, now that I wasn’t struggling for every breath. I drank water from a natural spring and made my way back to camp with a giant smile on my face.

Once back down, warm and comfortable, I kicked myself for not finishing. I wanted to be able to say I had made it to the summit on my first try, but I couldn’t.

It seemed so much easier in my memory, but realistically, being up there, amidst the elements, is a different game.

Once I realized that, it felt good to have had my butt kicked by the mountain. It was a reminder of my own nature, of my limitations. It reminded me not to under-estimate the power of nature. It was humbling.

Living in a city, everything we want is at the tip of our fingers. Everything we want is relatively easy to obtain. Getting anywhere is only a drive away. This was something that wasn’t going to come to me so easily, and I learned to accept it.

I was still happy for how far I had made it. I felt lucky for being able to experience the beauty of the mountain and I promised Illiniza Norte I would be back to earn the summit.