The Trail Less Traveled

Another day, another border crossing. Lake Titicaca straddles the Bolivian/Peruvian border and we had purchased a bus ticket which would fist take us to the boarder crossing and then to a second bus that would drive us through the night to the city of Cusco, Peru. Upon arriving we were told that the upgraded seat we had purchased (upgraded in the fact that it reclines) was not available and that no refund would be given for the difference in prices we had paid. I ended up exiting the bus to argue with the bus agent while Colleen kept an eye on our seats and bags and received a small refund but had to cut my losses as the bus was beginning to pull away without me. We crossed the border with no hassles in a torrential downpour but were told that the bus company now needed additional money for the second bus, a bus we had already paid in full, due to a ‘strike’ among the bus drivers. Of course this was a load of crap and a scam but what choice do you have, either pay up or get off the bus in the middle of nowhere at midnight in a thunderstorm.

We arrived prior to sunrise in Cusco and waited for some daylight before sharing a cab with 2 German girls to a local hostel. Cusco is a beautiful town. It is famously known to most travelers as the staging point for trips to the ruins of Machu Picchu but it is also a sight in itself. It is said to be the longest continually inhabited city (and the head of the Inka Empire) in the Americas and offers wide plazas to compliment narrow cobblestone streets, centuries old churches and the backpacker comforts of cheap markets and corner pubs.

We had a couple main tasks at hand in Cusco. First, we wanted to pick up sleeping bags and a tent to do some camping over the last couple months of the trip, namely in Chile and Argentina. We had read Chile is quite pricey and limited on selection when it comes to equipment so we decided with all the tour operators in Cusco that we should take advantage of the selection. We ended up picking up two new North Face sleeping bags (absolutely fake but the agent insisted they were real) along with a high end used 2 person mountaineering tent at very respectable prices.

The second task at hand, of course, was to search out when/where/how we could reach Manchu Picchu. There are three main options when it comes to reaching this wonder of the world. The most well known option is to hike the historical Inka trail, 33 kilometers over 4 days at a staggering cost of $430 per person all inclusive. Option 2 is to take one of the available ‘side trails’ with a tour company and guide and pay around $250 for the experience. The third option is to go at it alone without a guide or company. For this final option, you must decide on which ‘side trail’ you wish to trek as the famous ‘Inka Trail’ has hiker quotas and permits required. Given the trails are well marked, our respectable experience trekking and finding our own way numerous times on this trip, we decided to go at it alone. Why would we pay several hundred dollars each just to have a guide show us to the nearest restaurant or hotel and point us in the general direction of the trail?

We settled on what is known as the ‘back door’ to Machu Picchu. The route is not highly advertised or mentioned in guidebooks but is a well known path for tour operators who sell the route to travelers on a tighter budget. We headed out on a 7-hour early morning bus to essentially circumnavigate the mountain range thus reaching the start of the ‘backdoor’ route. We crossed mountain passes nearing 15,000 ft and arrived at the dusty town of Santa Maria from where we caught an hour long taxi with a bunch of school kids using the taxi as a bus service to the village of Santa Teresa and our accommodation for the night. We awoke early the next morning, grabbed some local cheese empanadas to-go for breakfast and began our hike. The first leg of the hike had us descending down a cliff out of the village and across a small suspension bridge to a dirt path across the valley. From there is was a 2 hour hike following the river until we reached a hydroelectric damn. To the side of the hydroelectric damn we found the set of railroad tracks we were looking for and knew we were on the right track. We then followed the railroad for about three hours, twisting and turning our way up canyons, crisscrossing bridges and walking through multiple tunnels.

After a total of 5 hours and just over 20 kilometers of hiking, the village of Aguas Calientes came into sight around a bend,. We had spent $9 each on public transit to reach our destination and enjoyed the adventure of a lightly used path. The small community is only accessible by hiking trail or railroad and acts as the launching point for day treks to/from Machu Picchu. We quickly found accommodation for the evening in one of the numerous guesthouses and headed to the market for some much needed food.

Machu Picchu is perched on a mountaintop high above Aguas Calientes and is accessible either by a costly minibus or by way of a steep 6 kilometer hiking trail. Of course we opted for the hiking trail and found ourselves up before dawn the following day and hitting the trail with our headlamps. The trail was quite steep and midway up the mountain a storm moved in and a massive downpour began. Now we were wet, cold and could not see through the dense clouds how close we were to our destination. We trudged on upward through switchback after switchback and just as daylight was beginning to show we reached the ticket counter but were told Machu Picchu did not open for another 30 minutes. So we waited exhausted, soaked and shaking as the first busload of fresh, dry and cheery tourists appeared up the road. We must have been quite the site to them huddled in our wet clothes munching on some day old bread! Finally, the gates opened and we squished through the fog and into Machu Picchu…

The World’s Highest Everything

Our overnight bus turned and twisted its way through switchbacks all night long until we were greeted by a sunrise over the valley containing the Bolivian capital of La Paz. Entering La Paz in itself is an experience. The capital is nestled in a steep walled canyon at over 12000 ft above sea level and is known for having the ‘highest everything‘ in the world, from the highest sushi restaurant to the highest Irish pub . The economic center of the city lies in the valley bottom while the housing clings to the cliffs bordering the metropolis.

Our bus dropped us on the canyon edge and we walked downhill using a rough map to point us in the general direction of our hostel. Our destination was the ‘Brew Hostel’, an establishment that had caught my eye during our research. The name of the hostel is derived from the fact that it is hooked onto the Saya Beer Microbrewery (who of course has a claim at the highest microbrewery in the world). It was too early to check into our hotel (not unusual when arriving by overnight bus) so we had a handful of hours to wander around the city somewhat drowsy. We immediately found that La Paz is not only impressive to look at but the people are also cheerful and friendly. We meandered through the markets buying some produce and bread for lunch and eventually made it back to the hotel for our check-in. That night we headed to the 5th floor rooftop pub for $0.75 drafts of some of the best microbrewed beer we have sampled this year along with an equally impressive sunset view.

Over conversation with a retired pilot from Pittsburg who spent the past few decades transporting inmates from prison to prison (yes you meet some odd ones while traveling) I was introduced to the head brewer, Jack. Jack was a former Penn State student from Dallas and was wearing an 82nd Airborne Army cap, a good conversation point as I had worked with the 101st Airborne Rangers during a summer job in Italy during college. Between that and a love for beer we immediately hit it off well. Jack invited me to a Thanksgiving Day brew session at the brewery along with a Turkey dinner and I was pretty excited to say the least.

Thanksgiving day arrived and Colleen and I spent the morning wandering the streets of La Paz, viewing centuries old cathedrals and political buildings (the notorious PM from Iran was actually in town causing quite a bit of chatter on the streets and in the news). We arrived back at the hostel to find that the brewing yeast had not propagated properly and that brewing would not be possible for another day. Jack also informed us that Turkeys were apparently a rarity in La Paz, not surprising, so we would have to look into other options for dinner. We decided to kill two birds with one stone and spice up some already finished beer into a ‘Thanksgiving Spice Ale’ thus giving us some time in the brewery and a Thanksgiving treat as well.

Jack was a great teacher and showed me around the brewery as we boiled up a concoction of nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla and added it to a finished keg of Saya Colonial Golden Ale. The resulting product was delicious and I was given a free pint for assisting in the effort of carrying the 150 lb keg up 4 flights of stairs, tough to say the least at this altitude! We spent the rest of the day going over the blue prints for a new brewery expansion and paging through brewery supply catalogs making parts lists. Colleen joined us again in the evening for a couple pints and we completed what was a truly unique Thanksgiving.

We headed out the next morning north to the village of Copacabana on the shores of Lake Titicaca traveling even further uphill to an elevation of 12600 ft. Copacabana sits attractively on the lake shore, slightly overcrowded with tour operators yet still retaining its traditional ways of life and small town charm. Our main goal in heading to Copacabana was to view the lake and head out to the island of Isla del Sol. The normal route to the island is to catch the direct two hour ferry from Copacabana but of course that seemed too simple for our adventurous spirit. We learned the next sizeable village up the shoreline was 17 kilometers away and from there we might be able to hire a boat to head out to the island. On top of this we were told the walk offered beautiful views of the lake and countryside; we were sold.

We headed out at day break the next morning and the walk did not disappoint. We wound our way through small communities and steep shoreline terrain with beautiful views. About two kilometers outside our destination we were approached by a local farmer out of his fields who in a combination of broken English (and our broken Spanish) and drawing with a stick in the sand, offered to take us by his boat to the island. We obliged, happy to give some side business to the local man and found ourselves on the shores of Isla del Sol a little over an hour later.

Isla de Sol is famous due to its Inca roots where it is said to be the birthplace of the sun. We were able to view multiple ruins on our walk from the shoreline to the main hilltop village where we found some of our best accommodation to date in South America. For $14 we received a spotless room with views out over the lake from three sides, a private bathroom and free breakfast. The plan was to wake early the next morning to circumnavigate the island touring numerous Inca sites but we awoke to a torrential downpour. We hedged our bets and boarded the morning ferry back to Copacabana as the island paths can be dangerously muddy in the rain and no big surprise, Colleen had already taken a tumble the day before.

Most travelers head to the Peru side of Lake Titicaca next, but we decided to go straight up to Cusco, thus ending our time in Bolivia. We loved the uniqueness of the country and the people’s hard work and resourcefulness in this high land of the western hemisphere.

The Beauty of Bolivia

The transportation push to the border of Brazil/Bolivia was a long one. We took a 15 hour overnight bus, then bought a second bus ticket and an hour later boarded an 8 hour bus that took us to the border town of Corumba. Unfortunately we arrived too late as the border had closed for the day (who closes a border at 1PM?). We awoke the next day and headed to the bus station where Brazilian immigration gave us our exit stamp (why it is not done at the actual border I have no idea), and then caught a local bus to the Bolivian border.

We had heard horror stories about Americans crossing into Bolivia. At the end of 2007 Bolivia decided that Americans should pay a $135 fee to enter and word on the street was that if you did not have all of your correct paperwork (copy of passport, yellow fever vaccination, proof of sufficient funds, onward travel documentation, etc.) in hand that they would demand an even higher sum. We were not about to let that happen, so we came prepared. Surprisingly, absolutely none of our prep work was necessary. As we walked into the immigration office the ’officials’ looked up, asked for our passports and then broke out huge smiles. “American!” they yelled. “You must pay $135 each!!!!” When we nodded ‘yes’ expressionless. They seemed even more excited that we did not put up a fight and gave us the visa paperwork to fill out. As we handed over the cash there was much happy chatter accompanied by even bigger smiles as the official smelled the money, held it up in the air and yelled triumphantly, “dollars!” That was when we realized that every worker in the room was going home with A LOT of money that day. Obviously they don’t get many Americans through this border crossing. Aside from that, the workers were very nice to us, even asking Chad to translate some English writing for them from another person's application. We walked out of the office and into Bolivia $270 poorer but with a valid 5 year visa, just in case we want to book a return visit!

A quick 15 minute cab ride brought us to the dusty quiet town of Quijarro where “The Death Train” was waiting on it’s tracks to take us to Santa Cruz. Yes, our next mode of transportation was nicknamed “The Death Train”. We were lucky enough to get on the train that afternoon and avoided another night at the border. We were welcomed by a broken air conditioner in our carriage and hordes of sweaty people transporting all sorts of goods. Lucky for us, that was the worst of our journey and the ‘Death Train’ had more bark than bite. It was slightly entertaining as it rattled down the tracks at an incredibly slow pace, shaking and swaying as if it would fall to one side at any minute. We spent 15 hours bouncing about, but we did get to enjoy a few Hollywood movies dubbed over in Spanish and a freezing cold night as the air conditioner finally decided it was going to work overtime.

We arrived in Santa Cruz, the second largest city in Bolivia, completely exhausted from our past week and in need of some decent sleep and a shower. We were excited to finally be in Bolivia and even more excited to see a good friend of ours Brian Asby, who happened to be working in Santa Cruz for a few weeks. We could not believe our luck that the timing worked out and we decided to spend a few extra days in Santa Cruz to catch up. Santa Cruz was a pleasant city with a central plaza and streetside cafes. The weather was nice and we were able to catch up on internet, laundry and some good meals. We met up with Brian a couple different nights and shared travel stories and got updates on life back in the USA. It actually felt like a little slice of home as we sipped some cold beers and reminisced, something I think all three of us really appreciated!

Santa Cruz was pleasant and comfortable but we bid Brian farewell and decided to head into the countryside to see a different side of Bolivia. Our destination was the small village of Samaipata, tucked into the Bolivian mountains a 3 hour taxi ride outside Santa Cruz (total cost of taxi was about $7!). Upon arrival in Samaipata we immediately felt like we may have found a future home for us. Within our first hours of being in town we had gone for a run and found a cozy little bar serving microbrews and Samaipata jumped to one of our favorite small towns of the trip without trying. The town was picture perfect in every way, a village that had not been found yet by the masses of backpackers roaming South America.

We spent 3 days in Samaipata, and loved every single second if it. We visited the local market daily, buying fruit and vegetables from the indigenous women. We wandered up and down the cobbelstone streets, petting the many sleeping dogs, popping into cafes and shops, sitting in the park plaza and taking photos of the old buildings and churches. At night there were some very cool pubs to visit and we treated ourselves to one of the best meals of our trip at a local restaurant that served fresh, organic vegetarian food. We didn’t just stick in town though. We ventured to a nearby national park on a tour with a Spanish speaking guide and three 50 year olds from Spain. The views were amazing and the hiking trails great, but let’s just say that we don’t speak Spanish and were in MUCH better shape than the chain smoking Spaniards.

Samaipata solidified our love for Bolivia. The country is dirt cheap, the people are friendly, the food is decent (okay not decent if you are a vegetarian), there are more things to do than days in the month and they produce wine in the southwest that can be had for under 3 dollars a bottle. Bolivia has definitely caught our attention. Maybe we will be using that 5 year visa in the future after all.