Hola todo,Well it looks the mountain came first after all. On Friday, amidst the depths of bacterial infection, we grabbed a lovely dodgy bus to Chulumani, the capital of the Yungas mountain range. I know I haven´t really described La Paz yet, or the terrain and life of Bolivia, but seeing as I didn´t even really understand it until this trip, it´s as fine a place as any to begin.
La Paz, as you may know, is the highest capital city in the world, somewhere around 3,640 m, or 11,942 ft. Edmonton is at 668 m, Vancouver and Melbourne at 2 m. So as you can guess, everywhere from here is down. The road to Chulumani-Coroico is more widely known as the death road, the most deadly stretch of asphalt and rock in the world. Since earning this dubious reputation a great deal of tourism has sprung up regarding over-anxious tourists mountain biking down select patches of the lethal road. A newer road was constructed several years ago that skirts the range completely, and most traffic now follows it, and for good reason, as it was estimated 200-300 people were being killed yearly. On Wednesday the papers carried a story of a tourist biker who added his name to the list.
Jess, myself, and our friend Shannon were all completely unaware that our desired route to Chulumani involved the Yungas roads in the slightest. It was with palapable tension that our rickety bus clambered out of La Paz.
As you know, I´m camera-less for the next little while, so I´ve jacked some photos off the web to attempt to fill in the gaps. But they do not even come close.
Bolivia is the corner where the sky meets the horizon, the lurching and ancient mountains still groaning their ascent. In places the peaks are merciless black basalt, with stark white snow facets that often do not dare to reach the summit. For the majority of the Yungas however, the mountains are the faces of my dreams...
Green, aching, dominating peaks, incolsed with mist, the sky invisible between them, and their peaks only hinted as the tropical fogs loll by. Their verdant sides pulse with jungle foliage, trees wrapped in trees, vines that stretch from canopy to ground. On the steepest cliffs, the trees barely give way to ancient greyed rock, cut sideways and strong by the forces that made them. And to make it complete, every single sliver of earth pulses with water, falling from heights unimagined, unbound by the seeming rules of reality outside of this place. There is not supposed to be this much beauty in one look, in between heartbeats so full the next comes lazily, panting. The terror of an expanding mind, eyes gouged with majesty, hoping that it will all just end so that I can come to terms with it. And the bus and the road clamber on, deeper and down, into the forest of the primeval, across rivers, through waterfalls, the black rock barely holding, the tires dangling over the edge.
I don´t exagerate, if you can believe me. I don´t actually have the words to paint the entire picture, I can´t say beauty any more times than I already have. But it is without question that I have witnessed the most incredible sight of my life. I am still shocked to be given warrant to say such a thing. This place is beyond experience.
The days we spent in town were quiet, hiking, the discoveries of jungle rivers and the lunches that must come with them, the still life moments of a small town bereft of major tourism, and the shallow pulse that lies underneath to be discovered and appreciated. We rode back this morning on the same road, the mists had lifted a bit and the mountain peaks were fully visible. There was perhaps less mystery but more majesty.
Back in town this afternoon we saw our first South American football match, I´ll describe the "excitement" tomorrow. Looking forward to finding an apartment this week, Spanish lessons continue, volunteering soon, maybe UN. Also, Morales is nearby on Friday, so I might make a pilgramage to see him.
Tomorrow I´ll let you all know what La Paz is like, and how to get by with pseudo-terminal bacteria warfare within.
Ciao,
Nick
oh, and since I´m without camera, here are some photos not of mine that give an idea.
A tiny village on the side of the road.
The road.
1 comment:
Nick, sorry to hear about your camera, super lame. It could have been worse if you'd been agressively robbed instead of passively and so while I mourn the loss of your camera, your continued healthy existence is a plus. Getting more jealous of you by the day and missing you the whole time. Enjoy your border crossing parties and give me a call if you ever have a chance.
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