Apples and Honey and Bread in the Shape of Pomegranates

Never underestimate how incredibly awkward it is to walk alone into a room full of strangers who know each other and are all speaking a language you do not understand.

This past week was Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar. So even though I’m in La Paz, Bolivia, I really wanted to celebrate the holiday. The solution: Chabad. Chabad is basically a very religious Jewish organization. Here’s what I didn’t know (because, friends, for some reason only Israelis know about this little gem of a secret): There are Chabad houses all over the world, in almost every country, where people are welcome for Shabbat dinners, holidays, prayer services, and hummus. And apparently La Paz’s Chabad house is particularly nice. I had gone there for Passover and then forgot that it existed. But I knew they must do something for Rosh Hashana. 

So on Wednesday night, after a few somewhat uncomfortable emails to the Rabbi who does not speak very much English, I was on my way to the Chabad house. I was pretty nervous since I was going alone and I had no idea what to expect. I worried about what to wear, eventually settling on the only skirt I had brought with me to Bolivia. I should have known better – Israelis are notoriously casual and these guys are all backpacking across South America so ripped jeans, llama sweaters and facial hair was the accepted attire for Rosh Hashana dinner.

And now back to that uncomfortable moment where I walked into the dining room of the Chabad house and felt like I had entered some strange twilight zone other world in the middle of La Paz. I looked around, saw a room full of Israelis speaking Hebrew, and I went and sat on a stack of chairs in the corner. Because really, what the hell else was I going to do?

The tables were set beautifully. Each plate had a small challah in the shape of a pomegranate on it. There were trays of Israeli salads (hummus, matbucha, a variety of eggplant dishes) scattered around the table, flowers, apples and honey. I just wanted the meal to begin so I could eat and go home.

Slowly more people filtered into the room, and finally two brothers who happened to have been shuffled over to the corner where I was sitting realized I didn’t speak Hebrew and started chatting with me in English. They were pretty cool guys. When the rest of the (religious) men returned from the services in the other room, I followed my two new friends to the table. They proceeded to be my translators for the remainder of the evening.

So the dinner began. The Rabbi made the blessing over the wine, then the bread, then we ate our apples and honey. I chatted with the people around me. They brought out more and more challah and the Israeli salad course not only lasted a very long time but was more than enough food for the entire meal. But of course then came fish, soup, meat, potatoes, dessert. The Rabbi came around a couple times with shots because that’s what happens at Jewish events.

And because I seem to have a problem keeping things quiet and normal in my life I ended up playing a game with one of the guys that resulted in a dare in which I had to stand up, get everybody’s attention, and wish the room a shana tova, or happy new year. After several people joined in to convince me to do it, I kinda did, but not everybody was paying attention so I'm not sure it counted. 

Basically, even though I was in a way the odd man out, the only American in a room full of Israelis, a stranger in a place I didn't  know, I felt comfortable, safe, like I belonged at this Rosh Hashana meal in a strange house in the middle of La Paz.

I went back the following day for lunch and second day dinner. Both were nice but not quite as large or crazy as the first night. I found everyone very accepting, willing to chat. And I now know where to go for the rest of the holidays as well as any Friday night I need a warm dinner and challah. (Apparently they also have a restaurant and their hummus is damn good.)

So I’m glad I took that risk, that I entered that strange room and sat in the corner for twenty minutes suffocating in the awkwardness. Because I realized something important. I realized that wherever I go I have this incredible community, a group of people with whom I share a great deal even if we come from different countries, even if we speak a different language. I realized the beauty of coming together to celebrate a holiday that has been celebrated for thousands of years. I met a bunch of people, ate a ton of food, and had a really nice albeit different type of holiday.

Shana tova.

Can't Hold Me Down (AKA I have moved 4 times in 6 months in La Paz)

There is a very interesting aspect of living abroad that I have been thinking about quite often in the past couple weeks: the always moving always changing everything. It is a very transient lifestyle where there is no normal, there is no routine. Everything changes and it changes quickly. I went home for three weeks and when I came back I felt like I had to adjust to a completely different life than I had before. I had a new job, I had to find a new apartment, all of my friends had paired up and started dating. (Important Spanish phrase to learn here: tocando el violin - literally means playing the violin but is the equivalent of third wheeling. I use this term often.) On top of that, in a community of expats, people are always coming and going. Especially since I work in a language school with a constant turnover of tourists and travelers, I meet people, start to like them a whole lot, and then they leave. This can be very difficult. I get frustrated sometimes, claiming that I will refuse to become friends with people who are leaving before me. But it's also absolutely amazing to meet so many people from all over the world, people with different stories, different backgrounds, different lives. This is also what I love most about living abroad.

I read an article today about living in a foreign country. Usually I hate articles like this. I feel they're cliche and dishonest and braggy. But this one sums up a lot of what I've been having trouble communicating. It also quotes Gandalf, so extra points there. Check it out!

17 Things That Change Forever When You Move Abroad by Angie Castells

So I also moved again. On Wednesday. 16 de Julio, also La Paz day, feriado, or a day off. There were parades all day Tuesday and Tuesday night the streets were packed with people, drunk people, people selling things on the street, little stands where you can buy a warm sweet alcoholic drink called sucumbé. It's made from Singani (a Bolivian liquor made from distilled grapes), condensed milk, cinnamon, sweetener, cloves, and some other ingredients I can't remember. Of course there was also beer for sale on the streets. No drinking regulations here. In sum, it was so crowded you could barely move. Also I had to pay a 5 boliviano club entrance fee in order to use a bathroom because there was just no other choice. Anyway, the next day everyone was hungover (or still drunk) and I moved.

Some gringos drinking sucumbé

El Prado

Turns out I'm really happy in my new apartment. I wasn't sure about it at first... moving to a new neighborhood a bit further from work, a bit further from the places I like to hang out, a bit further from quite a few friends. But I'm living with a great friend half a block from the biggest market in La Paz. It's a place where people can come to hang out and feel comfortable, it has everything I need, and I think living in a new neighborhood will be a really nice change.

However, it's also located just above one of the best known vegetarian restaurants in La Paz. This has a few interesting implications. First, when I come home and I'm really hungry and the hall smells delicious, it makes me hungrier and my mouth waters and I go into hunger-panic mode and can't even get my shit together to make myself nice food and just end up tearing apart my kitchen. Second, when I come home and I'm not feeling well and the hall smells like food it makes me feel pretty not great. Third (and this hasn't happened yet) I may end up spending too much money down there. And finally, I can hear the music from the restaurant from my apartment. This is not usually a problem but this morning they were playing Morenadas. For those of you who have never heard a Morenada, it's basically a traditional Bolivian song that also has a dance that goes with it. It's pretty repetitive, usually played (and danced) in parades. Morenadas are okay I guess for about the first 14 seconds and then I'm ready for it to stop.

(In case you're interested here's an example.)

Anyway, it's really cool to be so close to the market and I kind of like having a walk to work. Yesterday I spent about 2 hours in the bathtub working some magic to change the color from brownish to white and the place is starting to feel like home.

Here's a picture from my kitchen window. That mess over there is Rodriguez Market on a Saturday.

Oh, I was also pickpocketed last Friday night. I was in a club dancing and someone opened my bag and stole everything. Awesome.

La Paz. For some reason I just can't help loving this city.

The truth is there is a lot of shit going on in the world right now. And although I have a lot of opinions and thoughts and beliefs and reading the news makes me cry sometimes, I also feel like I'm kinda hiding out on top of a mountain here in the middle of South America. It's hard for me to post about these things on the internet. They're complicated and I feel there is a space for debate but this is not it. But after numerous conversations with friends, I realized that almost everybody just wants safety and health for themselves and their family and their friends. We all have that in common no matter what. In this regard, there's no sides, there's no right, there's no wrong. There's just love. So here's to that. Here's to an end to these conflicts with as little pain and suffering as possible. Here's to peace.

La Vuelta

(I wrote this yesterday in the Miami airport. But unlike the airports in Bolivia, they charge you for internet. So I'm posting it now from the infamous Cafe Alexander in La Paz, Bolivia.)

I’m on my way back to La Paz, Bolivia. But it doesn’t feel so strange anymore. It feels like I’m going home after my vacation. Being back here in the Miami airport, eating at the same pizza place where I ate last December (still not up to par), I find myself looking back at all that has happened since then; all that I’ve done, all that I’ve seen, all that I've learned. It’s been less than a year but so many things have happened. Good things, bad things, terrifying things, things I would not have believed possible a year ago. (…things that I cannot post on the internet...)

Some quick background on how I got here:

You probably already know that I went to La Paz, Bolivia in December to work on a film called The Little Prince of the Andes. I was supposed to return home at the end of March but I extended my stay until June to finish production. Well, we finished production. It is now called The Little Princess of the Andes and the main subject has shifted from children living on the street to young women living on the street, more specifically underage sex workers. (Try that one out for first date conversation.) I saw things I never could have imagined, learned about the stories of these incredible young women, and worked hard. The film is now starting post production. I have no doubt that it is going to be fantastic. 

Then I went home to take a break. Although I did not rest for longer than a few hours, I did recover in a few other key ways. I shot a film on the beach in New Jersey (sorry, Bolivia), traveled to Washington, D.C. with my mom and the little brother, and managed to see a bunch of friends. 

Now I am returning to Bolivia under different circumstances. I decided that I wasn’t done with my time in La Paz. I have a life there and I want more time to live it, to explore, to spend time with the amazing people I met there. I will be teaching English (for MONEY!) and doing some freelance film work. I want to get back in touch with my love of photography and of writing. I want to improve my Spanish, travel, bike down the death road, drink wine with my friends, wander the chaotic markets, and continue to explore. 

I also want to share my stories. That’s what this blog is for. 

So after a day of traveling, hanging out in airports, watching the (#)USMNT lose to Germany but still advance to the next round, and hoping I didn’t forget any of my Spanish (I can review just by hanging out in the Miami airport for a while), I’m getting ready to board my flight from Miami to La Paz, Bolivia. 

Here’s to all of the adventures I’ve had and those to come, to the places I’ve been and have yet to go, and most of all to the people I’ve met and others I will come to know. 

Passover in La Paz or Israelis in Llama Sweaters

Last night began the holiday of Passover. For weeks (months) my mother had been telling me to try to find a seder in La Paz to celebrate the holiday. It's La Paz, it has everything, including a lot of Israelis. There HAS to be a seder, she told me.

So I found one. At the Chabad House of La Paz. I knew very little about the Chabad house or the event but I sent an email asking for the details. I got a response in Hebrew. I do not speak Hebrew. So I tried to forward it to my wonderful cousin Eliana to translate for me but it was very early in the morning and I accidentally replied to the guy who sent it to me. His response:

"Sorry

I was very busy

r you in La Paz?

can You come to Chabad house to Register?"

On Sunday I went to the Chabad house. It was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. It's a pretty nondescript building, marked just by a sign. You enter through a garage type space and continue up a staircase to the Chabad house. Inside everyone was speaking Hebrew. It was absolutely full of Israelis and the red-haired-long-bearded-black-hatted Rabbis with their little blond sons. Your typical Chabad house. But on one side of the room were about 15 cholitas peeling potatoes. Cholitas are those Bolivian women you always see in pictures- the ones with the skirts and shawls who sometimes wear bowler hats. It was a clash of worlds. 

Eventually I succeeded in finding the Rabbi who spoke English and registered for the Seder. But. I was very nervous because I had no doubt that everything would be in Hebrew. 

It was around that time that I realized what I had actually signed up for. It turns out that the Passover seder in La Paz, Bolivia is one of the largest in the world - over 1,000 people come every year. Someone told me that this year it was over 2,000. Many Israelis travel around South America after they serve their time in the army and word of this seder has spread amongst these travelers. So what ends up happening is Israelis swarm La Paz and make this seder the largest gathering of Israelis I have ever seen outside of Israel. 

And so the night of the seder arrived. I was very worried about being on time and concerned about whether to wear a skirt or jeans. (I chose jeans because I assumed these backpacking Israelis are not the type to dress up - it was the correct choice.) But eventually I caught a minibus and made it to the Chabad house. It was crazy. Absolutely full of Israelis in llama sweaters. 

I have never in my life seen so many Israelis in llama sweaters. 

I was alone and I was uncomfortable and I did not understand anything that anyone was saying. So I started to play a game. I walked around the room listening to try to hear anyone speaking English or Spanish. I did this for about 45 minutes. I heard nobody speaking English or Spanish. There's also a stereotype that Israelis are beautiful. A lot of stereotypes exist for a reason. So I was alone in a room full of beautiful people wearing llama sweaters, afraid to talk to anyone. 

Finally I found a blonde girl who was clearly not Israeli and looked as lost as I felt. So I asked her if she was speaking English, and if I could sit with her. I joined her friends at the other end of the table. Turns out she was not Israeli and was not Jewish, just joining her friends at the seder. Respect, man. Anyway, the people I did end up sitting with were really great and after a couple glasses of homemade wine (because you can't buy kosher wine in Bolivia) that was worse than Maneschewitz, I was feeling a lot more comfortable. 

The whole situation was incredibly surreal. In the middle of La Paz where I have lived for 4 months without any sort of Jewish experience there was a gathering of 2,000 Jewish Israelis singing. Wow. 

The seder was kind of a mess. There were too many people to have any sort of unified singing. But it was pretty cool anyway. I sang Dayenu, asked some people why this night was different from all other nights, had some matzoh, wine, matbuchah... I even smuggled some matzoh out under my jacket. 

All in all it was a very memorable experience. I'm glad I got to be a part of it. Even though it cost 200 Bs. 

 

(disclaimer: this video was filmed before the holiday began)

Part 2: In which we Salkantay Trek

I'm sorry. I've been really really busy. I work hard on the documentary and I also started teaching English. I have a million stories to tell but I still haven't finished my January travels. So pretend you're reading this 2 months ago. 

This takes place starting January 18ish. 

Cusco’s a cool city but it’s really a tourist town. When you walk down the streets around the main plaza you’re accosted by people trying to sell you artwork, umbrellas, trips to Machu Picchu, little kids dressed in traditional dress waving keychains, jewelry and trinkets in front of you saying, “Por favor, señorita!” It is also known as a party city with a very strong nightlife culture. We tried to go out one night with our Spaniard friend (his name we will never know) we met at our hostel but we had all been on overnight buses the night before and by 1:30 were more than ready for bed.

Carl update: Carl showed up at the VIP House the day after we arrived. We said hi and he started telling us about his latest mishaps: broken phone charger, lost debit card, trouble booking a tour to Machu Picchu; can we help him with any of these things? Not really. He also mentioned he had tried to check in much earlier in the morning (a bit after we checked in) but there were no rooms. We felt a little bit guilty about taking his room. But not that guilty. The lady at the desk booked him in an open bed in the 10-bed dorm room. Then we checked in for another night. “I’ll put you in the same room as Carl,” the lady said with a wink. Yesssss.

We saw him sporadically throughout the day and each time he was on a mission to remedy some crazy new problem he had. He was very focused. Then when we were attempting to party that night we ran into him at a discoteca and shouted HI above the noise. We saw him dancing with a number of different girls. Good for you, Carl!

The next morning Carl’s stuff was scattered all over the dorm room. He joined us for breakfast and we chatted. When we left the hostel we bid him farewell, never expecting to see him again.

Sarah’s sister Ellie and her roommate Ashley met us in Cusco that day. We switched to a very fancy-expensive hotel (ok, when I say “fancy-expensive” I’m using the words in relation to the other places we stayed. It was $28 a night each for a double room with a private bathroom that had toilet paper, towels, and a shower with hot water. Fancy-expensive.)

We went to the tour agency and paid for our trip and then I spent a good many hours running around Cusco trying to purchase my last minute camping supplies. That night we had our orientation with our tour guide. Our tour guide’s name was Jimmy Jhon. Yes, like the sandwich. At first we didn’t believe him either. But he showed us his legal documents and yup, that’s his name. He explained the trek to us: 5 days and 4 nights through the mountains, through the rainforest, to Machu Picchu. The first night is the highest campsite, the second day we summit and is the hardest, the fourth day we have the option of going to the hot springs, the fifth day we climb Machu Picchu at 5 am. We were a little bit intimidated.

The following morning we woke up at 4:30 and headed down to the lobby to leave for our trek. This is when I noticed my debit card was nowhere to be seen. Losing things as always. (This made the next 3 months of my life rather difficult). Once I finished panicking, we piled into a minibus with Jimmy Jhon, our chef, our horseman, and our helper and headed out to the start of the trail.

Our Guides

1.     Jimmy Jhon: Our trusty guide. He’s young, about my age, but has been a tour guide for about 7 years already. He knows the trail like the back of his hand and is at home in the mountains of Peru. Sometimes a buddy and sometimes a teacher, I would recommend a tour led by this dude. He also speaks Quechua, the native language of the area. He has run the entire trail before.

2.     Timoteo AKA Mr. Delicious: Our chef. He is always smiling. He is also an amazing chef who made us 3 course meals and somehow magically made a birthday cake for breakfast at 13,000 feet above sea level over an open fire on a few hours notice.

3.     Fortunato: Our helper. He’s about 19 years old and never quite knew how to interact with us crazy gringas. One day Sarah walked in on him in the bathroom. After that things were always hilarious between them.

4.     Mario: Our horseman. We didn’t have too much interaction with him. But he led our trusty horses through the perilous trails with no problem. Both he and Fortunato only wore sandals while we struggled through in our hiking boots and walking poles.

No, you’re not reading this wrong. We had 4 guides and there were only 4 of us. We were pretty well taken care of.

Day 1:

I guess we can call Day 1 a warmup. After they dropped us off at the start of the trail we walked all day but we were in no rush. I was lucky because I had been living in La Paz for a month so was already acclimated to the altitude. The others had to struggle along at first as their lungs tried to extract much too low levels of oxygen from the mountain air. The views were beautiful- green mountains, occasional waterfalls… By the end of the day we had climbed up higher and were able to see snow capped mountains too. These are my favorite. We were also very lucky because we were the only tourists on the trail during our trip. This was due to the fact that we did not choose the Inca Trail (Thank you Ellie!) where you are always surrounded by other groups and the fact that we went in January, low season in Peru.

The first night was the highest altitude campsite of the trip, Salkantaypampa, at 4100 meters above sea level, with an amazing view of Salkantay Mountain. We were exhausted when we got there. We found our tents already set up in a small shelter (after Jimmy Jhon tricked us into thinking the campsite was full and we would have to sleep outside… we were so young and gullible at the beginning…) After a delicious dinner Mr. Delicious walked out of the kitchen with a huge smile and a tray full of flaming rum bananas. These are exactly what they sound like. Bananas floating in bowls of rum, on fire. They were strong. I tried sipping them at first but then did it like a shot.

When we exited the shelter to walk to our tents I looked up at the sky. The clouds had all cleared and I saw the most incredible view of the sky. I have always loved the stars and from that altitude, far from civilization, I was in awe. Jimmy Jhon came out and started pointing out constellations. The night sky is different in the southern hemisphere and they also find constellations in the shadows, not only by connecting the stars. This might have been my favorite moment of the trek.

Day 2:
The hardest day, the day of the summit, 12 hours of trekking, also Ashley’s birthday. We woke up nervous around 5 am, evidenced by the nervous high altitude poops. During breakfast Mr. Delicious appeared with the cake. I think it was made with applesauce and was absolutely delicious. We sang Happy Birthday and then had to head out for our long day. In the morning we had to summit. There was a flat area for a while, then some heading upwards, then switchbacks. We were advised to keep going, not to stop, to remind our bodies that we were okay despite the low oxygen levels. Miley Cyrus helped me through (“We can’t stop, we won’t stop”).

Jimmy Jhon named our group the (sexy) Condoritas. This annoyed us. We insisted on being called just “Condoritas.” Feminism and stuff. Anyway, we kept “seeing condors” as an excuse to take a break and look at the scenery. Whether or not we actually saw any condors is up for debate. I like condors though.

Once we made it to the summit (I just made this sound a whole lot easier than it was, but this post is long enough already) we had a ceremony where Jimmy Jhon talked about the chakana, the Andean Cross, which is the portal to the different worlds. These worlds are represented by different animals: the snake, the puma, and the condor. It’s all very interesting and you can really feel the energy from the mountains.

Then we started our descent. We walked for a long time before lunch. You know me, that’s never a good thing for me. By the time we finally stopped for lunch my limbs were trembling so much I couldn’t even pop a squat. I was delirious. Then after we ate I think the protein rush made me giggle for about 15 minutes.

Later that day, we descended into the rainforest. In one day the scenery changed from snow capped peaks to lush green jungle. It was unbelievable. But I definitely like climbing up better than the descent. It was a long day.

Finally we arrived at the campsite (about 2 hours earlier than Jimmy Jhon had estimated- we were still a bit gullible at that point). We bought a couple beers (yes, there was a little store selling beer there) to celebrate Ashley’s birthday. But we were all exhausted and went to sleep pretty early.

Day 3

Day 3 started off super rainy. Then it slowed down to a drizzle. Since we were at a lower altitude it was much hotter. A complete change in climate. We didn’t have too many hours to hike. We walked through the rainforest to our lunch-spot where we played soccer (Me, Sarah, and Ashley versus Jimmy Jhon) until lunch was ready. Another one of those super surreal moments: playing soccer in the mountains of Peru.

After lunch we went to the most beautiful hot springs. I was expecting a muddy pit but it was clean and lovely. There was a rainbow and I tried to use the force to bring me my camera but ended up having to slow motion walk to get it and take the picture from the dry land. Luke Skywalker I am not.

That night we camped on a coffee plantation. Coffee. It was amazing. The owner showed us the different types of coffee bean, how he roasts it, grinds it up… then he made us the freshest most delicious coffee I have ever tasted. I can’t even begin to describe how good it smelled.

A Note About Food

The food was incredible. Lunch and dinner were 3 course meals, complete with an appetizer, soup, protein, vegetables, some fried stuff (always fried stuff), and there was always more than we could possibly eat. They also gave us snacks every day and at certain points in the trail we would stop at a snack spot. Snack spots are my favorite kind of spot.

Day 4

Day 4 was our last real day of trekking before Machu Picchu. We walked through acres of coffee plantations before climbing up into the jungle. It was thicker than before, with weird plants, huge leaves, banana trees. Again, a completely new climate. We saw our first Inca ruins as well as our first view of Machu Picchu at a distance. There were also bugs. Lots of bugs. I had red bites on my arms and legs for weeks. We climbed up for a while, then climbed down into the valley where there was a fast moving river.  We crossed a precarious looking bridge over the river and started on our way to Aguas Calientes, the town at the bottom of Machu Picchu where we would stay that night. Suddenly, Jimmy Jhon stopped. The trail ahead had collapsed. He disappeared into the brush looking for a way through. Then he came back, the only time we saw him looking nervous the entire trip. “We have to go back across the bridge and then I’m going to have to carry you across the river,” is what we think he said. We all were very much opposed to this idea but went back across the bridge not entirely sure we would survive the next 30 minutes of our lives. There we waited as Jimmy Jhon had disappeared again. Finally he was waving to us from the brush- he had found a way through! So we crossed the bridge for a third time, strapped our poles to our backpacks, and climbed hands and knees over the collapsed trail. All of us made it to the other side, safe but covered in mud and sweat.

About an hour later we were pretty much out of the wilderness. We had made it to a sort of drop-off point where tourists are dropped off before taking the train to Aguas Calientes, the only way to get to Machu Picchu if you don’t walk.

We hadn’t showered in 4 days, we were covered in mud, and we looked like hell. The tourists all kinda looked at us funny, judging us for our walking poles. After another delicious lunch we bid farewell to Fortunato and Mr. Delicious (Mario had actually headed home earlier in the trip) and walked down the railroad tracks to Aguas Calientes. We were running late so Jimmy Jhon kept on yelling at us to go faster. This was not my favorite part of the trip.

It was fun to guess where the other tourists were from. There was one guy with shiny dress shoes. We guessed he was from Brazil. And we liked his shoes.

Then we made it to Aguas Calientes. It’s a town. It has some hostels and restaurants, touristy artisan markets and stuff as well as some upscale hotels and restaurants for the rich people who want to go see Machu Picchu. Jimmy Jhon also seemed to know everyone in the town. Not the most charming of places but we had a nice meal and got to sleep in beds. To be completely honest I missed my sleeping bag and tent. And the stars.

At this point I kinda felt like the trip was over. We were back in a city, away from the wilderness, and I felt like I wasn’t going to be seeing too much more that would blow my mind the way Salkantay Mountain had.

Day 5 – Machu Picchu

The thing about Machu Picchu is that it’s best to get there for sunrise. Then you get that famous view of the ruins.

In order to reach Machu Picchu there are 2 ways you can go. You can take a bus up the switchbacks or you can climb the hundreds of steps straight up the side of the mountain. There had been a collapse on the road, though, so the buses weren’t leaving until 7:30 am. This was too late for us. We would be climbing.

We woke up at 4 am. It was still dark. We walked to the base of the steps where they hadn’t even opened the gate yet. We joined the queue of tourists waiting. Then they opened the gate and everyone rushed forward. Now it was almost a race. Everyone wanted to make it to the top before everyone else. Nobody wanted to miss the sunrise. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to climb thousands of steps at 4 am. It’s not easy. It was humid and we were soaked in sweat. We had been walking for 4 days, we hadn’t slept enough, and we hadn’t eaten breakfast. But eventually we made it to the top.

Machu Picchu didn’t open until 6 am so we waited a little bit. Anticipation. Sleepiness. Then it was 6:00. Since we came with our own personal guide (thanks, Jimmy Jhon,) we were one of the first groups to enter. I didn’t know what to expect. Then we turned the corner and saw it. Machu Picchu.

Everyone’s seen pictures of Machu Picchu. Everyone has heard stories, legends. But nothing compares to actually seeing it. “Welcome to my house,” said Jimmy Jhon.

I wasn’t expecting to be amazing. But I was breathless, at a loss for words. The sun, the mist, the ruins, the mountains… it was more incredible than I could have possibly imagined. Word of advice: GO. See it for yourself.

Jimmy Jhon led us on a tour of the ruins, which was also incredibly beautiful and interesting- the architecture, the temples, the stories. It was a lot to take in. He was also very wary of other tourists. Nobody else was allowed to listen to our tour. He glared at them.

After the tour we bid farewell to Jimmy Jhon. After 5 days of hiking we were unsure of what to do once our guide was gone. But we thanked him for an incredible journey.

Surprise Carl Update: There he was! Outside the Machu Picchu

It was still pretty early and we still had the rest of the day at Machu Picchu! We had paid the extra bit to be able to climb Wayna Picchu, that mountain that rises above Machu Picchu. You’ve all seen the pictures. It is a very steep and precarious path of steps and rocks leading up to the top, an even more precarious perch of rocks. This might have been the most difficult part of the entire hike. Or I was just exhausted from 5 days of hike and not much sleep. Either way, it was tough.

Surprise Carl Update: I was about to climb down after reaching the top of Wayna Picchu (and taking lots of pictures) when Carl’s red sunburnt face appeared over the edge of the rock. I said hi and, nice person that I am, offered to take a photo of him. This turned into a 20 minute ordeal of him posing (you should have seen his poses. They were pretty epic) and looking at the photo, and asking me to take more. Eventually I gave up and climbed down.

The climb down was even harder than the climb up. We went back down to Aguas Calientes where we attempted to have a nice pizza for lunch but ended up in a huge (almost physical) fight with the waitress. Then we took a fancy train where a weird dancing guy in a costume made us all very uncomfortable. Finally we made it back to Cusco where we attempted to have a nice pizza for dinner but somehow ended up with a pizza that had every kind of meat on it.

The next morning Ellie and Ashley left and Sarah and I hung out in Cusco, went to the reportedly “best” museum there (the Inca museum) where the English translations were so funny I giggled the entire time. That night we boarded our not-so-comfortable bus to La Paz, ready for our next and final part of this two week adventure: Salar de Uyuni!

A (not so brief) pause (for which I apologize) and now CARNAVAL

I'm sorry. I know that keeping a blog is a lot of work and I'm just falling down on the job. I've been incredibly busy. I don't even have time to blog right now!

I know you're all waiting on the edge of your seats for parts 2 and 3 of my travels but you'll just have to hang on a little longer. This post is about Carnaval in Oruro. (Then, I promise, I'll get back to those travel stories.)

Carnaval is pretty much the biggest party in Latin America. The most famous carnaval takes place every year in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The second most famous takes place in Oruro, a small mining town in the Altiplano of Bolivia. So, naturally, I had to go. 

I left Friday with a very wise group of friends who decided to avoid the chaos and overpriced tickets of the La Paz bus terminal as 98% of La Paz tries to get a bus to Oruro. Instead, we took a taxi to El Alto and found ourselves a minibus driver looking for passengers for Oruro. It was perfect; a six-seater van for the six of us. We waited for our whole group to arrive and then started off. 

"Wait," said Gustavo from inside the van as we pulled away from the bus terminal. "We're leaving now? I don't have my things." None of the rest of us understood why exactly he had come to bus terminal without his backpack or clothes and got in the van with us or what he was expecting to happen. But he decided to keep going anyway. 

The bus ride was lovely. One of the girls had brought a guitar and we were serenaded as we bounced through the altiplano. The national brewery of Bolivia also gave us a great CD at the checkpoint leaving La Paz with 10 very popular (mostly reggaeton) songs and cool advice about not drinking and driving. After the guitar playing ceased we listened to the CD 5 times all the way through. 

Side note about the road to Oruro: It has been under construction for over 3 years. What should be a 3 hour ride takes around 4.5 or 5 hours because you have to weave back and forth around the construction zones, jumping from one road to the other and back again. 

Finally we arrived in Oruro. The city welcomes visitors with a huge statue of a mining helmet. It was late and dark and buses were entering the city from all over as the travelers flooded the city. When it is not Carnaval, Oruro is very empty and quiet. But for 3 days every year, it is filled with people and beer. Lots and lots of beer. (The people are also filled with beer.) 

I met up with my friends in the terminal (One guy was already so far beyond drunk; on the way to our lodging he fell in a cactus. This was the first time I met him and I spent a few minutes pulling spines out of his butt.) We went to my friend's house to drop off our stuff and then went to the main plaza to explore, buy our seats for the parade, and eat some food. 

This is where I lost my cell phone (it was a pickpocketer), ate some pretty narsty pizza that made me feel sick the rest of the night (it was the only vegetarian thing I could find in all of Oruro), and got yelled at by a vendor when I couldn't decide what kind of chocolate would make me feel better.

But really, it was a pretty insane sight. Thousands of people crowding in through entrances and exits that were horribly controlled, pushed up against each other, shouting; fireworks, alcohol everywhere (I keep going back to this but it's really one of the main characters in the Carnaval story), costumes, and foam. 

ESPUMA (or foam)

One of the main aspects of Carnaval is getting wet. Children with water guns patrol the streets. Chances are, no matter what you do, you're going to get wet. Since water shortages became a known problem in Bolivia, they put strict regulations on the Carnaval water celebrations. Now, children use espuma, or foam, that comes in spray bottles and smells horrible and makes your hair feel like straw. You can't walk down the street without getting sprayed. And foreigners are definitely targets. Espuma. Everywhere. 

The forces. Waiting. 

The next morning after a lovely breakfast of Api (a Bolivian sweet corn drink look it up it's purple), we headed to our gradería. This is a word I know in Spanish and don't know in English. Maybe it means grandstand. Or bleachers. We had paid 200 Bs. each the night before for these seats and their view of the parade. That's pretty cheap compared to seats in the main plaza. Anyway, the only way in and out of the seats was a precarious ladder placed behind them. I'm not sure what people with small children, old people, or very drunk people did. But somehow we made it. Then we watched the parade. And had some beer.

Our ladder.

There are number of Bolivian dances that are performed in these parades. Morenada, Diablada, Tinku, and Caporal are just a few. Hundreds of people march through the streets in amazing elaborate costumes, dancing for hours through the city. It's beautiful. 

Meanwhile, below the gradería, vendors walk by selling everything from ice cream to chorizo to candy to empanadas to beer and rum and other liquors. They pass the food up, you pass the money down. You never even have to leave your seat! And all the while, everything periodically gets covered with foam.

The only kind of beer they sell is Paceña. Paceña is the true winner of Carnaval.

The most fun that I had was at night when we climbed down and started dancing with the dancers. They are also drunk and also partying and having fun. They came over to the side and danced with us, gave us their hats, and were all around awesome. And trust me, there's nothing better for your self esteem than a huge drunk dancing Bolivian bear grabbing your face with both his paws and telling you that you are beautiful.

This went on for two days. I, however, had to sleep. I did not stay all night either night. I am immensely impressed by all who did. Carnaval is crazy. There are people who are drunk the entire time, partying in the streets, in discotecas, all over the city. I'm not the kind of person who thrives on alcohol and all night partying. I get sleepy and cranky and don't want any more beer. I found myself comparing Carnaval to Las Vegas. (Important note: Carnaval in Oruro is absolutely nothing like Las Vegas.) It doesn't feel like a real place, it's kind of a no-man's land where anything goes for a while and then people go home. It's really an experience. 

My friend Gris with a Diablo

I want to go back next year. And I want to dance. I want to dance Caporales. Men who dance Caporales are supposed to be pretty sexy. (Not gonna lie, my friends and I got pretty excited when the Caporales came by and rushed down to the street to dance with them.) The dance is really active and jumpy and cool. The women mostly just shake their butts. So I want to dance the men's Caporales dance with a line of women, called machas. Next year, folks. 

And now on a more somber note. There was a tragedy at Carnaval. One of the paserelas, or the passages over the parade, collapsed. These pasarelas were very poorly constructed, it was clear they were unsafe. On Saturday, one of the pasarelas collapsed on the most well-known band and as of today, five people were killed and over 70 injured. For a few hours we didn't know if Carnaval would continue. The dancers and musicians walked down the streets playing funeral songs. But later in the night Carnaval did go on. It's very important to both the culture and the economy of Oruro and Bolivia and people come to Oruro from all over. They felt that they could not stop it. But it was a huge tragedy that was not mentioned in international news. So now you know. 

I am now off to the great Cochabamba. I will post more blog posts more frequently including parts 2 and 3 of my travels. Plus some other notes about my life here in Bolivia. Which will probably go on longer than initially planned. 

Hasta luego! I hope I can catch a bus!