Monday, June 27

Passport day. I just killed time, packing my bag, waiting for 4pm when I could pick up my passport with its new visa from Immigration. Of course, I ran into KK at the office, but no passport was to be found. It wasn’t ready yet. We had to come back tomorrow.

No mas. Spanish streamed from the deepest recesses of my being as if I hadn’t wasted 9 years of my life studying French. No, I could not come back tomorrow! My flight was first thing in the morning! Between KK being composed (she spoke much better than I did) and me starting to fly off the handle, we were escorted into the office of the Director. Our files miraculously appeared on his desk. Some simple questions and all seemed resolved. So, we took our seat.

And we sat.

And then we sat.

And then, just for fun, just to shake things up a bit, we sat some more.

Behind us, a teenager has just come from the US embassy because her passport was lost. She was part of a church group. They were returning to the United States on a red-eye flight that night. She needed a new visa, ASAP.

One problem: they crossed into Bolivia illegally. The border between Bolivia and Argentina is porous. Thus, not only did she not have a copy of the green entry form (damn that pesky green entry form!), there was no record of her ever being in the country. This is bad news. Unless you are a journalist/spy on secret assignment, crossing into a country this way is stupid. If they don’t know how you got there, as a rule, they won’t let you out. The irony of a church group breaking the basic immigration laws of Bolivia was not lost on either of us, and it was only heightened by the fact that this was a white church group from Mississippi. This is a demographic that would overwhelming support strict immigration controls in “illegal immigrants” in the United States.

Well, we wait. It is 6 o’clock. Employees are leaving their offices. Army officers are lowering gates and locking doors. They glare and tell us we have to leave. We do not. And we will not until they hand us our passports. And if they don’t like it, go find the director. Eventually, this is exactly what happens. He comes out of the office surprised to see us. I am not sure whether this is a show, but it seemed like even he was embarrassed by his country’s performance on this one. Two minutes later, we had passports.

Invigorated by this triumph, its time for dinner at El Tambo. It is night in La Paz. It is frenetic with corn horns and break lights and thin air and everything that makes it such a wonderful city. 

Sunday, June 26

I want to die. Honestly, this is painful and degrading. I have to sneak around the hostel finding unoccupied bathrooms. If you’ve never had Giardia, you cannot understand this experience unless you’ve have something worse like IBS or Crohn’s, which I assume are just Giardia for life. Also, I itch everywhere. And, I can’t hear.

It is Sunday, but I am determined to find an open pharmacy to get an antihistamine to block the allergic reaction to the milk. I stumble from the hostel. I am weak and woozy, but it is bright, sunny and blue. I walk and feel weak. I walk more and I feel dizzy. I find an open pharmacy, but my pronunciation of antihistamine is not working. I explain that I have las ronchas. He asks how. I don’t know how to say unpasteurized milk, so I try, Tome la leche, desde la vaca al vaso (literally, I drank milk, from the cow to the glass). His eyes lit up with that you-stupid-gringo brightness to which one quickly becomes accustomed, “Ahh, anti-HEE-sti-MEE-na.” He gave me something and I started my walk back.

I don’t think I made it more than a block when I stopped and leaned into a window sill. I don’t think I made it more than 3 seconds before I lurched forward, landing face-first on the pavement. I suppose most of the Pacenos doing their Sunday afternoon errands thought I was just another gringo borracho, but it was enough of a spectacle for at least one couple to stop and ask if I was ok. I told the gentleman I was not, that I felt very ill. He asked if I wanted water. I said yes. He returned with a bottle. When I rummaged for coins, he would not accept. There wasn’t much else he could do while I recovered from fainting, so I thanked him politely and explained that I just needed to sit for a while. (note: I think this happened in Spanish. Go me!)

Soon after, another couple stopped, but they spoke English. In fact, they weren’t locals. They were Israelis staying at the same hostel and recognized me. I recounted the description of my fainting spell and the gentlemen asked whether I wanted some chocolate. This was a genius idea and he ran off to a tienda. He also refused payment.

This entire time, I am fully cognizant of two things. First, I need to get back to my bed to recover. Second, I probably would not make it without fainting again. When the man returned with the chocolate, I ate a piece and asked them for help getting back to my room. I felt fine enough to walk if they wouldn’t mind accompanying me. They gladly agreed and all was quickly returned to normal…after I purchased 2 snickers bar at reception.

Wednesday, June 22

Today was spent entirely in La Paz. I first went to the Museum of Art, which is housed in a former residence just off the Plaza Murillo. The architecture of the building is one of its main drawing points: three stories enclosing a courtyard. From the lower stories, the rest of the building blocks out much of La Paz's uninspiring skyline, leaving only the cupolas of the largest churches surrounding Murillo against a drop of azure and white. I was once reminded that I could not take photographs, but they relented when I showed them that I was actually taking pictures of the building, not the paintings. 

The collection only includes pieces by Bolivian artists and is arranged chronologically. I could not help but use the development of art in Bolivia as a metaphor for the development of Bolivia. The early works are poor imitations of the European Baroque and Neoclassical masters intended as propaganda to reinforce to power of the Spanish Crown and Catholic Church. Moving to the early 20^th century, however, the paintings by Arturo Borda, particularly his later pieces were excellent, as was the  sculpture of Nunez. The modern and abstract art, especially the triptych Persistencia, which depicted Aymara women and children huddled on the Altiplano, was also quite good.

I received an email letting me know that my temporary passport was ready. I returned to the embassy to pick it up and ran into KK again. Passports in hand, we rushed to tourist police to file a report for the stolen passports (that’s right, without identification, you can’t get a report that says, you know, you had your identification stolen). See, losing your passport is only part of the problem. When you lose your passport, you also lose everything in your passport, including your visa and entry stamp. A passport will get you back into the United States, but it isn’t enough to get you out of wherever you are stranded.

This was a fiasco/cruel joke. To file the report, we needed copies of the new passports. We rushed from the tourist police to a copy place. Of course, their copier was broken. So, off to another place for copies. With copies, we returned to file the report. Now, the police have a computer, but the form isn’t something simple like an excel spreadsheet or word document. No, the report is printed on paper that contains spaces for responses. These were obviously created in the days of typewriters and Bolivia has decided to put them to use. Thus, the officer needs to type her answers at specific points on a blank word document to ensure they are printed in the appropriate spots on the form. Ridiculous.

Fine, whatever. This takes unnecessary time and is annoying, but we get it done. At least done enough so we will be able to go to Bolivian immigration and get new visas. Or not. Because these forms need to be signed by el jefe, who walks in while we are waiting, proceeds upstairs and then closes the door of his office. Time ticks away. A…W…A…Y……… a……w……a…………y. 45 minutes later, he finishes having sex with his secretary and finally signs our forms.

We have 30 minutes before immigration closes. We jump in a cab, slide in the door, shuttle from line to line. Fill out paperwork. Pay some money. And are told that we can pick our passports up on Monday with a new visa. Well, that is what I experience. KK does not have the original of her green entry form which has the date and location of entry. These are presented at entry and must be returned at exit in addition to having a valid visa. Her green form was in her passport. She entered by bus via Argentina and can’t remember her exact date of entry. No date of entry, no visa. We beg. We plead. She cries. Nothing works. She feels overwhelmed and just retreats to her hostel before I am halfway through the procedure. Poor kid.

I met BK for dinner at El Tambo, since they returned to La Paz from Copacabana before leaving the next day for Arica (the only way to enter Peru since protesting miners have closed the border crossing at Puna).

Monday, June 20

First things first: new passport. I went down to the US embassy, which is in a beautiful neighborhood in south La Paz, first thing in the morning to get a document that would prove I had a US passport in the first place, so I could then file a police report, which I could then return to the embassy to file the documentation for a lost passport. At least this is what the tourist police told me I had to do. This was looking like an all day affair, best case scenario.

Upon reaching the embassy, I was told tourist police often make stuff like that up. There is no such proof of citizenship document. After a background check, I was invited into the embassy and started the paperwork for a new passport. I met a young backpacker, KK, who had her purse stolen at a bar. Her passport was in her purse. I am not the only person who does silly things, though looking for solace in the behavior of 20 year olds is not reassuring at this point in my life. After scraping together most of my remaining funds, I paid for the new passport and strolled through the city again, because that was really all I could afford to do until a new credit card arrived. 

Sunday, June 19

No passport. No credit cards. No debit cards. Only the money I had stashed at the hostel. These are days best spent just walking around and seeing the city.

Saturday, June 18

Today was one of the celebration of El Gran Poder through the streets of La Paz. To the best of my knowledge, this is a religious festival where different clubs throughout the city each participate in a large parade. Some men dress in brightly colored costumes, wearing masks and carrying noise-makers of various sorts. Other clubs have brass bands or a collection of percussion instruments. Some clubs include beautiful young women wearing hardly any clothing who dance and flirt; others include older women in traditional Andean outfits who dance and look stern. And everyone is shit-canned. Everyone. Every time the music stops, men with bottles of rum fill up empty cups (for a price) and women with cans of beer fill empty hands. Pacenos start at 8 in the morning and go all day and then through the night.

There is so much energy and color and music. Of course tourists like me come out of our hotels and hostels to see the pageantry, but it is a festival for the citizens of La Paz, rich and poor alike. We are simply absorbed into the crowd of revelers like so many grains of sand on the beach.

Unfortunately, two grains of sand stole my fucking wallet and passport. I walked over the hotel where BK were staying, fighting the crowds, weaving into and out of the parade route. Partly the joy of feeling that the medication I took yesterday had finally cured me and partly the joy of the occasion dulled my senses.

I had too much to carry, too big a camera, too big a bottle of water. Too big a sign reading, “Steal my stuff.” I could have—should have—asked Ben to drop my wallet and passport and 300mm lens in his hotel room. Could have, but didn’t. So, a small man pretending to be drunk sauntered up in front of me and started backing into me. My right arm went down to protect the lens. My left arm went out to jam him in the back. A third arm would have covered my pocket, but alas, I left my third arm in the hostel—incidentally, another place I could have left my passport and wallet. Instead, my pocket was picked by an accomplice. In the seconds it took to happen, they disappeared into the crowds and through the labyrinth of alleys. I walked the parade route hoping to see the one who bumped into me. I walked the back alleys hoping they would have just taken the money from my wallet, but tossed the passport. No luck.

It is important to make something clear. Although being robbed is a terrible feeling and having to replace a passport is bothersome, this is not a moment that would ruin my trip or change my perception of Bolivians as warm and welcoming people. Shit happens and it largely could have been prevented on my part by acting smarter. Oh well. 

Friday, June 17

Over dinner, BK and I decided that we would hike La Cumbre the following day. Given my horrific night of chills, sweats, aches and runs, I really doubted that I would be able to make it. Nevertheless, I convinced myself that my brain was stronger than my large intestine. I willed myself out of bed at 7:45, quickly got my things together and forced down some pancakes despite the general nausea whenever I put anything in my mouth. BK arrived at 8:30 and we were on our way via taxi (Bs80).

La Cumbre is a beautiful area in which to hike. There are accessible lakes and bogs assuming you have the lungs and will to walk uphill at 4800 meters (15,000'). BK were both in much better conditioning for this type of hike and I often lagged far behind, reminding myself of the time when I ran up Mt. Saint Helens and Mt. Ranier. Of course, neither were at nearly the same height, this by far the highest I had ever been outside an airplane.

Laguna, La Cumbre, Bolivia

This has to easily be one of the most beautiful and inspiring places I have birded. It is quite obvious that you are hiking in an unique environment. While the number of species is fairly small, it is impressive that so much lives in such a barren, yet beautiful setting.

The first two lagunas offered Andean gull, Giant Coot, White-winged Diuca Finch, White-winged Cinclodes, Crested Duck, Andean Goose, Andean Swallow and Silvery Grebe. Following the jeep track around the back side of the laguna toward the crest of the mountain behind it, I located a pair of Rufous-bellied Seedsnipes. The bogs at the back end of the second laguna yielded Puna Ground-Tyrant. Waiting for a bus to take us back to La Paz, I spotted a Red Shoveler, Cinereous Ground-Tyrant, and Spectacled Teal.

White-winged Duica Finch

Rufous-bellied Seedsnipe

Andean Goose

The wait for a ride was much shorter than in Miguelito, as a bus to La Paz stopped to let us on. There were more passengers than seats, but the problem was made infinitely worse by two women who sat at the top step. Despite acres of space in the aisle to stand, they clogged up the works, leaving the three of us to perch on whatever chunk of space we could manage in the stairway. An uncomfortable ride eventually brought us to El Alto, where we took a taxi to the terminal.

At this point, all I wanted was a siesta. My body hurt and I was starting to feel ill. But, BK are both doctors and had been researching my illness in their spare time. They offered to take me to a pharmacy to see if a different medication from the one prescribed back in the States would do the trick. While I was exhausted and grumpy, I knew this option was better in the long run. The amazing thing about Bolivian pharmacies is: you don't need a prescription. We just sauntered in, asked for Titidazol and the pharmacist handed it to us. And I was able to buy hospital strength Ibuprofen on the spot. All this for less than $7. Just holding the boxes of medicine had a palliative effect and I readily agreed to lunch at Subway. The ibuprofen has already taken care of the headache and joint/muscle pain. Lets hope the antiprotozoan also has the desired effect.

Bird tally: 10 new, 10 lifers

Thursday, June 16

I woke up and was in a taxi by 7am. There was some confusion about which Mecapaca I wanted, which led the taxi fare to jump from Bs20 to Bs100. I could have caught a trufi from the first Mecapaca, but I have followed the pattern of taxi out, public transport back so as not to lose time in the morning. Arriving in the main square, I continued walking the main road along the hillside, coming across Tufted Tit-Tyrant, Rufous-naped Ground Tyrant, White-winged Black Tyrant, White-tipped Plantcutter, Blue-capped Violetear, Giant Hummingbird and Red-tailed Comet. Turning towards the river, I found Blue-and-white Swallow, Bar-winged Cinclodes, Picui-Ground Dove, Roadside Hawk, Andean Gull, Andean Lapwing, Puna Ibis, Mountain Caracara, and Picazuro Pigeon. 

Andean Lapwing

While I birded through the plots of land neatly arranged in squares along the river plain, the locals went about the daily necessities of rural agriculture: breaking up hardened soil with pick-axes, hacking at reeds to feed the cattle, and communing in small groups for lunch-time tea surrounded by potato plants in full bloom.

Tea break, Mecapaca

Working my way through these potato patches and reedbeds, I saw Common Moorhen and Plumbeous Rail. I explored the area around some abandoned buidlings, finding American Kestrels, White-tailed Plantcutter, Cinereous Ground-Tyrant, Brown-backed Mockingbird, Saffron-billed Saltator, Grey-headed Parakeet, Ash-breasted Sierra Finch and Greenish Yellow Finch. There was scrub and trees to the left of a tin-roofed house, which was the best area of the day, producing Bolivian Earthcreeper in addition to a male White-winged Black Tyrant, Brown-backed Mockingbird, White-tipped Plantcutter, Blue-and-yellow Tanager, and Spot-winged Dove.

Plumbeous Rail

Bolivian Earthcreeper

I enjoyed a bowl of soup at a small restaurant in the main square of Mecapaca, but did not have an appetite for the chicken, potatoes and beans that followed. I swallowed some of each to be polite then caught the trufi (235, Bs4.50) back to La Paz. I met BK for dinner at a French restaurant (La Comedie), but my health quickly deteriorated over the course of the meal. The soup was quite good, the ceviche mediocre and the potato gratin maybe the most disgusting thing I have eating in Bolivia. It was essentially 2 sliced potatoes drenched in 3 sticks of butter. I returned to the hostel with my muscles and joints aching, my stomach churning and my whole body shivering. Truly, one of the most miserable nights I have endured.

Bird tally: 9 new, 9 lifers 

Wednesday, June 15

The ride to La Paz was a spectacular as a night bus could be. The moon was nearly full, illuminating the landscape with a bluish haze that was reflected skyward by the arid Andean mountains. It was as if we were driving on the moon, past deep valleys that were scooped from earth by the hands of giants.

Unfortunately, we arrived sooner than planned, which translates into dark and cold. Both Ben and I had gotten the impression that La Paz was less than safe at night, so we dawdled in the terminal for a bit until the sky started to lighten. I headed off to a hostel I had seen, but when I arrived they said no room was available. I ended up taking a cab back to the bus terminal to try another hostel (Adventure Brew). They had space in an 8 person dorm (Bs60), which was not the intended level of travel for this trip, but I happily accepted it.

I started a conversation with a German woman who agreed to watch my bags (she had also just arrived that morning) while I found something in the city to eat. That was easier said than done, but I did procure some bread rolls and eggs. The hostel closes the kitchen at 8am, however, and we were left with untoasted bread with butter, which nevertheless tasted wonderful at that juncture. At some point, I meandered upstairs with my things and napped on a couch until noon. Waking up, I then stumbled up to the top floor in search of a bathroom, where I discovered a bar with an incredible view of the city and Illumani in the distance. I spent most of the afternoon with my bird guides and laptop catching up on bird notes just enjoying the scene.

Around 3:30, I headed out to explore a bit of the city. Opposed to much of what I had heard, I quite enjoyed the city; it has a vibe and energy that were distinctly lacking in either Santa Cruz and Cochabamba. The city is vaguely European, with narrow cobbled streets. The spires of cathedrals rise to meet the apartment buildings in a battle for the skyline while the residents scuttle along tightrope-wide sidewalks. Of course, it is still Bolivia and so not nearly as polished as the cities of France or Germany or Italy; I was reminded of Budapest.

The street I was walking opened into Plaza San Francisco, where the legislature meets. The square was carpeted with pigeons and people purchased feed from vendors along the edge. A favorite trick was encouraging the pigeons to land on your arms and head. One little girl appeared quite expert in this feat. I believe I also spotted my first House Sparrow of the trip.

Girl with pigeons, La Paz

I returned to the hostel for a beer and to meet BK for dinner. We shared a round of drinks then headed off to El Tambo for supper. Ben ordered beef, while Kristina and I ordered llama, but with different sauces. Absolutely delicious.

Bird tally: 1 new