Saturday, June 25

No, fuck me. Those weren’t chiggers. I woke up in the middle of the night clawing at my armpits. Those were no insect bites. I had hives everywhere except my face.

Why do I do such stupid things? I was smart enough to ask whether the milk was pasteurized, but not smart enough not to drink it. I had a milk allergy as a child and this crossed my mind when I was offered the milkshake. But, I have not been allergic to milk for nearly 30 years. Well, it turns out I have not been allergic to pasteurized and homogenized milk for nearly 30 years. The natural stuff—not so much.

Also, my ear is clogged. Terribly clogged. I think it happened on the bus ride down because I wore headphones going from La Cumbre to Chulumani. More stupidity. Well, whatever it is, I can’t really hear from my left ear.

So, to summarize, I am leaking from the back end. I am covered in hives. I can’t hear. If I typed this into Google, would leprosy come up?

I still hiked around the grounds for a little bit in the morning, finally getting a picture of Blue-and white swallow and a better picture of Red-billed Parrot. Along with the ubiquitous Marble-faced Bristle-tyrant, I also found a female Antshrike.

While I was stomping about, a man was supposed to be purchasing my ticket and returning to the lodge to pick up for the bus ride back to La Paz. He was late. Very late and it was looking like I would miss my bus. In fact, he was still in town. The lodge quickly called a car to pick me up. The driver attempted to make time by sliding through every corner and switchback on the dirt road to town. I would have preferred to miss my bus, frankly. But, I made it because the guy charged with buying the ticket basically stood in front of the bus to prevent them from leaving without me. 

Friday, June 24

A breakfast of French toast was ready at 6:15am and I was birding by 7. I walked the road towards Apa-Apa Reserve, casually birding along the way. I was told the walk would be 45 minutes, but as with all birding, it probably took closer to 2 hours. The road netted Crested and Dusky-green Oropendola, Purplish Jay and Sparkling Violetear. Reaching the trail just after a wooden sign post, this section was mostly open, yielding Streak-throated Flycatcher, Blue-capped Tanager, Slate-throated Whitestart, Strong-billed Woodcreeper, and Marble-faced Bristle Tyrant. Moving into the forest proper produced Yungas Manakin, Grass-green Tanager, Bolivian Brush-Finch (previously conspecific with Rufous-naped Brush-Finch), Cinnamon Flycatcher, Three-striped Warbler, Tropical Parula and Azara's Spinetail.

The trail descended into the valley, eventually crossing the river. This was just an amazingly beautiful spot, which if dry and mosquito-free, I would have gladly sat and enjoyed for hours. As it was, I found a Spotted Barbtail. The walk back yielded many of the same species, but a Short-tailed Hawk passed overhead and a flock of Plumbeous Pigeon filled the tops of one tree.

Taking my boots and socks off, I noticed little red bumps along my ankles. Chiggers, I thought. I had heard they lived in the high grass that you tramp through in spots along the trail. I know there are chiggers in Texas who will bury into your skin, usually in areas that are dark, wet and pressed by clothing. I had largely avoided their nuisance back home, but seemed to be striking both along my sock lines and around my waist. I was given some rubbing alcohol to put on the bites

Dinner was marred by an obnoxious Canadian who showed up with two bird guides (actually people, not books). At one point he may have been an independent traveler who generally roughed it. Now, he is a douche. He asked, “Don’t you find that the 300mm just isn’t enough sometimes. I feel like it just isn’t enough. My 600mm is really what brings me close to the birds.” For those not aware, his 600mm lens costs in the neighborhood of $8000. Fuck him. Also, he spoke no Spanish and seemed to revel in that ignorance. Fuck him again.

Bird Tally: 12 new, 12 lifers

Thursday, June 23

I woke up early to finishing packing my bags and grab breakfast before heading up to Villa Fatima for the bus to Chulamani (Bs20). Again, I will neither bike nor drive the Death Road while here, but the South Yungas Road is its cousin. It took an hour just to get out of La Paz for reasons I do not quite understand. We finally finished getting gas and the remaining ride to the turnoff was uneventful. There was no traffic in the opposite direction, so the narrow descent with its hairpin turns, switchbacks and and blind corners seemed far from treacherous. Then we hit a road block for construction. Busses, trucks and cars were stalled for half-an-hour, generating an accordion of traffic once the way reopened. Our driver was particularly eager to save himself three minutes of travel, honking incessantly at any bus or truck that he managed to catch until they let him pass at full speed. By now, traffic was also coming from Chulamani, but the road was not wide enough for two vehicles. Downhill apparently has right-of-way. In addition to the amazing scenery and typical Bolivian shenanigans, the most lasting impression of the ride was the dachshund-basset mix that found his was under my seat and eventually into my lap. This scene is memorialized on several Bolivan cameras.

Arriving in the main square of Chulamani just after 2pm, I located a phone center to call the Portugal Hacienda to see if there was space. I was told to head on up and lunch would be waiting. Even the cab ride (Bs25) was not without issue as there was road construction blocking the road to the Hacienda, leaving me to walk the last half mile.

The hacienda is a full menagerie with Green-and-blue and Green-and-red Macaws, something that looks like a javelina, a giant terrapin, cows, chickens and a Great Dane roughly the size of my Pontiac Vibe.

I ate a very late lunch, settled my bags into the small room I would call home for two nights and strolled around the grounds and surrounding roads. This little stroll netted Bananaquit, Crested Oropendola, Sayaca Tanager, Palm Tanager, Olivaceous Siskin, White-tipped Dove, Purplish Jay, Yellow-olive Flatbill, and Green-and-Olive Woodpecker.

Dinner was simple, but tasty: a red pepper stuffed with rice and ground beef. I also had my first glass of unpasteurized milk blended with strawberries.

Bird tally: 3 new, 2 lifers

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).

Tuesday, June 21

I was up and out for a cab to take me to Villa Fatima (Bs15) at 6:35. Busses into the yungas leave from Villa Fatima in the north of La Paz, not the main station in the central district. I wanted to catch an early trufi, but ended up waiting for the van to fill up anyway. We did not actually leave the corner until after 7:30. The ride up and over La Cumbre was spectacular and I was dropped off at the junction of the old and new roads to Coroico by 8:20. This was slightly further than I needed, but walking the start of the “death road” provided amazing views of both snow-capped Andean peaks and the cloud forest in the valley below.

This section of the road, along with the new road just before the junction was also very productive with Violet-throated Starfrontlet, Fulvous-headed Brush-Finch, Bar-winged Cinclodes, Amethyst-throated Sunangel, Azara's Spinetail, Hooded Mountain Tanager, Masked Flowerpiercer and Superciliaried Hemispingus. About this time, a steady rain started to develop, which required some reorganizing of gear. I found a drain-pipe under the highway that served the trick. Showers continued off-and-on for the next hour, but did not greatly affect birding as I found a Rufous-breasted Chat-Tyrant.

The walk downhill back to Cotapata was easy with a decent-sized shoulder, deep cement ditches and numerous turnouts with trails that led into the valley. I stumbled down a stone path on the right side of the road that led to someplace I was not supposed to be. I apologized to the gentleman and beat a hasty retreat back to the road. The second sighting of a Rufous-breasted Chat Tyrant was not worth the trip. As I continued walking, I spotted Brown-backed Chat-Tyrant, Crimson-mantled Woodpecker

Passing the gas station on my right, I followed a path around the bathroom building. A wide path lead through a fence to land which appeared to belong to the station. Just to the left of this, a two track path lead upward through forest. I followed this path, guessing it was the one mentioned in my notes. After a short distance, the path forked and I took the left as a flock of Hooded Mountain Tanager seemed to auger well. As the path began to descend into the valley, mixed flocks would flutter through groups of trees. In one, I found a Scarlet-bellied Mountain Tanager, Blue-and-black Mountain Tanager, Spectacled Whitestart, Rufous-capped Thornbill, Orange-browed Hemispingus, and Giant Thrush. On the hike out, I also spotted a Moustached Flowerpiercer.

I reached the gas station near 1:30 and the while the sun was not out, it was fighting its way through the dense clouds. Unfortunately, this did not last long. First, fog rolled over the road, greatly decreasing the chances that someone would see me. Then, it started to rain. Then, it started to rain harder. The thick fog made it impossibly dangerous to try the 9km walk to the trancha at Undavai. As I got progressively wetter, it seemed that my chances for a ride were becoming progressively worse. After more than an hour, I was just too wet to stand in the open, so I ducked for cover next to the gas station. As I waited out the rain, a girl brought me a cup of hot coffee to warm me up. Then a gentlemen suggested I try the other end of the gas station. The coffee lifted my spirits and the suggestion paid-off in a couple of minutes as a jeep with two men stopped to offer a ride.

I will not bike the death road on this trip, but absent a ride through the Columbian Andes with Camila's brothers, this was as death-defying as I'd like to go on 4 wheels. Nevertheless, when the two guys saw how wet and cold I was, they pulled over to find a blanket for me from the back of the jeep. It was only after 15 minutes that I realized that the driver had only one finger on his left hand and his right hand was almost never on the wheel. As we flew around corners on wet asphalt through soupy fog around slower moving traffic, I have never desired a stronger finger in my life.

We reached La Cumbre to find a celebration of the Aymara New Year, which coincides with the shortest day of the year (admittedly, this is the 23^rd of June, but who can keep track). There was a band of drummers and people were dancing in large groups. By now, I was mostly dry and enjoyed the festivities as a man encouraged me to do a little jig. Of course, I complied. They drove me all the way to Murillo Plaza, only a short walk from the Hostel. In the end, I had forgotten the soggy misery of waiting for a ride.

Bird tally: 17 new, 17 lifers 

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.