For many us who have been thinking about Ben over the past couple of years, it has been a stretch to imagine Ben’s daily life while living in the relative comfort and ease of the United States. For both George and Joe, it was worth the whole trip just to watch Ben interact with his host family, his colleagues at the Hardeman water cooperative, and ordinary citizens of Hardeman. Ben is quick with jokes in fluent Spanish that always get laughs, he is well respected by the leaders of the town, and the kids in his host family adore him.
While we were visiting, Ben was made an honorary citizen of Hardeman by the city council for his work on clean water. He is the first Peace Corps volunteer to serve and Hardeman and probably one of the only American’s that many Bolivia’s will ever meet. Needless to say, Ben represents us all extremely well. Both of us are completely impressed with the work that Ben has done and will continue to do for the people of Hardeman and Bolivia. For as much as many of us like to talk about making a difference with our lives, Ben is out there actually doing it.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Day 5 Life in Hardeman
Many of us have heard about these wells that Ben is supposedly drilling all over rural Bolivia. Although hard to believe, it's true. Ben, in fact, does actually know how to drill a well. George and Joe now have the blisters to prove it.
We woke up on in Hardeman and had a tasty breakfast of bread, cheese, and the Bolivian version of cappuccino: hot water, instant coffee, powdered milk, sugar, and unsweetened cocoa. Most of the dining at Ben's house occurs outdoors on a dirt floor under a tin roof. This open-air structure is perfect for keeping the hot sun out but cool breezes in.
After breakfast, we made the grueling commute of 20 feet from Ben's house to his office at the Hardeman water cooperative. After meeting his colleagues, we started gather supplies and tools to drill a shallow well on the grounds of the water cooperative. The method Ben uses to drill wells is called hydraulic percussion and is highly dependent on manpower and water to drill. All the tools and parts can be made in a basic welding shop or purchased in a local hardware store making it cheap and easy to bring clean water to people in the countryside. The goals of Ben’s drilling projects are to bring a sustainable, easy to implement, clean water to rural Bolivia. It’s possible that Ben was planning a new advertising campaign using George and Joe as examples. It would go something like: “if these two out of shape gringos can drill a well, anyone can.”
George and Joe started the first 6 feet of the well with a simple posthole digger that was identical to one at the Shultz farm. From there, Ben set up a pulley system that could lift the heavy pipe that was filled with water. Once set, one or two people pulled a rope that lifted the pipe while the third person pushed the pipe further and further down the well. See our pictures below of 1) Ben pulling the rope on the pulley, Joe pushing the metal pipe into the well hole full of water, and 3) George holding the tip of the drill prior to the drilling.
We woke up on in Hardeman and had a tasty breakfast of bread, cheese, and the Bolivian version of cappuccino: hot water, instant coffee, powdered milk, sugar, and unsweetened cocoa. Most of the dining at Ben's house occurs outdoors on a dirt floor under a tin roof. This open-air structure is perfect for keeping the hot sun out but cool breezes in.
After breakfast, we made the grueling commute of 20 feet from Ben's house to his office at the Hardeman water cooperative. After meeting his colleagues, we started gather supplies and tools to drill a shallow well on the grounds of the water cooperative. The method Ben uses to drill wells is called hydraulic percussion and is highly dependent on manpower and water to drill. All the tools and parts can be made in a basic welding shop or purchased in a local hardware store making it cheap and easy to bring clean water to people in the countryside. The goals of Ben’s drilling projects are to bring a sustainable, easy to implement, clean water to rural Bolivia. It’s possible that Ben was planning a new advertising campaign using George and Joe as examples. It would go something like: “if these two out of shape gringos can drill a well, anyone can.”
George and Joe started the first 6 feet of the well with a simple posthole digger that was identical to one at the Shultz farm. From there, Ben set up a pulley system that could lift the heavy pipe that was filled with water. Once set, one or two people pulled a rope that lifted the pipe while the third person pushed the pipe further and further down the well. See our pictures below of 1) Ben pulling the rope on the pulley, Joe pushing the metal pipe into the well hole full of water, and 3) George holding the tip of the drill prior to the drilling.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Day 4: It's Hard to Get To Hardeman
We made it back to our hostel in Samaipata that morning where we ate breakfast and took hot showers. We hailed a taxi back to Santa Cruz but again were stuck with two other passengers in the same taxi. The good part was that the three of us sat in the back while the two other passengers were crammed into the front passenger seat. The highlight of the trip was the sour cream Pringles that George bought right before we left.
Once in Santa Cruz, Ben ran some errands and George and Joe wrote for this blog that you are now enjoying. A couple hours later we took a taxi to catch the fabled bus to Hardeman, Ben's work site and home for the past year and a half. At the bus stop Ben went to buy some tickets and told us to get onto a bus with large letters painted on the side declaring it to be comfortable, reliable, and luxurious. It turned out be none of these. By the time we got on the 30 seat bus there were no seats left, nor was there any space for our luggage. A number of passengers were small storeowners and used the bus to transport large bags of food and goods to restock their stores. We were stuck in the aisles with our bags and their supplies.
As we settled in for the 4 hour bus trip, Ben pointed out to us the half a dozen people on the bus that he knew from his small 3,608 person town of Hardeman. There was a past member of the water cooperative, two store owners and some other familiar faces. He also explained that this region of Bolivia, the eastern region, had in the past been mainly populated with lighter skinned Bolivians that had more European ancestry. This area was now seeing more immigration of western Bolivians from the higher elevations who had more indigenous ancestry and were seeking better agricultural land.
The first half of the bus ride was uneventful. We passed through a few small towns and bought some bread from one of the hawkers through the bus window. It was quite enjoyable until the second half of the trip when we left the nice paved roads and started in on dirt roads. The passengers started shutting the windows on the air conditionless bus and one passenger smiled and said to us in Spanish: ¨prepare to eat dust.¨ The dirt road had about a half a foot of fine dirt and dust on top of it and every time a truck or bus passed by clouds of dust blew into any open windows.
This was uncomfortable; we were still standing, really hot, and now eating dust. As we passed more towns, more passengers got off and we finally could sit down. The sun set and the bus went from really hot to just hot. The situation was getting better...until the bus stopped.
The bus had run into a giant mound of dirt and couldn’t drive over it. This dirt on the road was incredibly fine had the consistency of talcum powder. The rain, wind, and other vehicles created patches of ruts and mounds that were difficult to drive through. After trying to back up and ram through the mound a number of times, the driver told us all to get off. One by one the passengers got off the bus. After a couple pushes we helped push the bus over the mound and cheered with joy. One by one we all got back on the bus. This pattern repeated itself about 5 or 6 times throughout the trip. Although sometimes just getting the passengers off and reducing the weight of the bus was enough to get over the mounds of dirt. Along the way we saw 4 or 5 trucks that were abandoned because they had been stuck so much a tractor needed to pull them out.
By the time we finally arrived in Hardeman the novelty of getting stuck in dirt mounds had wore off. And our patience for all the storeowners taking up to 20 minutes getting all of their goods of the bus was running low. We were so happy to reach Ben’s town that instead of waiting the 5 stops to get to his house, we grabbled our backpacks and got off at the first stop and just walked.
We arrived in Hardeman around 9 pm and immediately dropped off our belonging and walked to a going away party for an American scientist. This scientist was helping Hardeman with their high levels of fluoride in their drinking water. Ben had been working closely with this scientist and we were all invited to the party. We ate some tasty chicken, potatoes, rice and salad. We drank some camba chicha, a thick drink made from soybeans, which was a little less good than the chicken. The meal was finished with huge slices of a jello-layered cake with delicious green frosting.
After thanking the hosts we were tired and full. We fell fast asleep in Ben’s room in the heat of Hardeman.
Once in Santa Cruz, Ben ran some errands and George and Joe wrote for this blog that you are now enjoying. A couple hours later we took a taxi to catch the fabled bus to Hardeman, Ben's work site and home for the past year and a half. At the bus stop Ben went to buy some tickets and told us to get onto a bus with large letters painted on the side declaring it to be comfortable, reliable, and luxurious. It turned out be none of these. By the time we got on the 30 seat bus there were no seats left, nor was there any space for our luggage. A number of passengers were small storeowners and used the bus to transport large bags of food and goods to restock their stores. We were stuck in the aisles with our bags and their supplies.
As we settled in for the 4 hour bus trip, Ben pointed out to us the half a dozen people on the bus that he knew from his small 3,608 person town of Hardeman. There was a past member of the water cooperative, two store owners and some other familiar faces. He also explained that this region of Bolivia, the eastern region, had in the past been mainly populated with lighter skinned Bolivians that had more European ancestry. This area was now seeing more immigration of western Bolivians from the higher elevations who had more indigenous ancestry and were seeking better agricultural land.
The first half of the bus ride was uneventful. We passed through a few small towns and bought some bread from one of the hawkers through the bus window. It was quite enjoyable until the second half of the trip when we left the nice paved roads and started in on dirt roads. The passengers started shutting the windows on the air conditionless bus and one passenger smiled and said to us in Spanish: ¨prepare to eat dust.¨ The dirt road had about a half a foot of fine dirt and dust on top of it and every time a truck or bus passed by clouds of dust blew into any open windows.
This was uncomfortable; we were still standing, really hot, and now eating dust. As we passed more towns, more passengers got off and we finally could sit down. The sun set and the bus went from really hot to just hot. The situation was getting better...until the bus stopped.
The bus had run into a giant mound of dirt and couldn’t drive over it. This dirt on the road was incredibly fine had the consistency of talcum powder. The rain, wind, and other vehicles created patches of ruts and mounds that were difficult to drive through. After trying to back up and ram through the mound a number of times, the driver told us all to get off. One by one the passengers got off the bus. After a couple pushes we helped push the bus over the mound and cheered with joy. One by one we all got back on the bus. This pattern repeated itself about 5 or 6 times throughout the trip. Although sometimes just getting the passengers off and reducing the weight of the bus was enough to get over the mounds of dirt. Along the way we saw 4 or 5 trucks that were abandoned because they had been stuck so much a tractor needed to pull them out.
By the time we finally arrived in Hardeman the novelty of getting stuck in dirt mounds had wore off. And our patience for all the storeowners taking up to 20 minutes getting all of their goods of the bus was running low. We were so happy to reach Ben’s town that instead of waiting the 5 stops to get to his house, we grabbled our backpacks and got off at the first stop and just walked.
We arrived in Hardeman around 9 pm and immediately dropped off our belonging and walked to a going away party for an American scientist. This scientist was helping Hardeman with their high levels of fluoride in their drinking water. Ben had been working closely with this scientist and we were all invited to the party. We ate some tasty chicken, potatoes, rice and salad. We drank some camba chicha, a thick drink made from soybeans, which was a little less good than the chicken. The meal was finished with huge slices of a jello-layered cake with delicious green frosting.
After thanking the hosts we were tired and full. We fell fast asleep in Ben’s room in the heat of Hardeman.
Death Bridge, Pumas, and Attack Toilets
Upon returning to town we bought a couple of bottles of wine as host gifts to bring to Ben’s Peace Corp friend, Britta. She kindly offered to cook us dinner that night and was stationed in a nearby town. Although we were looking forward to a quiet evening with friends, we were quickly brought back to the reality of the perils of Bolivian travel. Our destination was the town of Paredones, which was a 30 min drive from the town of Saimapata. The plan was to catch a taxi from one town to another. That plan quickly ended when our taxi driver informed Ben that he would not drive through a low river crossing that had been recently built to allow car traffic between the cities. It had now gotten quite dark but Ben assured us that we could easier cross the river and walk to Britta’s house. We began to worry when Ben suggested we pick up a couple of stones to fend off vicious dogs should they become aggressive. That worry deepened when we saw a dilapidated wooden plank bridge with several missing planks and a rushing river below. This was all very reminiscent of the bridge in Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom minus the alligators but with the small Chinese boy. After traversing the bridge in almost complete darkness, the situation worsened as Ben started to lead us down a path into the forest littered with large feline tracks. Did we mention there were puma’s in the area?
We were saved by a nice Bolivian man with a flashlight who called out to us wondered if we were lost and pointed us onto the right path. From there we started walking up a lonely dirt road towards Britta’s house. Ben, however, had only been there once and was a little fuzzy on the exact directions. It was fine until it started to drizzle and Britta’s house was nowhere to be found. After another half an hour of walking we came upon a couple of houses that looked promising but had dogs that were unchained and menacing. Joe and George began to flee back down the road while Ben, experienced in these matters, cocked his arm as if to throw a rock and scared off the dogs. Thankfully, a small headlamp appeared in the darkness. Britta had found us and called off the dogs.
An excellent meal of Thai soup, fresh vegetables, and grilled chicken awaited us. It was certainly one of the best meals we had in Bolivia. We gained a bit of insight into the Peace Corps experience upon using the facilities. To back up a bit, Britta’s house could be considered rustic. Her apartment had a one-room living, eating, sleeping space with concrete floors and a separate room for a kitchen and a toilet. This toilet was special. In fact it was almost an adventure every time one flushed it. The key to flushing the toilet was leaping away from the torrent of water that gushed into the bowl splashing out in a 3 feet radius. The best strategy was to step outside the bathroom, hide behind the door, and reach one arm in to flush.
The slight drizzle that began when we were walking to Britta’s house became heavier and the dirt path turned to mud. Our plan for getting a taxi back to our hostel in Samiapata disappeared, and Britta graciously offered her floor as a next best option. The hard floor and the attack toilet were quickly forgotten the next morning when we were greeted by an amazing sunrise. We enjoyed views of a beautiful lush valley and river surrounded by misty mountains.
We were saved by a nice Bolivian man with a flashlight who called out to us wondered if we were lost and pointed us onto the right path. From there we started walking up a lonely dirt road towards Britta’s house. Ben, however, had only been there once and was a little fuzzy on the exact directions. It was fine until it started to drizzle and Britta’s house was nowhere to be found. After another half an hour of walking we came upon a couple of houses that looked promising but had dogs that were unchained and menacing. Joe and George began to flee back down the road while Ben, experienced in these matters, cocked his arm as if to throw a rock and scared off the dogs. Thankfully, a small headlamp appeared in the darkness. Britta had found us and called off the dogs.
An excellent meal of Thai soup, fresh vegetables, and grilled chicken awaited us. It was certainly one of the best meals we had in Bolivia. We gained a bit of insight into the Peace Corps experience upon using the facilities. To back up a bit, Britta’s house could be considered rustic. Her apartment had a one-room living, eating, sleeping space with concrete floors and a separate room for a kitchen and a toilet. This toilet was special. In fact it was almost an adventure every time one flushed it. The key to flushing the toilet was leaping away from the torrent of water that gushed into the bowl splashing out in a 3 feet radius. The best strategy was to step outside the bathroom, hide behind the door, and reach one arm in to flush.
The slight drizzle that began when we were walking to Britta’s house became heavier and the dirt path turned to mud. Our plan for getting a taxi back to our hostel in Samiapata disappeared, and Britta graciously offered her floor as a next best option. The hard floor and the attack toilet were quickly forgotten the next morning when we were greeted by an amazing sunrise. We enjoyed views of a beautiful lush valley and river surrounded by misty mountains.
Day 3: The Condor Hike
Our original plan for Day 3 was an all day rigorous excursion through the mountains of south of Saimapata to a nest of Condors had been discovered two years ago. But once again, our eyes bit off more than our feet could chew.
Luckily for us, our tour guide offered the lazy gringo version of the Condor hike, which consisted of nice drive to a waterfall for lunch and then a leisurely stroll up a mountain to the condor viewing plateau. To say the least, the view was gorgeous. Green parrots flew through the bright blue sky overhead and vast views of voluptuous valleys surrounded us.
Javier, our guide, cautioned us that because we were taking the lazy gringo path, we might not see many Condors and if we did they’d likely be from far away. We were hoping to see a glimpse one of these ancient birds. This Andean Condor is considered sacred in Bolivia and even has a place on the national seal of Bolivia akin to the bald eagle for Americans.
After reaching the plateau best suited for viewing the Condors, we began to lose hope that we would see one of these Andean aviators. Finally, we were excited to see one Condor come into view two mountain peaks away. George and Ben started snapping photos like paparazzi at a Britney Spears sighting. After a few minutes and dozens of photos of a bird that was little more than a black speck in the distance, we were satisfied that we could declare victory and head back down the mountain. As we started to pack up our gear, our guide Javier starting shouting and pointing towards that sky as a giant condor soared over our mountain peak maybe twenty feet overhead. The paparazzi of Ben and George were again whipped into a frenzy and expletives of excitement were shouted in both Spanish and English. As Ben turned his video camera towards Joe to get his opinion on the experience, a second Condor, even closer than the first, swooped up from below our mountain directly over Joe’s shoulder. Another round of photos and expletives ensued. At this juncture the flood gates of Condors was flung opened and for the next half hour over a dozen Condors circled our mountain plateau. From our vantage point, we could even distinguish the older Condors marked by white feathers on the top of their 8 to 10 feet long wings.
What made the experience seem all the more surreal and unique was that our Bolivian guide was at times even more excited than we were and declared that he had never witnessed such a display of Condors over his numerous hikes to the region. We hiked back down the mountain in a state of euphoria and a sense of wonder and appreciation for nature.
Luckily for us, our tour guide offered the lazy gringo version of the Condor hike, which consisted of nice drive to a waterfall for lunch and then a leisurely stroll up a mountain to the condor viewing plateau. To say the least, the view was gorgeous. Green parrots flew through the bright blue sky overhead and vast views of voluptuous valleys surrounded us.
Javier, our guide, cautioned us that because we were taking the lazy gringo path, we might not see many Condors and if we did they’d likely be from far away. We were hoping to see a glimpse one of these ancient birds. This Andean Condor is considered sacred in Bolivia and even has a place on the national seal of Bolivia akin to the bald eagle for Americans.
After reaching the plateau best suited for viewing the Condors, we began to lose hope that we would see one of these Andean aviators. Finally, we were excited to see one Condor come into view two mountain peaks away. George and Ben started snapping photos like paparazzi at a Britney Spears sighting. After a few minutes and dozens of photos of a bird that was little more than a black speck in the distance, we were satisfied that we could declare victory and head back down the mountain. As we started to pack up our gear, our guide Javier starting shouting and pointing towards that sky as a giant condor soared over our mountain peak maybe twenty feet overhead. The paparazzi of Ben and George were again whipped into a frenzy and expletives of excitement were shouted in both Spanish and English. As Ben turned his video camera towards Joe to get his opinion on the experience, a second Condor, even closer than the first, swooped up from below our mountain directly over Joe’s shoulder. Another round of photos and expletives ensued. At this juncture the flood gates of Condors was flung opened and for the next half hour over a dozen Condors circled our mountain plateau. From our vantage point, we could even distinguish the older Condors marked by white feathers on the top of their 8 to 10 feet long wings.
What made the experience seem all the more surreal and unique was that our Bolivian guide was at times even more excited than we were and declared that he had never witnessed such a display of Condors over his numerous hikes to the region. We hiked back down the mountain in a state of euphoria and a sense of wonder and appreciation for nature.
George Saves the Day
After a quick shower at our hostel, we met up with several of Ben’s Peace Corps cronies at a one of the classiest restaurants in town ¨Latina¨. A classically trained guitarist entertained us during our Bolivian meal. Both George and Joe had traditional Bolivian dishes and more importantly Bolivian beer. George’s meal consisted of rice, boiled potatoes, and chunks of beef in a red wine sauce (very tasty). Joe had a classic Bolivian dish that resembled chicken parmesan, but without the parmesan. For those of you keeping track, the meals cost about 30 Bolivianos a piece and the beers which came in 24 ounce bottles cost 15 Bolivianos. The exchange rate is about 8 Bolivianos to 1 dollar, so needless to say we had a very cheap meal considering it was the nicest place in town.
Samaipata is favorite meeting place for many of the Peace Corps volunteers in the area, and due to the Easter celebrations in the central plaza, about a dozen PC volunteers were in the city over the weekend. George being a fan of carnival games and secretly wanting to run away to become a carnie, was transfixed by what at first appeared in the style of a classic American carnival game, i.e. the basketball that barely fits into the hoop and the rings that barely fit over the bottles. This game consisted of knocking over a set of cans by kicking a soccer ball. A PC volunteer explained that this game wasn´t quite like the games back home because he said it wasn´t just hard to win but it was actually physically impossible.
The most amusing part of the night however was meeting Tammy, a Peace Corp volunteer originally from Indiana, who works promoting tourism in Samaipata. Like many female volunteers in Bolivia, she had been having problems with the men and the machismo culture in her site. This ranged from catcalls on the street to unsolicited phone calls. In a particular instance, a random guy saw her at a dance club one night and after just seeing her claimed that he had fallen in love with her. Although Tammy wanted nothing to do with him, many women in the town began to think of her as a husband stealer and one even insisted that she apologize to this crazy guy’s wife. Consequently, she has started to lose credibility with some of the women in town. This was causing considerable angst in Tammy’s life.
Enter George Wang.
Did we mention that Tammy is Asian? That very night she had been discussing this issue with a fellow volunteer when they entered our restaurant and saw George. The solution to Tammy’s dilemma became immediately apparent. For the rest of the night Tammy and George sat next to each other and she introduced him to all of her would be male suitors as her long distance Asian boyfriend. The Bolivians accepted ruse without question: of course the two Asians must be dating! As always, George was glad to help out a fellow Asian in need.
Samaipata is favorite meeting place for many of the Peace Corps volunteers in the area, and due to the Easter celebrations in the central plaza, about a dozen PC volunteers were in the city over the weekend. George being a fan of carnival games and secretly wanting to run away to become a carnie, was transfixed by what at first appeared in the style of a classic American carnival game, i.e. the basketball that barely fits into the hoop and the rings that barely fit over the bottles. This game consisted of knocking over a set of cans by kicking a soccer ball. A PC volunteer explained that this game wasn´t quite like the games back home because he said it wasn´t just hard to win but it was actually physically impossible.
The most amusing part of the night however was meeting Tammy, a Peace Corp volunteer originally from Indiana, who works promoting tourism in Samaipata. Like many female volunteers in Bolivia, she had been having problems with the men and the machismo culture in her site. This ranged from catcalls on the street to unsolicited phone calls. In a particular instance, a random guy saw her at a dance club one night and after just seeing her claimed that he had fallen in love with her. Although Tammy wanted nothing to do with him, many women in the town began to think of her as a husband stealer and one even insisted that she apologize to this crazy guy’s wife. Consequently, she has started to lose credibility with some of the women in town. This was causing considerable angst in Tammy’s life.
Enter George Wang.
Did we mention that Tammy is Asian? That very night she had been discussing this issue with a fellow volunteer when they entered our restaurant and saw George. The solution to Tammy’s dilemma became immediately apparent. For the rest of the night Tammy and George sat next to each other and she introduced him to all of her would be male suitors as her long distance Asian boyfriend. The Bolivians accepted ruse without question: of course the two Asians must be dating! As always, George was glad to help out a fellow Asian in need.
Hiking in the Cloud Forest
After waking up at our hostel and grabbing some yummy breakfast of fresh bread, fruit, and coffee, we met our guide Javier who was taking us to the cloud forest. Although we had just one additional companion, a German high school biology teacher stationed in Boliva, we decided to forgo the back seat jumped into the bed of Javier´s truck, which was equipped with padded benches, but no seat belts. The dirt road was filled with deep ruts and we had to cross several creeks, which required us to stand and brace ourselves on several occasions, lest we be thrown from the truck.
Our guide Javier was much more than just a driver. He pointed out the various flora and fauna of the Bolivian cloud forest, named for this ecosystem that was in a relatively high altitude. During our 5 hour hike, we saw giant one hundred year old ferns, many medicinal plants that could cure everything from foot pain to upset stomachs, and a species of parrot that was one of the most beautiful in the area.
We also came across a giant brown slug that oozed poisonous green goo when prodded with a stick. We ate lunch on a rock outcropping that gave us great views of the green mountain and valleys around us. We didn’t see any other hikers though we did see some non·native cows that had wandered into the park looking for better grazing.
The 2 hour ride back to Samaipata was uneventful except for great conversation about Ben’s experience with the Peace Corps in Bolivia.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Day 1 in Bolivia
Ben picked us from the airport early in the morning. We took a taxi ride into Santa Cruz, a regional center, the second largest city in Bolivia. This is also the city Ben comes into to get materials, have meetings, go to the bank, etc. Today the city was in rare form as it was Good Friday. Most Bolivians are Catholics and were celebrating the holiday. Thus what is normally a bustling city was today a ghost town.
Ben made plans for us to in a resort town, Samiapata, a couple hours outside of Santa Cruz for the weekend. So we only ran a few errands in Santa Cruz today. Ben took us to the Peace Corp office where volunteers have storage space, meeting space, and some support staff. For the weekend, we left most of our luggage including long pants and shoes in the office. Ben insisted that Tevas, flip-flops and shorts would suffice.
Joe needed a double shot of cafe con leche after the red eye flight to Bolivia.
After eating a nice breakfast near the town plaza, we exchanged some money and bought some lunch to go. We headed to a taxi stop to catch a ride to Samiapata.
Because it was good Friday there were a limited number of taxis running. After some convincing we found a driver that would take the three of us and two other Isreali girls also headed to Samiapata. Now maybe in an SUV or a limo this would be okay but 3 of us, plus 2 Isreali girls plus 1 driver = too many people in one taxi.
For the next 3 hours George and Ben sat closely, very closely in the back seat with the two girls. Joe on the other hand sat comfortably in the front seat. The beginning of the drive wasn´t bad. We had your typical taxi driver, trying to drive as fast as possible, weaving in and out of traffic, going extremely fast before slamming on the brakes for each speed bump. (Of course there were no seat belts.)
Things were much more interesting once we left the nice paved roads near Santa Cruz. Most roads in rural Bolivia are not paved and this causes major traffic problems due to mud, potholes and washouts. One of the more dangerous obstacles on dirt roads are Bolivia bovines that graze on the roadsides and often wander into the road without regard for loco taxi drivers.
We are in the tail end of the rainy season. One of the bridges had washed out and there was only a makeshift dirt road over the river. The main problem however was further in the mountains when a river rudely bisected our dirt road. Both sides of traffic were stopped as people tried to dig out a tractor trailer stuck in the mud. Our courageous taxi driver barreled past all the stopped traffic and was the first car to traverse the mud without getting stuck.
Ranz had the taxi driver drop us off at the entrance to a ¨park.¨ (It was essentially a fenced off area in which some entrepreneural guy was collecting a fee for entry.) After a short hike we came to a beautiful waterfall about thirty meters high where Joe and George thought we were going to turn around. But Ranz had other ideas. He knew that there was better scenery past the waterfall and past where the Bolivians had been playing in the water.
We climbed up and over the waterfall and then hiked straight up the creek in our sandals. After all the traveling for the last 24 hours it was a nice relief to be away from others and enjoy the peaceful ambience. We continued to hike up the creek bed that was normally just up to our calves, except when Joe sank through the built up silt and was to his hip in silt and mud, which required both Ben and George to pull him out.
One of the more beautiful parts of our 3 hour hike walking through a stone gully where the creek had carved out and looking at the green mountains that surrounded us.
After the hike we hitched on a bus and made it to our hostel in Samaipata. Ranz took us out for a nice ¨Bolivian meal¨which he called the second best cheeseburgers in Bolivia.
Next up...Day 2, hiking in the cloud forest.
Ben made plans for us to in a resort town, Samiapata, a couple hours outside of Santa Cruz for the weekend. So we only ran a few errands in Santa Cruz today. Ben took us to the Peace Corp office where volunteers have storage space, meeting space, and some support staff. For the weekend, we left most of our luggage including long pants and shoes in the office. Ben insisted that Tevas, flip-flops and shorts would suffice.
Joe needed a double shot of cafe con leche after the red eye flight to Bolivia.
After eating a nice breakfast near the town plaza, we exchanged some money and bought some lunch to go. We headed to a taxi stop to catch a ride to Samiapata.
Because it was good Friday there were a limited number of taxis running. After some convincing we found a driver that would take the three of us and two other Isreali girls also headed to Samiapata. Now maybe in an SUV or a limo this would be okay but 3 of us, plus 2 Isreali girls plus 1 driver = too many people in one taxi.
For the next 3 hours George and Ben sat closely, very closely in the back seat with the two girls. Joe on the other hand sat comfortably in the front seat. The beginning of the drive wasn´t bad. We had your typical taxi driver, trying to drive as fast as possible, weaving in and out of traffic, going extremely fast before slamming on the brakes for each speed bump. (Of course there were no seat belts.)
Things were much more interesting once we left the nice paved roads near Santa Cruz. Most roads in rural Bolivia are not paved and this causes major traffic problems due to mud, potholes and washouts. One of the more dangerous obstacles on dirt roads are Bolivia bovines that graze on the roadsides and often wander into the road without regard for loco taxi drivers.
We are in the tail end of the rainy season. One of the bridges had washed out and there was only a makeshift dirt road over the river. The main problem however was further in the mountains when a river rudely bisected our dirt road. Both sides of traffic were stopped as people tried to dig out a tractor trailer stuck in the mud. Our courageous taxi driver barreled past all the stopped traffic and was the first car to traverse the mud without getting stuck.
Ranz had the taxi driver drop us off at the entrance to a ¨park.¨ (It was essentially a fenced off area in which some entrepreneural guy was collecting a fee for entry.) After a short hike we came to a beautiful waterfall about thirty meters high where Joe and George thought we were going to turn around. But Ranz had other ideas. He knew that there was better scenery past the waterfall and past where the Bolivians had been playing in the water.
We climbed up and over the waterfall and then hiked straight up the creek in our sandals. After all the traveling for the last 24 hours it was a nice relief to be away from others and enjoy the peaceful ambience. We continued to hike up the creek bed that was normally just up to our calves, except when Joe sank through the built up silt and was to his hip in silt and mud, which required both Ben and George to pull him out.
One of the more beautiful parts of our 3 hour hike walking through a stone gully where the creek had carved out and looking at the green mountains that surrounded us.
After the hike we hitched on a bus and made it to our hostel in Samaipata. Ranz took us out for a nice ¨Bolivian meal¨which he called the second best cheeseburgers in Bolivia.
Next up...Day 2, hiking in the cloud forest.
For those of you who are fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to fly often know that air travel is filled with frustration. But this a story of redemption.
George made his flight from SFO to Maimi with little trouble and was eager to see Joe but even more excited to eat the dinner owed to him because of their NCAA basketball bet. He even expected dessert because of the blowout score. But he soon found out from a phone message from Joe that he would be eating alone.
Joe had checked in online, had no bags and left early from work to arrive at DCA with a good hour before his flight to Raleigh. He was soon dismayed to find out that his flight had been canceled and he was reschedule to fly to Bolivia the next day. Determined to make it to Bolivia, Joe explained that it was absolutely necessary that he be on the same flight to Bolivia as his buddy George because George knew no Spanish and being Asian would likely be mobbed as being mistaken for Bruce Lee and would need a translator to explain that he´s a simple geneticist not a famous martial artist.
So the friendly ticket counter lady at american airlines rebooked Joe on a 630 flight that would make it directly to Miami with more than enough time to buy George his dinner. As fate would have it, that flight was canceled as well. With more insistance that he save his friend George, Joe was rebooked for the 730 flight the eventually left at 830. All the while, Joe is stuck at the DCA going through blackberry withdraw, as he was certain critical farm bill negotiations were occuring without him.
The flight from Maimi to Boliva occurs once a day departing Miami at 1110pm. George soon found out from the nice ticket counter ladies in Miami that Joe´s plane was scheduled to land at 1055pm. By around 1030 George had explained his situation about the necessity of not being mistaken for Bruce Lee to all 4 of the american airlines agents for flight 922 to Bolivia. Taking pity upon him they said he could be the last person to board and they would try and wait as long as possible for Joe. As the departure time approached, the agents that were previously confident that Joe would make the flight began to worry. By 1050 all the passengers expect George had boarded the plane. One agent was at the end of the concourse on look out for Joe. Another agent was holding the plane. And a third agent was checking the computers to see when his plane touched the ground.
The friendly agent at DCA had given Joe a seat in the first row of coach so he could be one of the first off the plane. Immediately landing Joe grabs his backpack laden with 4 kilos of granola and 7 bottle of green tabasco (we´ll explain later), and started running as soon as his got on the jetway.
George called Joe and told him he had 5 minutes to reach terminal E47. Joe´s plane landed at D3. The agent with George asked whether Joe was young enough to run. George explained that while he was relatively young, Joe was no long distance runner. Knowing this George´s agents called an airport golf cart off of an errand to pick the elderly and instead rerouted it to pick up Joe.
Joe redfaced and out of breathe is running towards concourse E, leaps onto the back of the golfcart and victoriously rides into gate E47. George and Joe rush onto the plane, with over 100 scowling passengers anxious to take off.
After some catching up and a couple hours of sleep we landed in La Paz. While waiting on the plane to be serviced, one of the flight attendants that helped hold the plane for Joe befriended us, coincendetally with the same last name as Joe, and told us to have a great time in Bolivia with Peace Corps Ben. To assist us in having a great time, she gave us two bottles of wine!
Joe and the friendly American Airlines attendant
At 8am on Friday we landed in Santa Cruz, and to cap off an already wonderful start, we screwed up again and left one of Joe´s flipflops on the plane. Which he had to explain in broken Spanish to a security guard. Since Joe failed to obtain the necessary visas from the Bolivian consulate in DC, the last hurdle was entering the country. However with $100 cash and toothy grins, they figured we weren´t terrorists and let us in.
On the other side, we saw a scruffy, red bandana-wearing gringo walking through the parking lot toward us.
George made his flight from SFO to Maimi with little trouble and was eager to see Joe but even more excited to eat the dinner owed to him because of their NCAA basketball bet. He even expected dessert because of the blowout score. But he soon found out from a phone message from Joe that he would be eating alone.
Joe had checked in online, had no bags and left early from work to arrive at DCA with a good hour before his flight to Raleigh. He was soon dismayed to find out that his flight had been canceled and he was reschedule to fly to Bolivia the next day. Determined to make it to Bolivia, Joe explained that it was absolutely necessary that he be on the same flight to Bolivia as his buddy George because George knew no Spanish and being Asian would likely be mobbed as being mistaken for Bruce Lee and would need a translator to explain that he´s a simple geneticist not a famous martial artist.
So the friendly ticket counter lady at american airlines rebooked Joe on a 630 flight that would make it directly to Miami with more than enough time to buy George his dinner. As fate would have it, that flight was canceled as well. With more insistance that he save his friend George, Joe was rebooked for the 730 flight the eventually left at 830. All the while, Joe is stuck at the DCA going through blackberry withdraw, as he was certain critical farm bill negotiations were occuring without him.
The flight from Maimi to Boliva occurs once a day departing Miami at 1110pm. George soon found out from the nice ticket counter ladies in Miami that Joe´s plane was scheduled to land at 1055pm. By around 1030 George had explained his situation about the necessity of not being mistaken for Bruce Lee to all 4 of the american airlines agents for flight 922 to Bolivia. Taking pity upon him they said he could be the last person to board and they would try and wait as long as possible for Joe. As the departure time approached, the agents that were previously confident that Joe would make the flight began to worry. By 1050 all the passengers expect George had boarded the plane. One agent was at the end of the concourse on look out for Joe. Another agent was holding the plane. And a third agent was checking the computers to see when his plane touched the ground.
The friendly agent at DCA had given Joe a seat in the first row of coach so he could be one of the first off the plane. Immediately landing Joe grabs his backpack laden with 4 kilos of granola and 7 bottle of green tabasco (we´ll explain later), and started running as soon as his got on the jetway.
George called Joe and told him he had 5 minutes to reach terminal E47. Joe´s plane landed at D3. The agent with George asked whether Joe was young enough to run. George explained that while he was relatively young, Joe was no long distance runner. Knowing this George´s agents called an airport golf cart off of an errand to pick the elderly and instead rerouted it to pick up Joe.
Joe redfaced and out of breathe is running towards concourse E, leaps onto the back of the golfcart and victoriously rides into gate E47. George and Joe rush onto the plane, with over 100 scowling passengers anxious to take off.
After some catching up and a couple hours of sleep we landed in La Paz. While waiting on the plane to be serviced, one of the flight attendants that helped hold the plane for Joe befriended us, coincendetally with the same last name as Joe, and told us to have a great time in Bolivia with Peace Corps Ben. To assist us in having a great time, she gave us two bottles of wine!
Joe and the friendly American Airlines attendant
At 8am on Friday we landed in Santa Cruz, and to cap off an already wonderful start, we screwed up again and left one of Joe´s flipflops on the plane. Which he had to explain in broken Spanish to a security guard. Since Joe failed to obtain the necessary visas from the Bolivian consulate in DC, the last hurdle was entering the country. However with $100 cash and toothy grins, they figured we weren´t terrorists and let us in.
On the other side, we saw a scruffy, red bandana-wearing gringo walking through the parking lot toward us.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Hola!
Joe and I fly from our sides of the country into Miami this evening (where he will subsequently be buying me a beer and dinner because of Stanford's win over Cornell). Later in the night we will be flying to La Paz and then Santa Cruz to begin our trip in Bolivia. Assuming they let us into the country, that's where Ben will be picking us up.
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