kellita the señorita the ibby dibby dow: Altitude, rain and some road-side fires

The past week has been a mixture of hot and cold, high and low, city and nature. I went to La Paz with the idea that it would be my window to adventure. I had high hopes of adjusting to the altitude and facing the challenge of climbing Huyana Potosí (a 3-day 6,000 meter ice climb outside of the city). But La Paz was cold, and it was always raining. And I just wanted to be warm. Because of the forecasted rain for the week, I had to wait it out in La Paz to fully adjust to the altitude and make sure the rain would pass before setting out. But I got antsy.

So I decided to do the downhill mountain bike trip down the most dangerous road in the world. We drove up to higher altitude and were greeted by blanketed white snow and freezing rain. As we began our descent, I couldn´t see 4 feet in front of me nor feel my fingers to break around the curves. I hoped I wouldn´t be one of the casualties this road sees every year. After about 20 minutes, the altitude got me. Not only could I not see clearly or feel my extremities, but the nausea set in, and it felt that at any minute I might pass out. The guide told me to hang in there as we would be about 500 meters lower in a matter of 10 minutes. Because I´m a self-proclaimed bad ass, I took that great safety advice on the most dangerous road. We stopped next in a little village where I chomped on coca leaves like it was going out of style. I immediately regained control over my body.

I finished the ride without a hitch, thoroughly enjoying the climate change from freezing white snow to humid green jungle. We lounged by a pool after lunch, and it was then I knew there was no way in hell I would be signing myself up to spend 3 days in freezing weather ice climbing at an altitude double that which made me sick during the bike ride. No thanks. Instead, I made plans to get myself out of the altitude and out of the cold.

Enter my plan for a solo camping trip to Coroico. I took the bus down the mountain again and arrived mid-afternoon in the small village in the Yunguas. I had read about a great campsite less than 1 kilometer outside of town. Never believe when someone tells you something is less than 1km away because it´s probably a stretch of his or her imagination. The 45 minute uphill hike almost killed me, but I made it and snagged the last campsite where I set up camp, happy to be out of dirty, cold, and rainy La Paz and back to nature.

This excitement was somewhat short-lived as it rained torrentially the entire first night. Though I had thought ahead protecting the tent with a tarp overhead and underneath, the panic that my belongings would be soaked woke me up about every 15 minutes. So much for undisturbed peaceful sleep in the middle of nowhere. I awoke in the morning to find that everything was bone dry, which meant I wasted an entire night of sleep for nothing. NBD. The sun came out early the next day, and I spent the day reading and napping, moving from a lounge chair at the pool to the hammock under the shade. In the afternoon I hiked up tot he meditation room and treated myself to some yoga and more peace and quiet. It was luxurious, sunny and beautiful all day.

Enter evening number two with another all-night torrential downpour. This time I wasn´t so lucky. When I went to bed myself and my belongings were dry. Then I woke up in a puddle of water at 2am. I wanted to cry, but for once didn´t. I stuffed my most prized posessions in a plastic bag up my shirt, and tried to sleep. But it was cold and I was miserable. In the morning I was soaked to the bone, my arms and legs covered in huge red welted mosquito bites. I decided then to cut the solo camping trip short and head back to hostel life for a spell.

Once everything dried out I packed up, hiked out, and took the next bus to La Paz where I caught a bus toward Copacabana. Never a lack of excitement though. Wouldn´t you know that there was a highway protest that day, and we had to wait for over an hour to cross a certain section of the road. As we sat, patiently waiting to cross, we could see fires burning on the road ahead and as much as I wanted to get to the lake, I felt ok about turning back for La Paz. But we kept on, and eventually drove along the shoulder past hordes of protestors, armed police, still-burning and smouldering fires, and huge rocks in the road. Thankfully we arrived safely to the lake only a bit delayed.