There's a big lie in the travel community that's all too wide spread. It's that there's a difference between a tourist and a traveller. Others claim that the traveller is down to earth, ready to accept culture, and is open to see the world. While a tourist is somehow the opposite. Tourists are only there to stay in fancy hotels, see the major attractions and never attempt to speak the local language or enjoy the culture. I think these heady travel writer are full of shit. They're trying to act like they're so much better because they only need a backpack and they feel they have a better respect for the community. Give me a break, do you think Japanese tourists at Disneyland don't try and speak English or throw their trash in the bins. Not true. Why do you think the Eiffel Tower is one of the biggest tourists attractions worldwide? It's because it's fucking awesome. If you're near Paris, you're going to see it whether you're a penniless traveler or Bill Gates. There are just some can't miss things on this planet. And just because the traveler isn't wearing a full brimmed hat with sunscreen smeared on their faces while simultaneously reading a map with a camera around their neck, doesn't mean they're so much different than other backpackers. Crack open some travel books or articles describing some far off destination you've never heard of, and you might find the author a little too cheeky about how they themselves travel. Unlike other travelers, I don't define myself by where I've been. You shouldn't either because there's too damn much to see on this planet. Travel rant complete, fuck off snooty travelers.
Next up, leaving Perú. The ride out of Cusco was long, straight, and cold but I was rewarded with stunning sunset views of Lake Titicaca. It was easy to find the hotel where BJ and Liam were staying and after my arrival, it was straight to dinner. They found this place where you get three delicious well portioned courses and an alcoholic drink for five bucks. What a deal. If only Aguas Callientes was like Puno I would have been happy paying five six bucks for dinner, but no, they sucker you in and throw whatever they have in front of you. Then add a five dollar tip, just to say "it's not that much." Ugh. I digress though. Puno is a pretty cool little city, it's a bit different then the rest of Perú. I don't know if it's just poorer or neighboring Bolivia is spilling over. Things are cheaper, so we all book a tour of the indigenous people of the floating islands for the next morning.
These floating islands are ridiculous. First off they really are man made islands that people actually live on. I arrive and it's pretty cool that they still speak the native language, Quecha. We all received a hearty welcome from the dozen or so residents on our particular island. Then the president went on to explain their way of life. How they built the island, how they eat, sleep, and survive. It's all too much, it appears they survive just on tourism. They guilt you into buying they're handicrafts and knick knacks. Then the big seller is a ride on the 'Mercedes Benz' boat. (Seriously what it's called by all the islanders.) It really is a marvel of straw work and commitment. It's a beautiful native paddle boat that has two dragon heads, a roof, and room for about fifteen people. It's a great piece of heritage kept alive by these wild people. Originally these people built their straw floating islands to escape the Inca. Now, who knows what they're up to. Maybe those little pencil holders and mini woven table cloths provide enough essentials to keep them happy. I'm unsure, but I can tell you that they were stoked to see us. Each of the forty of so islands receives tourist maybe twice a month. So when the president was giving us the low down, he was absolutely beaming. It was adorable to see this guy run back and forth to his house to grab and show us the gun he hunts with. It was an experience. I guess with my western American eyes I just really don't understand these amazing people. I still can't figure out if the people living there are doing it for heritage, tourism, or because they're just dumb and don't realize what opportunities they have on the mainland. I'll probably never know, but at least I got to visit them.
Another day, another border crossing. This time Bolivia. I'm excited, this is supposed to one of the most gorgeous countries in South America. I received some hassle at the border, but nothing I can't handle. So when I got to Copacabana I was eager to keep moving to La Paz so I could meet up with Teresa, Liam, and hang with Danish Christina one last time before she flew out. It's really too bad the border took so long because it was too late to get to La Paz in the daylight. So regrettably I stayed the night in Copacabana. It turned out to be a super fun night because as soon as I got settled down. BJ and I went for a walk on the town, and met our friend from our shipping fiasco, Ian. We had been emailing trying to get together, so it was nice to see him. We all got a beer, and while sitting there, our chick twinsies Ariel and Christina show up. It's going to be a good night, since rum is two bucks a bottle. Everything was tame as our Cartagena reunion went swimmingly. It was definitely a fun night.
I wake up as early as I can with an awful two dollar rum hangover. It really did sound like a good idea at the time. As I'm about to leave I grab a quick coffee at the hotel, and watch the rain start coming down. Ugh. Not really what I was hoping for. Then the hail starts. It was crazy hard hail and coated the ground lightly. Looks like I'm going to wait for this to pass before I head out. So BJ and I watch an episode of How I Met Your Mother and afterwards I shoot out the door because the rain has let up. Little did I know, I would be following that storm all the way to La Paz. It was by far the worst weather I've ridden in. I can handle rain; you get wet, not really the end of the world. But hail, man I just can't ride in that. The hail was just dumping down. It hurt my knees too much to continue riding. I found the best cover I could, a big tree, and decided to wait it out. It's a no go. I waited about fifteen minutes and it only got worse. The ground in every direction was coated in an inch or so of white hail. Time suck it up and carry on. I went maybe fifteen miles an hour getting absolutely pelted by hail the size of rabbit poop. It was not only painful, it was cold as well. The hail would pile up on the seat under my crotch, and despite my best efforts to remove the ice, my balls were frozen. Not fun, but you can only laugh it off and continue on. Eventually it let up enough so that I could mostly dry out before I got into La Paz. Somehow I get lucky again, and even though it's a huge city, I find my hotel almost immediately. Nice, and as soon as I get in my friends Teresa and Liam are napping and hungry. Awesome, time to get warm and recover from a that crazy ass ride.
I spent a few days in La Paz and it was fabulous. It was cheap, had things to do, and since I stayed next door to the party hostel. I got to party as well as sleep. Definitely scored on that one. We walked around the city during the day, and got drunk with other tourists at night, it was splendid.
My time with traveling with Teresa is running short, so we had to decide where we wanted to go to with her last bit of vacation. Some of the big draws in Bolivia are the jungle tours, the death road, and the salt flats. With out really planning our timing, we chose the jungle and the death road. Unbeknownst to us we were making a huge mistake on a bunch of different levels.
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