"Lay it on Rio" - Brazil April 24 - May 3

I arrive in Rio at 10:30pm On Friday April 24 after a flight from Iguazu Falls and a long layover at the airport in Buenos Aires. I was a bit concerned about navigating through Rio at this hour on my own (its reputation preceding it). Fortunately, at the taxi stand I met a charming couple from Sao Paulo who were arriving in Rio for a wedding. We split a cab and had a nice chat in English and Spanish. My hotel was in Ipanema, about 3 blocks from the famous beach and a decidedly upscale part of Rio. When I arrived at 10:30pm and FRiday night the neighbourhood bars and restaurants were in full swing.

I checked in and discovered that the Hostal Bonita was actually the former home of Antonio Carlos Jobim who wrote the song "The Girl from Ipanema". It was a new and funky upscale hostel with a mostly friendly crowd from Europe, US and other parts of Brazil.

I eventually got a nice private room with balcony. But my first night was spent in a room off the pool deck which became noisy when people arrived back from the bars at around 4:00am. (I am too old for this!) Breakfast each morning was served in a courtyard around the pool and I met some fine folk from Belgium, Israel, France and the US as well as a guy from Sao Paolo named Rodrigo, in town for the weekend, who sent me pictures later when I had forgotten my camera one day.

I initially spent 4 days in Rio, left for Paraty, down the coast, for 2 days, and returned to Rio for 3 more days before flying back to Ottawa. My Spanish was next to useless though. I could not understand anything of spoken Portuguese, although I could sometimes pick through a written text. I ocasionally met someone who understood a few words of Spanish, but it was the only place in South America where I met hotel guest staff who spoke no English or Spanish. I suppose with Brazil's 70 Million people, the tourism market for many establishments is drawn from Brazilians alone.

Rio is 2 very different realities. There is the famed beach strip of Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblon and the day and nightlife they are famous for. It is surrounded by the iconic hills and national park. It contrasts markedly with the old city replete with beautiful but crumbling architecture, and miles of blackened tenement housing and dangerous streets, which are, in turn, ringed by Rio's famous favelas, detitute slums controlled by organized crime. While most of my time was spent in the former, I did safely explore some parts of the latter as well.

First the beaches. Wow!! This is what Rio is famous for and I can only assume that the IOC as similarly impressed when they awarded Rio the Olympic Games. I would be curious to know what inducements Rio offered up to the International Olympic Committee. The IOC was making its site visit to Rio when I was there and I came upon their obvious presence at the Copacabana Palace Hotel. Olympic signs were everywhere. But some people I spoke with were not optimistic they would overcome Chicago's bid and the Obama factor.

On the weekend the beautiful beaches are packed with people - a disproportionate number of them stunningly attractive and fit and wearing the most revealing of swimsuits. And all along the beach, groups of guys are bouncing soccer balls in thie football-crazed country. The surf is huge and most people stay very close to shore. There are many surfers though lying on their boards and waiting for the choice waves. We are warned repeatedly not to take anything to the beach as, despite the appearance to the contrary, the beaches are favourite places for theft. And I see groups of young people lying in wait for someone to leave something unattended. The streets arpound Ipanema are similarly crawling with beautiful people. And I see them in the supermarket and upscale shops around Ipanema wearing nothing but a speedo with a cellphone tucked into the back.

I spend some time each day on the beach, not that I am much of a beach bum, but that is what ya do in Rio. I bring lots of sunscreen, a hat and a book - not that I read it much. I buy a snazzy Rio beach sheet and find a good spot. I strike up a conversation with two friendly Montrealers who are agog at the sights around them as they drink numerous caipiranas. On one day the surf was so high that a helicopter went p and down the beach scooping up folks that had gotten trapped on the wrong side of the surf.

I booked a city tour one day which was a fun time with a lively group of young people. Sights included the famed Christo Redentor, where we waited in line for an hour or so, a hike up Sugar Loaf Mountain, the famous mosaic steps and the aquaduct at Lapa, as well as the national park which surrounds Rio. We had a great tour guide with a fab sense of humour who took us for lunch at a typical Brazilian restaurant high up in Santa Theresa. I had feijoada, a dish with beans and several types of meat. It was okay but I should have known to avoid it when the lone Brazilian on the tour opted for pizza.

Another day I took a tour of one of the favelas of Rio with a group of 6, mostly Israelis. I was of two minds doing this, but it offered a rare look at real life for millions who eke out a living here. This is the reality depicted so well in the movie City of God.

We arrived in the favela on back of motorcycles, since cars are too big to navigate the narrow streets. Houses are piled on top of one another in a hodge-podge maze and services are haphazard at best. It is all unregulated and no one pays any taxes, hence the City provides no services. Yet the people who live here provide the cheap labour for the hotels and restaurants along the beach front and are vital to the economy of Rio. It is an uncomfortable symbiosis which seems to endure with no real effort to address the myriad problems. While organized crime gangs control the favelas, the majority of people living here are simply trying to survive and provide for their children. They must face regular shoot-outs between police and gang members where people are killed indiscriminately. Fortunately nothing of the sort happened on the day we were there, although we were warned at several locations not to take pictures.

We stopped in to patronize a couple of the local businesses in the favela and also a day care centre funded by a European NGO. We also visited a youth-run artists' co-op where I bought a small painting done by one of the kids. There are small signs of hope in this vast arena of destitution. In the end, I was glad I had seen this - a real counterpoint to life in Ipanema.

But the highlight of my trip to Rio was reconnecting with Bruno, a fellow student in the Mountain School in Guatemala who was studying architecture in Rio. Bruno had given me his coordinates and when I contacted him he suggested that we go out for the evening. He drove to my hotel - a long distance from his apartment in Niteroi and introduced me to his partner of 2 years, Roberto.

Over the course of the evening we had a beer - shope - or three and I learned all about this impressive, ambitious and multilingual couple. They also gave me some real insights into life in Rio. Bruno was doing an internship with a homelessness NGO in Rio, one of very few focusing on using innovative architecture to address the homessness problem in Rio. Roberto was teaching German and looking to continue his studies in Europe. In fact, they were both hoping to live in Europe for a time. They took me on a tour of the famed nightlife of Rio including several bars and salsa clubs in Lapa and Santa Theresa before having a nice dinner in a tiny little Brazilian restaurant. I was grateful for their generous hospitality.

I also enjoyed Paraty, which turned out to be a gorgeously restored Portuguese colonial town and weekend retreat for residents of Sao Paolo and Rio. It was also something of a haven for artists, writers and bohemians in the 60s, 70s and 80s, a fair number of which became targets for anti-communist police forces at various stages of Brazil's stormy political history. Today things are calm and beautiful. I checked into a restored colonial Inn filled with antiques and fresh flowers, a charming place to end my time in Brazil. I took a full-day boat tour and met a guy from France and a couple from USA/Italy. We visited several islands to swim and snorkel and had an excellent seafood lunch.

Next day it was back to Rio by bus along this beautiful coastline. I hit the beach again, had some good meals in Ipanema restaurants and enjoyed good company of fellow travellers. And I saw a few more of the sites of Rio, including the former legislature when Rio was capital, and got a good sense of this exciting place. Next time I will try to visit during Carnaval, the pride of Rio, where samba groups from the favelas put their all into the competition to be Rio's top samba group, a hugely prestigious honour here.

Rio is physically perfect, has an amazing beach life and a great vibe, but is a city straining with insoluble social problems. Nevertheless, I had a feeling of optimism that Rio is on the upswing - as naive as that might be. The recent awarding of the Olympic Games to Rio speaks to that optimism - and also to the fears of many that it will only further aggravate the problems of Rio's millions of destitute.

I left for the airport during a football game between two Rio teams - Flamenco and Buttafuoco - that had galvanized this football-mad city. At the airport, people were crowded around television sets at the fast-food outlets and huge cheers rang out whenever a goal was scored.

My flight back was via Sao Paolo, a city which I had heard good and bad things about but was unable to visit this time. After 5 months on the road I was glad to be heading home for a brief stay before new adventures in the Middle East. I had just a taste of Brazil, one which surely whetted my appetite for more.

What's new Buenos Aires? April 15-24

I arrive in Salta on April 15 by plane from Santa Cruz, making a sudden transition from the rough and tumble of Bolivia to the brash and Eurocentric culture of Argentina. Salta is gorgeous -- sumptuous colonial architecture in brilliant pinks and reds and an artsy, bohemian feel.

I meet a friendly middle-aged Polish businessman on the plane who regularly visits Argentina to replenish his wine collection. We share a taxi to my hotel, a grand old colonial number on the main square, and he invites me to lunch at his favourite restaurant where his favourite wine will be waiting. Unfortunately, I cannot find the restaurant and grab an overpriced bite in one of the cafes lining the main square.

Since I have only one day in Salta before my pre-booked ticket to Buenos Aires (who knew South America was so big?) I begin a tacky tourist dash to see the Lonely Planet highlights of Salta, dodging the wine and bus tour touts along the way.

First stop is the teleferic which takes me by goldola up to the top of Cerro San Bernardo for beautiful views over the city and surrounding mountainous countryside. This is wine country but unfortunately my schedule will not allow me time to visit neighbouring wine region where Malbec is the grape of choice.

Later I visit the spectacular colonial church of San Francisco and the Museum of Archaeology. The highlight in the latter are 3 perfectly preserved 6500 year-old mummies of infants sacrificed as part of an ancient Inca ritual. The corpses are kept in specially constructed transparent temperature-controlled freezers. The mummie were found in the mountains surrounding Salta. Had a nice late meal -- steak of course.

Next morning I embark for the fabled city of Buenos Aires. I had booked a room in a classic bed and breakfast run by three affable guys. It was on the fringe of Palermo Viejo - the upscale/bohemian enclave now divided into Palermo Chico, Palermo Hollywood and Palermo Soho. Oh so trendy!!

My B and B was very Parisian, in keeping with the aesthetic of the entire city. Miguel, Marcello and Roberto and 2 dogs - a poodle and a Boston terrier - maintain a stylish place, complete with croissants and confiture at breakfast and far too many Gitanes. Are we sure we are not in Paris?

The streets in this area are beautiful with many high-end boutiques and stylish restaurants and clubs, and pricey condos. Go around the corner though and things can get rough real quick. And as expected I saw many of the beautiful people Buenos Aires is famous for. Cosmetic surgeons are everywhere here: Buenos Aires reportedly claims the highest rate of plastic surgery in the world as they strive to maintain youthful European good looks. The slender bodies and tight faces everywhere - including on the President - indicated that body image is a major fixation here. And like Paris, dogs and "le chocolat" are everywhere too.

A real highlight of my time in Buenos Aires was meeting up with Ken from Vancouver and Johannah from Ottawa with whom I had previously worked on youth employment issues in the Government of Canada. We spent many hours strolling the streets of Recoleta and Palermo. Over a bottle or three of fine red wine we dissected the quirks, politics, and history of Argentina and related our various travel adventures and gossip from home.


Having figured out that the main meal is lunch, lasting from 12:00 or so to late afternoon, three of us and their Argentine veterinarian friend Pablo headed for a classic Argentinean steak lunch at one of the chicest and delectable places in town: La Cabrera. It did not disappoint - a groaning feast of flesh with wine, and trimmings which took us to 4:00pm. Marvellous!

Of course, Buenos Aires is also known as the place where the tango ("the vertical expression of a horizontal desire") was invented. Having skated Argentine tangos in ice dance competitions over the years, I had to visit the shrine of tango in the Italian district at the south end of Buenos Aires named La Boca.

The colourfully painted tin houses are a picturesque backdrop in what is now a somewhat touristy area where tango dancers will dress you and pose with you in full tango expression. I took the bait and got a picture taken with a tango dance instructor. Okay, I do become a tacky tourist now and again.

My other tango experience was an unforgettable evening at Piazzolla Tango, a cabaret style tango dinner and show at a beautifully restored cabaret theatre. The show was a classic with a company of 8 superb tango dancers and full orchestra and singers specializing in the music of famous Argentine tango composer Astor Piazolla. Should I skate tango again this will shed a whole new light on the experience.

Of course, Eva Peron must also figure in any trip to Buenos Aires and I made a point of visiting the Casa Rosada on the Playa Mayor where Evita made impassioned speeches to the huddled masses as wife of President Juan Peron. She also died of cancer here - a saint to many, a shameless opportunist to others. I also visited her burial place at the incredible Recoleta Cemetery, modelled on Pere Lachaise in Paris, where the stately families of Buenos Aires bury their dead in magnificent mausoleums, some of which are practically cathedrals.

I spent 5 days in Buenos Aires and made sure to spend a lot of it just strolling the Paris-like boulevards, admiring the architecture, lingering over coffee and pastries in beautiful cafes, visiting art galleries, strolling craft markets and people watching, a fave activity of all Portenos. I also took in some of the incredibly late night life here where dinner is never before 9:30 and clubs do not start rocking until 1:00am. BA is a city to return to despite its horrific past.

I left Buenos Aires to catch a flight to Iguazu Falls on the border with Brazil. This is the largest falls in the Americas and a huge tourist draw in South America. Unlike Niagara, it is buried in the jungle and is a national park shared by both Argentina and Brazil. There are some 250 separate cataracts, requiring many vantage points to fully appreciate. I spent a couple of nights at the neighbouring town of Puerto Iguazu to properly view the falls from both sides.

On the Argentina side a range of trails through the jungle and catwalks allows you to get very close to the falls and feel the mist. On the Brazilian side, which required several changes of bus, a border crossing, changing of money etc., I was able to see the full expanse of the falls from a distance and fully appreciate the enormous scale. Of course both sides encourage you to spend as much time (and money) as possible on their side. I think I liked the Brazilian side best since the panoramas and rainbows were so beautiful. Unfortunately I did not have time to visit the ruins of the Jesuit Missions in the area, made famous in the film The Mission.

It was a quick trip through parts of Argentina but it gave me an impression - a good one - and is definitely a country I will plan to visit again.

Tracking Che in Peru and Bolivia - March 25 to April 14

I was not following exactly Ernesto 'Che' Guevara's famous 1952 motorcycle trip through South America. But I did happen upon many of his stops. And I even slept in his room in Sucre, Bolivia! My visit to Peru and Bolivia was greatly enriched by reading Che's Motorcycle Diaries as I moved around South America. While much had changed since Che's time, other things -- the ancient cities of Cusco and Macchu Pichu, the tough agrarian life of the people, and the poverty -- persist as they have for centuries.

Peru and Bolivia offered the well-known and deservedly popular wonders of Macchu Pichu and Lake Titicaca. They also offered humble, gentle and proud people who are more than happy to let the world know more about their country.

My route took me from Quito by plane to Lima, Peru and to Cusco for the Macchu Pichu trek. From Cusco I bused to Puno on Lake Titicaca before crossing the border to Bolivia where I stayed first in Copacabana. Next stop was La Paz, highest capital city in the world, followed by a plane trip to Sucre. Bused to Potosi for couple of days and returned to Sucre to catch a flight to Santa Cruz and another to Salta, Argentina. It was a lot of travel in a short span of time, complicated ever so slightly by occasional but visits from "Montezuma", making bus trips longer than 6 hours decidedly risky!

So what were the highlights of this leg?

Cusco and Macchu Pichu

Gordon, a friend from Ottawa, met me in Lima to join me on the trek to Macchu Pichu with our Peru Treks group. We arrived by early morning plane in Cuzco in overcast skies. We checked into the 400 year old Hotel Marqueses, formerly a Spanish colonial mansion and loaded with atmosphere. The altitude of Macchu Pichu (up to 4200 metres above sea level) requires a period of climatization in Cuzco before attempting the trek. The hotel staff helped us ease into it by greeting us with coca leaf tea. The locals swear it is the best thing for altitude sickness, and anything else that might be troubling you, and chew it incessantly. They are none too happy that the US War on Drugs tried to eradicate coca leaf production.

We spent three days in Cusco, taking a couple of bus tours to spectacular Inca sites in the Sacred Valley. We also visited a traditional Peruvian weaving cooperative and soaked up the atmosphere in this beautiful part of the world. We admired and then dodged the endless alpaca wool and "Inca Massage" sales pitches everywhere in Cusco, ate some good pre-trek meals and got our lungs in shape for the 4 day trek to come. We also enjoyed the hospitality of the affable hotel staff. Our female server, apparently single but of marriageable age, expressed great interest in our marital status. The male server, Achilles, thought it would be excellent to have a North American as the godfather of his first child. We amusedly declined both offers.

Since the Inca Trail can only be done on a group tour, we opted for Peru Treks, one of the top-rated, locally-owned trekking companies. We were not disappointed. They supplied the tents, sleeping bags, cooks, food, and all the equipment. It was transported to the meal stops and campsites by the friendly and incredibly hard-working porters. We would arrive at each stop to find the tents set up and the cooks whipping up amazing feasts. We were constantly astounded at what they could produce in such conditions.

We met our group of 16 trekkers and 20 porters when we arrived at Ollantaytambo our departure point. Our young, hyperenergetic and fun group hailed from Australia, the UK, Germany and Canada. The tour leader was the crazy Quechuan Ronnie and his able sidekick Puma. They provided detailed interpretation of the Inca sites and flora and fauna along the trail, not to mention lots of laughs and a few too many ghost stories. (these left even the most cynical of us sleeping with a knife under our pillow - ya just never know!)

At a couple of points, Ronnie, whose Quechuan ancestry is directly descended from the Incas, engaged us in a couple of sacred Inca ceremonies. He also let loose in some Spanish-bashing, sparing no fury for the incidious destruction of the Inca civilization and the carnage of the Inca population at the hands of the Spanish Conquistadors.

The Inca Trail, while now quite popular, is far from a walk in the park. It is 3 and a half days of hard hiking at very high altitude, on variable and often challenging terrain. But the reward of high trecking in the stunning Andes Mountains and the mystical feeling of tracing the steps of the ancient Incas along the same impossible trails they built 500-1000 years ago is indescribable. The scenery is truly magnificent and worth the effort, even without the reward of Machu Picchu at the end.

On our last night the cook made and decorated a cake to celebrate our achievement and a little ceremony ensued whereby each of the porters received a gratuity and said a word of thanks. Our thanks and appreciation to them was quite sincere and we tipped them generously; we were in awe of the huge loads they carried every day to enble us to hike these passes in a modicum of comfort.

At the end, after a mad 3 hour pre-dawn scramble through damp conditions, we were rewarded with the sight of the lost Inca city of Machu Picchu, a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the most iconic vistas in the world. Of course, our sunrise first view was marred by a fog as thick as pea soup, as we say in Newfoundland. But it lifted shortly to reveal Machu Picchu in all its splendour. The picture on the right is the Canadian contingent - Gordon and me with a couple from Calgary. I am the only non-doctor in this group - 1 PHD and 2MDs!

We spent several hours walking around the site, appreciating the stunning views, learning about the various buildings and enjoying the cameraderie of our group which had bonded well over the 4 days. We were amazed by the incredible feats of engineering in building these roads and buildings, and the aqueducts snaking hundreds of miles to ensure fresh water at these heights. But much about this site remains a mystery. The extent of the Inca presence is also a mystery and archaeologists continue to find new sites. There is strong evidence that other cities as extensive as Machu Picchu are yet to be discovered.

Machu Picchu was crowded with tourists, as expected for one of the top tourist sites in South America and one of the newly proclaimed Wonders of the World. Most tourists arrive by bus up the switchback road from the town below. But that did not diminish the thrill of hiking to it via the Inca trail and experiencing the sight of Machu Picchu as an Inca traveller would have 800 years ago

Our descent brought us to the tourist trap of Aguas Calientes, notable only for the fantastic hot springs, of which we took full advantage, and the train back to Ollantaytambo, where we caught a bus back to Cusco in the teeming rain.

Back in Cuzco Gordon and I had our first good sleep in 4 days. Next day I packed up and bid farewell. He was off with the group to sample one of the local delicacies we had avoided to date - guinea pig!! (I heard later that it did not go so well.) He was to fly back to Ottawa in the next couple of days.

Truly a devil for punishment, I caught a cab to the bus station to begin the next leg of my journey and headed south toward Bolivia. I was already missing Gordon's great companionship (and boffo medical kit!!) as I adjusted back to being a solo traveller in a strange land.

Lake Titicaca

My bus ride to Puno on Lake Titicaca allowed me to speak Spanish again. I had a great chat with my seatmate, a primary school teacher in rural Peru who was returning from a bicycle trip with students in Cusco and region. He was returning early because he had fallen off the bike and slightly injured himself. The bus passed through the beautiful Altiplano with mountains on both sides. We passed llamas and alpacas and fields of quinoa where women laboured in huge skirts and bowler hats. Later I had fun with three kids who were struck by the odd-looking white guy on the bus and wanted to chat. I snapped a picture of Nando, Blanca and Bryanna who were fascinated by my camera which I let them use.

Next morning I caught a boat from Puno to the Islas Flottantes - the floating islands on which live over 2000 of the Ayamara indigenous group, still maintaining these reed islands as they have for centuries. It was a bizarre experience with the natives performing a show of traditional dance and singing in several languages as the boat pulled up. It felt slightly exploitative, although a key source of income for these people is the money they earn from tourists. No doubt tourism has had a huge positive and negative impact on these people.

Back in Puno, I caught another bus later that afternoon to the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca. The border crossing was a surprisingly fast and efficient process involving two separate stops on either side and a walk across "no man's land". I decided to set down roots for a few days in the town of Copacabana - not the Brazilian beach resort of Barry Manilow fame, but the most famous Catholic pilgrimage site in Bolivia.

I managed to get a room in a funky budget hotel called La Cupola on a hill overlooking Lake Titicaca and spent 3 days there, meeting lots of travellers, mainly from Europe and Australia. On one of the days I took a boat trip to Isla Del Sol, in the middle of Lake Titicaca - a very pastoral setting, almost like a Greek island, with ruins of temples dating back 3000 years.

The highlight for me in Copacabana had to be the blessing of the cars. No doubt priests from an earlier age, noting the high number of car accidents, the treacherous roads throughout Bolivia and the great attachment Bolivianos have for their vehicles, saw an opportunity in blessing cars. These blessings happen every Sunday after mass and the cars are decorated with brightly coloured ribbons and flowers. The family typically gathers around the vehicle, prayers are said, holy water is sprinkled, a bottle of champagne is broken over the car and a donation is given. The priest will also bless a replica of the car, or truck or bus, which apparently has the same effect.

In Holy Week, which was only days away, Copacabana is the final destination of a 3-day pilgrimage that thousands of devout Bolivianos make from La Paz.

La Paz

After battling back a bout of diarrhea, I decided by Tuesday April 7 that I was ready for the bus trip to the capital city of Bolivia. La Paz is the highest capital city in the world at 3200 metres above sea level. Crossing the altiplano by bus, La Paz emerges out of nowhere and the high-rises and houses cascade downward in a deep gorge. La Paz is one chaotic city. How "full on" it was became immediately apparent as my taxi from the bus station had to divert around a series of street demonstrations that are a daily occurrence here. In fact, the next day I awoke to find riot police blocking the road to the main square where the Congress and the President's residence are located. The young guy working the desk at my hotel delighted in showing me his action shots of the protest and even boasted that he had recently been tear-gassed at a demo (Does this sound like a scene from "Rent"?) Apparently electing a socialist President in Evo Morales had not diminished the protests, which Bolivianos feel demonstrate the vibrancy of their democracy.

La Paz is a challenging city - due to the hilly terrain, the protests the traffic, the poverty and evidently some street crime. It remains a stubbornly poor country with a small middle class and elite. But there is some evidence that the broadened access to education and health care brought about by the current government is having some effect and there is hope that oil and mineral reserves can help to advance this hard luck, landlocked country. Certainly Evo retains the support of the poor majority, despite the corruption that appears rife in the Government.

For young, restless and fearless backpackers, the highlight of a trip to La Paz is the opportunity to careen down the terrifying, single lane, mountain-hugging slope known as "The Most Dangerous Road in the World" on a mountain bike. I met many young crazies who did just that and proudly sported their T-shirt to prove it. I steered clear.

I was in La Paz for the Maundy Thursday procession which brings thousands of the faithful out to process through the strets from Church to Church viewing the garishly costumed and lit saints in carefully assembled displays. As they exit the last Church, they are rewarded with a courtyard full of stalls selling delicious-looking cakes and pastries. I skipped the procession and went straight to the pastries!

Sucre

It took me two tries on succcessive days to get a flight from La Paz to Sucre. The first was cancelled due to typically high winds from the mountains around Sucre that play havoc with airline schedules. I finally got out and checked into the grandly named "Grand Hotel" in Sucre. Sucre is the historic and actual capital of Bolivia and seat of the Supreme Court, as the locals quickly point out, while La Paz is the administrative capital. It is dramatically calmer, cleaner, and more elegant than La Paz and boasts the largest collection of colonial architecture in the country, centered around the beautiful white Parque Central.

After settling into my very comfortable $15 room set around a gorgeous courtyard, I noticed a plaque outside my door noting that El Commandante Che Guevara had secretly stayed in my very room during a visit in 1966. It was at this time that Che was organizing an armed resistance movement among the poor in Bolivia, and planning a revolution akin to the Cuban revolution that he had led with Fidel Castro in Cuba. He was by then a hunted man and his ill-fated efforts led to his capture and assasination by the US-backed Bolivian army. Che's exploits in Bolivia are documented in Part 2 of the recently-released movie "Che", now available on DVD. I had a peaceful night's sleep, undisturbed by the ghost of Che Guevara.

I did a day trip from Sucre to Tarabuco, a small indigenous village with a great Sunday crafts market. People still wear unusual traditional dress here with richly coloured hand-made embroidery. Met a nice American woman on the bus who was travelling for 5 months in South America while awaiting her wedding to a GI stationed in Iraq. It was Easter Sunday - kind of a hard day to be away. But in this town there was hardly an Easter bunny to be seen. although I did find some chocolate eggs! Our bus trip got interrupted with the first flat tire of my trip (photo above) which was quickly repaired. I actually made a rare purchase here - an embroidered jacket.

Potosi

Not wanting to do a 24-hour bus ride to Salta, Argentina, I decided to wait around to get the next available flight out from Sucre. Since that was not for 3 days I decided to head to the mountainous town of Potosi, the highest city in the world at over 4000 metres above sea level. Potosi is also the site of the infamous Cerro Rico silver mines.

As the bus pulled into this cold, bleak and damp town, I asked myself why I was not seeing a few more glamorous -- and warm -- destinations. Ah...... but they were still to come. I was not alone in Potosi though. Many intrepid backpackers head here to witness first hand the horrors of the silver mines and the historic spendours of what was, in the 17th and 18th centuries, the richest city in South America.

I booked a private room in the Koala Hostel and met some Irish, Brits, Aussies and a sole American who was travelling in South America while awaiting a turnaround in the economy after losing his marketing job in New York City. Most folks were preparing to do a tour of the silver mines. I had seen the film The Devil's Miner in Sucre and decided that I could skip that tourist attraction. This moving film depicted the life of one young miner who at 12 years old was the sole breadwinner for his family, working long hours in horrendous conditions to earn meagre wages. The film noted that an estimated 8 million people, mostly indigenous workers and black slaves from Africa, lost their lives in the mines or in silver processing, since the opening of the mines in the 16th century. Today the average lifespan of a miner is 40 years, most dying from silicosis. It was astonishing to me that this continued today.

I viewed the mines from above ground and toured this strange but intriguing town. I visited the historic mint which for a time in the 18th and 19th centuries produced silver coins for most of South America and Europe. The tour guide, thinking I was American, registered her dismay that an American treasure hunter who had recently discovered millions of dollars worth of Potosi coins on a sunken galleon, was able to keep his treasure, sending only one solitary coin back to the mint in Potosi. When I explained that I was Canadian she said, "It is all the same." I politely disagreed, but decided this was not the time to try to explain Canadian-American differences.

The kids in the picture on the left are Bolivian students touring the Mint in their school uniforms.

I also toured a 400-year old Carmelite convent, notable for the ornate decoration dating from the prosperous past of Potosi. The historic convent also vividly depicted the torturous lifestyle endured by the nuns in search of ever more creative means of flagellation to thereby enter the kingdom of heaven. The convent continues to function today, albeit in more comfortable conditions. I had a nice chat with a young novice who told me that "grace a Dios" they had recently experienced an influx of 8 new nuns, giving them renewed hope for the future.

Having seen all of what I wanted to see in Potosi, I left by bus to return to Sucre. The bus was filled with coca-leaf chewing Bolivians. My seat mate was an engaging young woman who was completing an engineering degree and was in Potosi to compete in a volleyball tournament. She was very interested in Canada, hoping perhaps to do her Masters degree somewhere in Canada.

I arrived back in Sucre in time to catch my plane to Santa Cruz. It was a whistlestop here in this city, known to be the headquarters of the oil industry in Bolivia. The posh shops and swank cars stood in sharp contrast to the rest of Bolivia. The heat here in the middle of the jungle was another big change from Potosi. Next morning my Taca flight carried me effortlessly to Salta Argentina, thereby avoiding a 24 hour bus journey.

It was a fast trip through Bolivia but I saw and learned much. I found it pleasantly untouristed, the people generally welcoming and friendly. Unlike Peru, travellers here are greeted with curiosity and restraint. It is a very beautiful country where for the first time in many years there is a real sense of hope that things will get better. Whether that hope is misplaced remains to be seen.