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.