South America Volume III
Here is the next addition from my S. America travels. This one from Rurrenabaque in upper Amazonian Bolivia.
The image above is from the along the shore of the Beni River near Madidi National Park. It was in the evening after a long day of rain had finally cleared off. Taken with my Canon 40D and 500mm f4.
I'm going to try to keep this one as short as possible: After four days
of flight cancellations I managed to make it to Rurrenabaque in the
Bolivian Amazon. But on the third day of cancellations I could take more
of La Paz and so after my fruitless trip to the airport I told the cab to
take me wherever the buses to Coroico left from. I ended up on a street
corner just as a bus was taking off down the Coroico road. I got my bag on
the roof rack and jumped on the bus just in time for it to take off up the
road in a cloud of diesel exhaust. We retraced the steps from the day
before up over the 15,000 foot pass and then plunging down the winding
road. Knowing that Coroico Road has the reputation of being the most
dangerous road in the world, I kept expecting the pavement to end and the
road to narrow and then to plunge off a cliff to my death. None of which
ever happened. Turns out that a new road has been completed in a
neighboring valley, that an Ayamara woman I sat next to on the return
journey to La Paz called the "Camino de Dios" the road of god. Though that
simple statement I learned what it meant for these communities to no
longer need to put their lives at risk just to make a trip to the city. I
arrived in the beautiful town of Coroico about three hours later.
The town is situated on ridge about 200m above the valley floor. The walls
of the valley are a mosaic of cloud forest and pasture with the steep
upper slopes dominated by forest. It is a truly beautiful place. I lugged
my pack up the hill above town for about 20 minutes to a lovely little
hotel called the Hostal Sol y Luna (Hostal Sun and Moon) and immediately
fell in love with the place. It was quiet above town, with views across
the valley and a located in a nice stand of older second-growth
cloudforest with Oropenolas and Purplish Jays in the trees. The air was
fresh and cool with just a hint of that rich tropical humidity. I stayed
for two nights, birding in the mornings, hiking in the afternoon and
socializing with the very nice group of travelers that were staying at the
hotel. (Birding highlights: Versicolored Barbet and Emerald Toucanet).
On the morning I was to head back to the city (the final day of Carnival)
I headed to the bus stop early to find only two buses, both full heading
back to La Paz. The sun was out and I knew this was my best chance for a
flight to the rainforest and so I begged, pleaded and eventually found a
single seat on one of the buses. The following three hours was one of the
most uncomfortable periods of my life, stuck as I was between a huge
Aymara woman and an equally large Bolivian man, on a broken, folding
jumpseat in the middle of a tiny bus packed with 24 souls. I won't
beleaguer the point, but suffice to say I was thrilled to arrive back in
the city (ironic I know).
I grabbed cab and off to airport I went, this time arriving to the good
news that my flight was only delayed not cancelled. And indeed that was
the case, the flight took off two hours late and we crossed over the Andes
with incredible views of Illamani and Illampu (two mountains which
dominate that part of the range. After the mountains the land fell away
into the Amazon and as we descended miles upon miles of forest became
visible. The foothills slowly flattened and we passed over valleys filled
with nothing but forest. It was exquisite, and I was shocked in a pleasant
way to find that the deforestation I so fear had not reached this little
corner of Bolivia. Even arriving in Rurrenbaque, a stone's throw away from
the final foothills, the forest is remarkably intact. This tourist mecca,
with 75% of its economy reliant on travelers apparently understands the
importance of intact forest.
I got off the plane and stepped onto the grass runway to feel the 32C
temps and the sweltering tropical sun. I won't deny it hurt, but in a way
that made me grateful to feel such power, knowing that it was the
Amazonian sun. I found a ride to Rurre and made my way to a simple hotel.
I mentioned that his was the last day of Carnival right? Well what that
means is kids with water guns. Kids on motorcycles with water guns and
water balloons. Kids by the dozens in the back of pickup trucks with water
guns, water balloons and five gallon buckets of water. No one is safe in
the streets. Walking from where the bus dropped me off to the hotel (a
short three blocks) I was hit by no less than four water balloons and was
drenched by the time I made it to the hotel. There I found the a small
pack of travelers scared to venture into the streets and I understood. But
an hours later as the sun began to sink I felt the call of the forest and
decided to brave the streets in a quick dash to the nearby woods. I
excited the building, rounded the corner and found myself face to face
with a menacing group of ten year olds. They were armed, not just with
water pistols, buckets and balloons but ink-filled water pistols, buckets
and balloons. They spotted me and I ran, covering my prized Swarovski
binoculars as I sprinted for safety. They pursued and I saw splatters of
black ink hit the cobblestones around me and then cool wetness hitting my
arms, back and face. Not taking the time to look at the damage I continued
to flee until I was out of range only to find my pack, shorts, legs, arms
and side of my face, covered in dripping, permanent ink. I rinsed my skin
as best I could (the sweat buffering the ink) but the shirt, pack and
shorts will forever bear the scars of this encounter. Carnival in
Rurrenabaque.
I have spent the past couple of days birding in the surrounding forest
where the foothills rise up and exploring the markets and streets of
Rurre, and of course dealing with the inevitable real-life related tasks
(in this case, hiring field crews for next summer- Thanks Internet!). But
this work has not dampened my spirits as tomorrow morning I am off to a
lodge about a three hour boat ride from town. The Mapajo lodge is
community operated run by three native communities of this part of
Amazonia. I'll be spending the next six days exploring the rainforest with
my camera and binoculars, and celebrating my 32nd birthday in a thatched
roof hut miles from anywhere. I'm really looking forward to it.
South America Volume III
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
