Monday, Sept. 15, 2003 - 9:59 p.m.
I'd been up late packing the night before. I also had to send an e-mail to the ozzies (Corey, Callie & Trent) to tell them I was going to the jungle and would return on the 20th. They are in Copacabana, stuck there due to the protests. They had a hellish boat ride out to the floating islands on Lake Titicaca. After exploring the islands, on the boat ride back the wind kicked up the waves and they had to stop at another island to take shelter and wait a couple hours. Then when they continued on their way, the boat motor broke down, the bulge pump caught on fire and smoke was everywhere. The fellow passengers were getting sick from the smoke and waves. Some were sea sick, including Callie. Later, Trent realized his day pack had melted because it had been sitting next to the boat motor! Lastly, their boat was 2 hours late returning to port and they all missed the bus out of Puno to Copacabana!
Well, I didn't sleep well the night before, was fighting a cold and excigted about going to the jungle the following day. I kept waking up every hour. Next thing I knew it was 5:30AM! I didn't get my wake up knock on the door as I'd asked the hostal staff. The taxi was supposed to pick me up at this time! I leapt out of bed, turned on the light, apologizing to the Swiss girl (my roommate) and quickly got ready in about 10 minutes. The taxi was outside waiting. It was 5:40AM, I needed to be at the airport at 6:15AM, one hour before my flight. The drive to the airport was 30 minutes. Raul had told me the taxi would be 35 Bolivianos, but the guy charged me 45! I checked in at the airport and found out my flight was delayed 2 hours!
I waited around, wrote in my journal, got breakfast at the airport cafeteria and waited some more. With no explanation of why the flight was delayed, 15 minutes before boarding time I was allowed into the final waiting area. Waiting some more, I saw some other travelers waiting at the airport. I figure they were probably on my flight and maybe even on my tour.
Almost 3 hours after original flight time we took off in a small 12 seater propeller plane. I sat behind the primary pilot on the left hand side and had a great view. The flight time was only 1 hour. I spent most of the time looking out the window. I overheard someone say that take off takes longer here (the highest airport in the world) due to the high altitude and lower air pressure, but I didn't notice, although it makes sense.
After take off I saw the city and surrounding area spread out below us. I could see the surrouding barrios (neighborhoods) of dusty blocks of sheds and junk yards. I also noticed a crowd of people down below blocking a road with their bodies and a small fire next to them. Beyond the "bowl" of La Paz I saw the snow capped mountains in the distance. Occasionally our little plane was jostled by air turbulance. We weren't flying that high and then we headed straight for the mountains. Sometimes we flew through thick pasty clouds and couldn't see anything. My heart in my throat, my life in the hands of the pilots and God, I tried not to imagine (without success) us slaming into a mountainside. Hmmmmmm...I saw that movie "Alive", based on a true stories of survivors of a horrific plane crash in the Andean mountains...where was that? Perhaps Argentina or Chile.
Later on during the flight the mountains gave way to a softer landscape full of trees and green foilage and wide muddy rivers. the plane banked to the right and I looked for the runway, only seeing a grassy clearing. As we approached the ground, it became clear that that was the runway, a grassy clearing.
We landed smoothly and soon were gathered inside the little one room airport. It was hot, maybe 30 degrees, the sun beating down on us. The other passengers were met with their tour guides, but no one was there to meet me. I'd been told I'd be met at the airport. Hot, annoyed and frustrated I got my backpack and found out I could take a minibus into town, they would take me to my tour operator for 5 Bolivianos. So I got inside the bus with 8 others...3 I realized were young 19 year old American Mormon missionaries. You can easily recognize them by their white shirts and name tags. Interestingly enough, two of them were girls that wore long floral dresses. I listened to them chat about middle school dances and having finished high school the year before. I wondered what kind of mission work they were doing in the jungles of Bolivia, they were so young.
We drove along the unpaved dirt road, one side window of the minibus was missing. It was very humid. When we weren't moving, the air was stifling. We passed wooden huts with locals sitting outside watching us, big leafy green plans and lots of green grass. At one point the motor of the minibus died. We sat sputtering as we were passed by another truck and left in a cloud of dust. The driver got the engine started only to have it die again. I was afraid we were going to have to walk into town when the engine rejuvinated and roared and we continued on our way. We drove through town and soon I was dropped off at the Fluvial tour office.
They told me I'd missed my tour group that day who left for the Pampas, when my flight was supposed to arrive at 8:15AM that morning. It was almost noon then. I'd missed my tour due to the plane being delayed. I would have to spend the night in town and start my tour the next day. There were two other female travelers in the office at that time, getting information about tours. I choked back tears with the thought that I'd lost a day of my tour, and had paid for 5. I asked the man what I could do. He said when I return to La Paz I could talk to Raul about getting some money back. My spirits sank, I seriously doubted that would happen. He suggested a hostal nearby and soon I was in a small walk-in sized closet-sized hostal room with a squaky air conditioning fan. I was exhausted and cried myself to sleep.
Several hours later I woke up and on my way to the travel agency I met a fellow traveler, Sue, from Australia, who was looking to book a tour. Back at the office I learned I could change my flight and still get my 5 day tour. I found out then that I was the only person signed up for my tour. I didn't want to go alone and it would be expensive for the tour co. not to have more people. I hoped others would sign up and join me.
I walked around town for a little bit, I was so thirsty! I soon got something to eat and drink at a nearby restaurant. I feel like I'm at the jungle's doorstep. I couldn't wait to start my tour. The one main road in town is paved, the rest are dirt. The most popular form of transportation is puttering motor bikes. A mixture of extranjeros and locals milled about. I also discovered there was no internet due to the satellite connection being down.
When I later returned to the travel agency I found out I was joining another tour group (the two travel agencies are owned by father & son), and would be going to the Pampas, starting at 8:30AM the next day.
Later back in the hostal, before sunset, I went to the large outdoor structure where several hammocks were. There I started talking to another traveler there,an Irish girl who taught English in Cusco for a month. She told me she'd heard that the locals are protesting in & around La Paz again and this time they'd officially announced it to the media. I thought about my ozzie friends, they would probably get stuck in Copacabana a few more days. she also told me about a crazy bus ride from Santa Crus where she watched the driver chew coca leaves, smoke cigarrettes and drink whisky. the road is so dangerous it's imperative that the driver concentrate and use both hands on the wheel. The drive told her he drove this route 3 or 4 nights a week. They couldn't get a day off because they'd be replaced. So the drivers are overworked & probably sleep deprived. No wonder Bolivia has the world's most dangerous roads. My guide book says it thinks it's due to dangerous drivers.
The bugs were biting, it was at dusk, so I returned to my room. I'd already aquired about a dozen little mozzie bites and forgot my benedrill!
