¡Muy buenas tardes uno y todo!
It was time to escape the frenetic energy of Boloívian cities and seek refuge in the countryside. Saying adiós to Santa Cruz, I hopped in a taxi for the village of Samaipata, about two and half hours to the west. Set in "the Elbow of the Andes" at about 2,000 meters above sea level, the name Samaipata's sifgnificance comes from Quechua, meaning "rest at heights" or "rest at altitude". On the taxi ride out of town, our driver slowed to a stop behind traffic that was all saorts of discombobulated on both sides of the road. Cars facing the wrong direction, unless you're in the UK, drivers attempting to maneuver around the congestion, motorcyclists actually succeeding at it and pedestrians of all shapes and sizes navegating around the blockage. When I asked one of the other passengers in the car what was going on, the individual simply replied, "bloqueo". Well that explains a lot... After another couple minutes I inquired more specifically of the type of bloqueo and another person answered, "camiones con arena", or "trucks carrying sand". I soon figured out that the workers transporting the sand were not satisfied with their salary and had decided to park their trucks in the middle of the road so their cause might be better heeded. Luckily for us, another taxi driver, of the same company, was aptly parked on the other side of the human-induced road block. So we got out, transferred out persons and baggages and headed on up the valley. I later thought about the possibility of an emergency on the side of the bloqueo that the hospitals were not, and thanked the cosmos that nothing of the sort came to be. When we stopped for gas, the gas stations were chalk-empty as well. Our driver sniffed out a little family run tienda that happened to have a few gallons of the refined crude.
When we arrived in Samaipata, one of the other passengers in the taxi offered me a place to stay at his house about 30 minutes outside of the village. I was leary to accept the offer off-hand, so I asked him a few questions about the place to test the legitimacy. It seems only right to maintain a certain level of healthy skepticism when dealing with new people, but also remembering that if you are completely closed off living in fear, you could miss out on some golden opportunities. This fellow, Ishbar, seemed trustworthy so we hopped on his 150 cc dirt bike and tore off down the road. His wife Simona, their two young daughters, and the dog Lotus were out in the yard when we opened the gate to the small community of Chorillo. If these people would not have so generously taken me in, I'm sure that I would currently hold a different impression of Bolívia. The members of this young familiy were some of the nicest people I've had the opportunity to meet in my journey thus far. I traded some manual labor working in the garden, transplanting flowers and trees, moving dirt and rocks and attempted to unravel an unruly ball of string that ended in a rat's nest bigger than any I've managed to create while fishing. The second day in Chorillo, Ishbar took me on an epic hike. We saw a couple of condors flying majestically above their buzzard cousins, some giant swallows that supposedly migrate from Canada and a bunch of parrots. Hiking up through the entrance of Parque Nacional Amboró, we summited the "grandfather" of mountains in the area with spectacular views of Samaipata and el Muele del Diablo, further afield in the park. Another day we ventured to the El Fuerte Inca ruins that were unlike any I've ever seen in pictures. On the top of a solid rock monolith the ancient peoples used this place for rituals, living and trading. Seats and stairs of all sizes were carved into the rock face that allowed for a perfect view of the flat field below. In the center at the very top of the rock formation is the "Priests' Chamber" where tey carried out rituals involving water and quite possibly the fermented corn drink, chicha. The formation is itself not only oriented from East to West, but also served as a "rest stop" and trading location for the tribes that were traveling from the altiplano, or high plateau of the Andes, the Amazon Basin and even from further South or East. The feature that struck me as the most intriguing were two rectangular channels, roughly 30 meters long and a half meter wide, that were also situated with an East to West orientation. Connecting the channels were zig-zag patterns that probably represented one of the three types of serpiente cascabel, or rattlesnake that are present in the area. The diamond-back rattlesnake pattern supposedly creates a spectacular mirage effect when inundated with water and viewed from the West towards the rising sun. Many reconstructed rock walls surround the incaica rock top that were probably used for housing, markets and storage. The last feature to be viewed on the self-guided walking tour is a hole, about a meter wide in diameter whose length is yet to be determined. On a hill adjacent to El Fuerte there are five holes similar to the one just described. Plans are in motion to discover the function(s) of the holes. Tunnels? Wells? Mines? Only time will tell...
My week in the mud house constructed entirely by hand was refreshing. I had the place all to myself with a sink, chair and table, counter, fireplace and possibly the best of all, a hammock on the first floor. Sleeping in the loft directly above left me well-rested and recharged to continue the journey. In the mornings, flocks of parrots would swoop, noisily into the peach orchard on the other side of the ravine. Lightning bugs flashed with a duration much more brief than the ones I remember catching as a kid. There were two enormous, resident spiders that I kindly expelled to the out of doors. Life in the country was hard to leave, indeed.
I made a $461.70 U.S. dollar blunder since my last entry that I must confess. Apparently you can't actually buy a round-trip ticket from San Francisco to Lima and utilize only the return half. I could blame the airline companies but then where would I be? Right back at square one, that's where. So, I booked a one-way flight from Lima to San Francisco for nearly double the price. Nothing like learning lessons the hard way right? Well, I guess it is better than spending all my money and having to hitch up North through Panamá back home.
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