“Whine” Potosi

Wednesday, January 4th, 2006

Traveling, you end up doing many things that are exciting and fun only in recollection. After the wounds have been licked shut and the pain in your lungs does not feel like a knife through the chest anymore – only then you can say with a straight face you would have done it all over again given the opportunity.

In Bolivia, having just done the famous Death Road, we were not exactly in the lets-do-it-again mood. Still, the adrenalin of hurtling down a steep mountain road dotted by shrines commemorating those who fell off the perilous path, with nothing but the brakes of our rental bikes to stop us from going over the edge of a cliff and into the harrowing depths of a canyon swimming in murky clouds was still with us, as were our sore muscles, bruised bottoms, and the soaking wet shoes. In retrospect, all that could have been more or less bearable and fixable if only we did not decide to tackle a nearby 6,088m peak the very next day.

Originally, we didn’t plan to do any extreme climbing until Kilimanjaro in Africa (5,895m high), but when we heard that Huayna Potosi, a 6,088m mountain near La Paz, takes only three days and requires no experience, we were hooked. Actually, to both our surprise, I was even more enthusiastic than my husband Alex. I don’t know what got into me, but I kept thinking about the ice axe and crampons that we would get to use, and how cool would it be to conquer a 6,088m summit. I was like a little girl about to use her new tea-set for the very first time. Alex was not against climbing either. He did keep asking me over and over if I was sure, surprised I felt so passionate about such a demanding physical task, but the fact that this would be an extremely cool experience that would cost us less then Kilimanjaro would, eventually won both of us over, and we booked a guide to lead us up the day after we did the Death Road. If only we knew how we would feel after finally getting off our bikes, we might have taken a day off to take it easy for twenty four hours. Alas, the trip was booked, and we were not the only people in the group going up; so we wore plastic bags over our spare socks, put on our still soaking wet shoes, and set off for the mountain.

In the van to the first of two camps we met the third member of our expedition. Julian was a 22 year old Frenchman who traveled whenever possible and always in the most extreme of ways. Since neither of us had any experience in ice climbing, the original plan was to get to the first camp (4700m) by car, and spend the day on a nearby glacier practicing technical skills for our two day climb to the peak. Next, we would spend the night at the same place, and the next morning head out to high camp. There we would eat lunch and go to sleep at about 5pm in order to wake up at about midnight and climb in the dark for the next seven hours to the peak. The reason the final climb is done at night is because it is now summer time here, and the hot Bolivian summer sun softens the snow and increases the risk of an avalanche. Unfortunately, when we reached the camp, the weather was already so bad that a group of men we met coming back from high camp said they didn’t even attempt the peak since the risk of an avalanche was too great. Cautiously, that day our guide decided to not even take us out for training. Instead, we spent the whole day playing the card game “Asshole” in a tiny room behind a little house belonging to the hydro-electric plant guard. To be honest, it was alright with us. We had a chance to dry off our very wet shoes and rest our sore muscles. Actually, I’m pretty sure we were not even supposed to be there at all – we were allowed to use the bathroom only if there was nobody else near the house; and then, right before we went to sleep, and I went to brush my teeth, I was literally shoved back into the room by the guard because, as he apologetically explained later, the Sheriff was outside the door.

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Tags: climbing, extreme, trekking
Posted in Places»South America»Bolivia | No Comments »

Death Road

Sunday, January 1st, 2006

Change of pace. We have mellowed out long enough and were now ready for some serious action. Even before we entered Bolivia, Shurik was thumbing through the Bolivia section in our guide book and stumbled across something called The Death Road. “Stasya!” He turned to me all excited, “Wanna go up to 4700m on a van and then ride a bicycle downhill 64km on the most dangerous road in the world?” “Ahem… No! Do I look like I have a death wish?” It was an honest response. I haven’t been on a bike since the fifth grade! Now, that was about a week ago and since then the subject didn’t come up until Jurgen asked: “Are you guys doing the Death Road?” To my surprise it took both of us about two seconds to reply “Sure!”, and that very day was spent on searching for the best and cheapest guide to lead us down the mountain. I have to say though; this decision was truly in the spirit of our whole journey. There is a very good Russian saying: “In every joke there is a smidge of truth,” and this saying has been so very true for us. Many things that we have done, including the decision to go around the world itself, started as nothing but a joke. A silly idea that is thrown out there and then actualized against all odds.

Can’t say I wasn’t nervous. They say you don’t forget how to ride a bicycle, but I didn’t believe “them”. All I hoped for were good brakes and for the waterproof garments that were given to us by the guide to actually be waterproof. Well, as usual you can’t always get all you want, but one out of two is still better then none. After they were tuned to my size and strength, the breaks worked pretty well even though at certain points I ended up helping myself along by digging my heels into the ground. The waterproof pants I was given though were a completely different story. The thing is that the first 15km of the Death Road was paved so it was easier to ride on and get used to your bike. However, it was incredibly cold due to the altitude and, to make matters worse, it was raining, and at the speeds we were able to reach on the asphalted road, this rain felt like hail of frozen needles. To say the least, by the end of this first run we were all wet down to our underwear, waterproof pants or not…

Tags: cycling, extreme
Posted in Places»South America»Bolivia | No Comments »