Bolivia is full of desperate poverty, of subsistence living in the countryside, amongst ruins and terraces full of echos of Aymara and Inca civilizations. They scratch out a living in the most remote of places, sitting all day on the hillsides herding their llama and sheep. A revolution in the 50‘s handed the land back to the campesinos from the landholders; families have their patch, and must contribute time and labour to the community... but they look healthy and happy.
The colonial Spanish period was clearly brutal, and it’s curious the way the indigenous peoples adopted the toffiest of European dress as their own. The Inca shifts were replaced by the multilayered gathered skirts of the Spanish ladies, but are short, for practical reasons and worn with leggins. And they only ever wear sandals, usually made of tyres. The Inca style braiding of their thick black hair continues, but topped with a bowler hat. The style and height of the hat reflects an ancient custom of deforming and elongating the skull, a sign of beauty and high class in pre-columbian times. The hat and the skirts vary from town to town....
And even more curious is the overlay of Catholicism on their traditional religion and beliefs. Their Gods were Apu, the the spirit of the mountains, and Pachamama, mother earth. Apu was to be appeased, to ward off earthquakes and volcanic eruptions; Pachamama embodied rain and fertility. The religious art and statues in the unbelievably ornate churches and cathedrals are a combination of both....the Virgen Maria is often depicted as a life giving mountain; her dress in it’s many forms is always conical or mountain shaped and she seems to rate much more highly than her son;.... the statues of innumerable saints are lavishly dressed and revered, paraded through the streets on elaborate litters on their feast days..... and outside the churches, the abject poverty....
Le Paz is surrounded by snowcapped peaks and seems to spill over the sides of the canyon to the gorge at it’s base....easy to understand why landslides occur here. At 3680m, it’s an effort to walk up and down it’s steep streets. It’s big, bustling, but not unattractive. The markets are full of portly bowlered hatted women selling their wares...they make no effort to solicit custom, and are averse to any photographs...they are not here for the tourists. I sneak a few with my little camera (my big camera has gone on the blink anyway) and take in the hustle and bustle, the colour, the rhythm of life here...the witches market is full of llama fetuses, hung traditionally in indigenous homes. 6’7” Gusite Gary is almost pickpocketed, distracted by having something spilt on his back...
Some in the group elect to do the ‘death ride” on mountain bikes, 64k down a dirt road from a nearby peak, but we only have 1 day here. The museum has a fascinating collection of Inca feathered headdresses and textiles, of ceremonial masks which show remarkable similarity to Chinese dragons, and a curious contemporary display of Chinese workers happiness and solidarity with their Bolivian brothers.The Plaza del Armas is full of pigeons and people, ignoring the odd protest parade and the riot police on most street corners.
We had dinner in an Afrobolivian restaurant, and taste food and culture born of the slave trade; we dance to the wonderful rhythm of African drums....A new Gus girl Juliet, a native of Ghana, teaches us the moves...we say goodbye to many from the group, and pick up a few more for the next leg to Lima.
19th March:
Gus is fixed and ready for the trip to Lake Titicaca, but she still struggles with the hills at altitude (3800m). The air is crisp and clean, the clouds stunning as we catch the most primitive of ferries over the southern part of the lake, (past the parade of what maybe land locked Bolivia’s only 4 sailors!) to the quaint old colonial town of Copacabana, sleeping on the lakes edge ...it’s like a time capsule, steeped in religious ritual, now surviving on tourism, just...
Climbed the hill overlooking the bay (Stations of the Cross on the way), ate the freshest trout from waterside stalls...the morning took us on a boat trip in the rain and freezing cold, to the Isla del Sol in the middle of the lake, and the birthplace of the Incan gods. A 13k walk over the island (up over 4020mand in blazing sun) took us past ancient Inca temple and the puma rock.....the oracles would give guidance to the people after ceremonies involving coca and hallucinogenics....a “face” with a beard in the white rock was thought to be a God, and the reason why the Incan chief thought Pizarro was God when he confronted them....
The views, the skies are spectacular...could be in the Aegean or the Mediterranean
Back to spend the night celebrating Ivan (the driver)’s birthday on the beach watching the sunset...
The following day, we spend more hours in a remote border crossing into Peru, chug onto Pucon, and a visit to the fascinating floating reed islands. The Quechuan people here are wonderfully hospitable and relaxed in their island homes, trying to preserve their way of life through tourism. The bows of their reed boats for the tourists are filled with plastic bottles for floatation now and they themselves use modern boats, but the school and community hall are the only modern buildings.....
I bought an embroidery from one of the needle women.
One more huge day in Gus, rattling over dirt roads, will bring us to Cusco.
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