Salt, Sweat, and a Sea (of sorts)

Visiting the Cementerio de Trenes.
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Reluctantly, I eventually pulled myself away from the clutches of La Paz.  I had earned the comfortable status of "long term guest" at my hostel and knew the city as though it was my own, so it was a difficult decision to leave.  However, the end of my travels had appeared on the horizon and time's ticking was growing louder every day.  Thankfully, I had help in leaving the capital I had grown to adore.  Bolivia's southern region is pocketed with marvels natural and manmade alike, and to miss them would be a shame indeed.

Ghost train hovers above the desert.
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The Natural Wonders of the World are currently being voted upon by citizens across the globe, and Bolivia has a strong contender near its border with Chile and Argentina.  When the Andes first formed, they trapped some of the ocean in Bolivia.  This prehistoric salt lake eventually evaporated, leaving behind a few small puddles and several salt pans including the 12,000 sq km Salar de Uyuni.  For three days, I toured this vast expanse of odd terrain and wondered how I'd ever had trouble leaving the urban jungle of La Paz.

The land was as varied as each of its 4000 meters above sea level.

Harvested salt makes a rather comfortable seat.
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My group of six visited petrified coral gardens and stayed in hotels built entirely of salt.  We ate lunch with the flamingos at Laguna Colorada and watched sunrise pierce the steamy spouts of the geyser basin.  Our playgrounds were the rusted corpses of the Uyuni train graveyard and the desert forest of the Valle de las Rocas, including the well-known Arbol de Piedra.  From the pre-Inkan mummies in the Cementerio de los Chuyllupas to the stereotypical but always entertaining photographs which only the infinite flatness of the salar can produce, the three-day experience was as varied as each of its 4000+ meters above sea level.  My only wish was for the attractions to be more closely set to one another so the majority of those days did not have to be spent in transit.

Visiting what is known as the illegal salt hotel.
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Not far from this high desert wonderland is Potosí, the world's highest city (4070m).  Being a title seeker, I couldn't rightfuly ignore this place being only eight hours away.  Far more important than its elevation is Potosí's history of wealth and tragedy.  The Cerro Rico mine was once the wealthiest silver deposit in the world.  By the end of the 18th century, the ore flowing from its veins had underwritten the Spanish economy and entirely funded its incredibly large armada.  Terrifyingly, it was also the cause of an estimated eight million slave deaths due to frequent accidents and exposure to toxins.

I was getting hungry by this point, so I ate one of my fellow tour goers.
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With three people from my Salar de Uyuni trip, I toured the now cooperative mines.  We first visited the Mercado de los Mineros to purchase gifts for the subterranean laborers we would meet:  coca leaves, 96% alcohol, tobacco, and my personal favorite, dynamite.  We then donned the necessary protective gear from head to toe, asked for protection from Pachamama, and, with the guidance of our ex-miner guide, Marco, descended into the darkness of the devil's domain.  The lack of space was stifling and the working conditions appalling, but I loved every moment of my two hours in the  mountain's belly.  I helped miners shovel loose rock and push carts down century-old track.  We paid homage to the various idols and visited with several hard-working individuals.  It was one of the best guided tours I've experienced in South America, even if we hadn't detonated dynamite as a finale.

Canelo, a three-month-old male howler, arrived just days before I left.
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Sucre was as beautiful as it was rumored to be.  Once named Plata for the wealth of silver responsible for its development, Bolivia's other capital (its judicial one) is not to be missed.  Far more deserving than the two days I could give her, Sucre's architecture, culture, and weather should be a substantial component of any travel itinerary.  For the first time since Brazil, shorts, sandals, and ice cream cones were the de facto standard.  Whether walking through the frenetic and savory Mercado Central or just having a good sit in idyllic Parque Bolivar or the decadent Plaza 25 de Mayo, the city will surely please the senses.  Casa de Libertad illustrates Sucre's historic significance while the Mirador Recoleta is a tangible reminder to its current greatness.  It is chorizo and tumbo, outdoor theatre and rock music, universities and museums all blended into one delicious dish.

My final feeding of Aruma.
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Thanks to my Colombian and Brazilian travel companion, Jamie Rubeck, the seed of La Senda Verde was planted months before arriving in Bolivia.  I budgeted two weeks for the Yungas region near La Paz, but now wish it could have been two months instead.  LSV is a refuge for animals saved from black market sales or abusive living environments.  There are few places I can imagine where someone with zero wild animal experience can pick up a feed bucket, watering can, or scrub brush and immediately begin working with macaws, tortoises, coatis, spider monkeys, squirrel monkeys, howler monkeys, capuchins, and a spectacled bear.  Far fewer still are those with the loving environment and luscious setting of LSV.

Bye bye, Paddington!
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Day in and day out, my routine hardly changed.  Up at seven, down by eleven, with plenty of feeding and cleaning in between.  But what started as tasks and chores quickly and easily became labors of love as I grew to know the animals more personally.  I gave every animal my attention and affection, right down to the guinea fowl, rabbits, and tortoises, but there were those who stole it more regularly.  Aruma, our very own Paddington, is the rarest bear in the world, and I was honored to work with him twice a day.  This handsome two-year-old cub gave me some of my favorite daily moments, whether I was scrubbing his eating area or hand-feeding him peanuts to distract him while my partner did it.

I loved seeing how so many of the animals got along well with each other.
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The dogs were playful, the coatis inquisitive, and even the macaws and parrots surprised me with their different personalities, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't come for the monkeys.  Chitty and Jimmy, our young squirrel monkeys, frequently found the volunteers to steal food, wrestle in our laps, or sleep on our shoulders.  We'd hear Chica, the gorgeous four-year-old red howler, clamoring on rooftops or find her hanging by her powerful tail outside the food preparation room when it was time for her supper of leftover pasta, fruit, and veggies.  Damasco, one of two timid owl monkeys, became my nightly treat as I'd leash him up and let him scramble from mango trees to my shirt sleeves, usually peeing on me in the process.

Camilo, a baby male capuchin, joined us for a walk down to the river.
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The spiders and capuchins I came to know best, but that hardly means they were my favorite.  In a place like this, there's no such thing.  I loved wrestling with Sambo, a three-year-old male spider, or swinging his female companion, Guara, by her thumbless hand and muscular tail.  With what free time I found, I'd sit with Mirka, the alpha female capuchin, so she could groom my curly frock; or I'd find Martin, a toothless adult male, to let him untie shoelaces, undo zips and buttons, and remind me just how clever these animals were.  Kimbo, one of the free-roaming baby capuchins regularly fed me leaves, inspected my gums, teeth, and tongue, and loved eating the air I so frequently blew in his face.  Even Luna, another adult female, has kept a piece of me...quite literally.  To protect a baby she thought I was stealing, she reminded me of her strength, social position, and untamed status with a bite on the left calf.  It is the only injury I've ever wished to scar - one I'd carry with pride and fond memory of my time at La Senda Verde.

Mirka jumped on my shoulder anytime she thought I was leaving her behind.
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As impossible as it was to leave the animal refuge that had become my Bolivian home, there was one more place I wanted to see before Peru called me thither and ultimately to my country of origin.  Copacabana is a small town known for its monolithic church and miracle-working Virgencita, but its location was far more magnetic for me.  It is a port to the ocean-like freshwater body of Lake Titicaca.  Sitting at nearly 4000m, it is higher in altitude than many mountains I've summitted.  It spans all directions bridging two countries and spawning one great empire.  The Isla del Sol is only 11km long and inhabited by less than 3000 people.  Its forests, beaches, and Inkan ruins can be easily traversed in a day or less, but its significance for the proud indigenos may never be fully comprehended by someone who isn't one.  The Roca Sagrada at the island's northern edge is the birthplace of the first Inka.  The cities, the discoveries, the conquests all trace their origins here.  For the Quechua-speaking peruanos and bolivianos, it is the beginning, but for me it was the best place to end.