El Bolson, revisited

So we headed back towards Bariloche were we would have to return the car in two mornings. On the way down, we had stopped off in a small hippy town called El Bolson for 30 minutes or so to check out a fair. We decided since we had another day with the car that we would chill in the quaint outdoorsy town for the night. We came across an amazing cabin that was almost as cheap as the camping was the previous night. It had cable, heat, comfy beds, towels, the works. It even came equipped with some of the cutest puppies to ever walk the earth. We almost stole one, no joke.

After spending a night in luxury, it was much easier to finish the rest of the drive in what was left of our rental car. We were nervous about returning it since the brakes were making and awful noise, and we were hoping we could get some money for the two tires we bought. But we still had one more day with the car, so we decided to use it to our advantage... we went to the chocolate factory/museum. It was an excellent way to spend a cold and rainy afternoon. They gave out samples of the best hot chocolate I've ever had!

Our last endeavor with the car was to find a place to stay that night. We drove all over Bariloche stopping in hostels to ask about pricing, and they were all the same (and too much). So Byron parked the car in front of the tourist office to get a map and ask about cheap hostels while I protected the precious auto. I wasn't expecting for Byron to return with a friend. Byron convinced a nice little hippie man to get us a cheap nice room, and not only did the guy call around to find one for us, but he even got in the car and rode there with us to make sure we got there alright. We were really in a state of no fear by this point in our travels.

That's Bariloche at the end of the rainbow!!!

Remeber we were in Patagonia?

Well, we made our way back towards Bariloche as our week was quickly coming to an end. The car had to be back and we hoped the return journey would not cause the death of the poorly constructed VW. We did decide to take Route 40 the entire way back, and with Byron's now more superior knowledge of how to drive on such piss-poor surfaces, it worked out quite well. The only question marks were when the gas needle edged towards empty and there were absolutely no gas stations nor signs of civilization in sight. Hanna would worry while Byron plodded along putting the car in neutral when necessary to save gas. The random sounds the car started making were quite horrendous, both the drivers and passengers doors were becoming more difficult to open, but the car went forward and there were no more flats.

We stopped the next night at an estancia (like a ranch) in the middle of nowhere. A pristine place which offered camping or a B&B option. We decided to camp even after the owner told us about the pumas that roamed around the grounds at night. We're not quite as meaty as the horses and not quite as easy to bring down as all the chickens that were running around, so we felt safe. Once we got settled in, we walked around the grounds a little bit and took in the scenery and the wonderful stench of horse manure. As darkness decended in our little valley, we lit up the night with a huge bonfire. We started it with some fresh wood that didn't burn extremely well, but when one of the farmhands saw this he let Byron over to a huge stack of wood that was perfectly ready to make this bonfire visible from space.

As Byron was walking back, the owner noticed the crappy donut that was on the front right side of the vehicle. As a self-proclaimed auto mechanic, he took me into his shop and told me what we should do to make it all better. I showed him the tire that had blown and didn't feel comfortable using (since there were a couple major dents in the rim), but he grabbed his hammer and went to work remolding the wheel. I watched as he pummeled the tire with flathead screwdrivers, picks, hammers, mallets, the works. I figured it couldn't get any worse than it already was, so I let him go to town.

He made the rim look presentable and even got the hubcap to fit back on. Things were looking up, especially after we had gotten the sticky doors fixed after a thick application of WD-40. I returned back to the fire and enjoyed the rest of the evening which included some leftover pasta and sauce from the night before with a can of tuna added to the top for man (and Hanna) fuel. We slept well that night, even though we were quite cold in the brisk evening. I thought better about bringing some of the burning embers into the tent to help heat us.

The next morning, we woke up the bossman to help us rotate and change the tires around. He hooked us up perfectly and sent us on our way, but not until he completely inflated the price of the estancia. For the most part, the guidebook we had was a good base. However, many of the owners of the hostels, hotels, restaurants, and National Parks, saw it as an outlet to gouge us. If they got published in the Let's Go, they were 'made'. They could charge whatever they wanted and tourists would flock to their locales and be none to the wiser. In this instance, the only time on the whole trip we didn't investigate the costs involved beforehand, was the time that we got hammered.

Bossman decided his arbitrary amount for us would be 17. It surprised us because that's exactly what it said in the Let's Go. Maybe someone didn't raise their prices, what a welcome change! When we got out the pesos and began to pay, he went and got a calculator to figure out our 'favorable' exchange rate. He was going to make us pay in DOLLARS. We could have rented a cabin in the woods or gone out for a ridiculous steak dinner, but alas, our backs were a little achy from sleeping on our hammocks (we used them since we didn't have any pads) and we were still thawing out after the chilly night. Lesson learned...

Last days in BsAs

So, Byron is leaving today and I'm following suit on Wednesday. It's sad to leave here, but we had a great time with our friends last night and wanted to wish everyone here a beautiful life. Besos!

Oh, and we will still be posting blogs from back home when we try to catch up on our adventures. Haha.

-H & B

Day 3 in Patagonia – We actually get somewhere!

After a few more hours of early morning driving, which also consisted of naptime on the side of the road) we finally made it to the city of El Calafate. It's a gorgeous place, surrounded by snowcapped mountains and decorated on all sides by tourist dollars. Fancy street lamps, nice cottages and lodges, and restaurants abound. Determined to see what we came for, we headed straight to the tourist center for a map of the Parque Nacional de los Glacieres.

The short 30 minute drive from the city to the entrance of the National Park affords many breathtaking views of the lake, mountains, estancias (ranches) and other beautiful scenery. Camping is possible and would be quite exciting, we were not prepared for with a four wheel drive vehicle. Upon entering the National Park, and paying the hefty entrance fee for non-nationals (60 pesos), there is a nice drive through the park which leads you directly to the walking paths around the glacier. You can't stray from the paths, and they're made of grates. Needless to say, when Hanna missed a step and fell she created a cool new scar for her knee.

Once in the park you wind around the roads leading you towards the glacier. Occasionally you catch a glimpse of the breathtaking mass of ice nestled between two snowcapped mountains. Keeping in mind that the rest of the terrain is devoid of ice and snow, the experience is truly unique. There are two places to stop along the road to get great pictures and to enjoy the great scenery. Also, it is pretty neat to see gigantic chunks of the glacier, that have broken off, floating in the lake.

When we came back into town, we located a nice little campsite next to a babbling brook that had hot showers and a SHEEP tied to a fencepost baaahhing its little heart out. We set up camp and set out for to find dinner. After which we decided to get some traveling snacks from the grocery store. When we were about three blocks out of the store, we realized that a dog was totally trailing us. She wouldn't leave our side. She followed us all the way into the campground and whined when one of us would go to the bathroom or get inside the tent. She ended up sleeping there outside the tent by us the entire night. Driving away in the morning was a very very sad experience.

We headed off for our next journey into the Patagonian wilderness. It was a quaint little 'outdoorsy' town called el Chalten. It was everything and outdoor enthusiast would ever need. A small little village that didn't overtake the wonderful views of nature and green mountains. Oh, and there was this gigantic thing that kept appearing during our drive and getting larger and larger as we approached el Chalten. A little mountain called Fitz Roy. Just check out the picture of it from over 60 kilometers away. Completely dominates the vista, and we got withing a kilometer or two of it. People, of course, have climbed it, but we were scared standing on firm ground just close to it.

We entered the little town which was a total of 120 kilometers from Calafate, after stopping by the ranger station for our free maps and trail 'guides' (Father Pittam, you're going to have a killer time with all these maps that we're bringing home). We headed to the trailhead with our sandwiches packed, shoes tied, water bottles full, zinc on our noses, walking stick, and huge jackets. It was quite cold at the bottom, but we realized within 15 minutes walking straight uphill is a pretty good way to get and stay warm.

The hike was absolutely phenomenal. The 'trail' and the 'map' didn't lead or help us too much, but our superior navigation techniques we learned from our Inca trek helped us survive. We walked a total of 6 hours or so that day, treading through brush, wading through puddles, attempting to stay on or near the path, all while taking in the surrounding scenery that was basically devoid of other people.

There were crystal clear lakes, crisp air, water and streams bubbling everywhere, and beautiful forests that loomed with trees that almost seemed alive. The landscape would change without warnings. The paths would lead you inadvertently to a small lake or other impassable obstacles that would force you to create a new route or some adventurous way of passing. There was one point where we followed a little stream bed for a solid kilometer or so to avoid being up to our knees in marshy bogs. There were instances where we had to jump from rock to stump to river bank to rock, then other times we would have to straddle a washed out area and rock back and forth like a cowboy who had spent the last two weeks riding a horse.

We spent the remainder of our day in El Chalten warming up in the hostel, cooking, playing cards, and looking at the map for a safter rout back to Bariloche. Everyone we asked said that Ruta 40 is just fine. Just drive slowly, they said...

Film festival

Hanna and I are volunteering for a Human Rights Film Festival that began yesterday. We talked about it before, but the time has arrived and we're in the thick of it. We've been doing translating, helping plan dinners and guiding the producers and directors of the documentary films around the city.

We still promise that we'll catch up on the blog postings, as we have left the blog hanging with our first ridiculous days driving out of Bariloche.

Also, we have officially changed our plane tickets to return to the states. Hanna arrives in Atlanta Thursday, June 18 and I get back to DC on June 15. I think I'm hanging out in DC for a couple days at least until I either catch a ride home with a stranger (who's visiting his girlfriend....craigslist.org rideshare really works) or fly back on airtran.

Hanna plans on having a crazy busy summer traveling all over the east and west coasts, going to, locating old friends and giving them wonderfully thoughtful gifts from our travels, and of course preparing herself for Berkeley.

I, however, am a bum and plans on living with my lovely parents in Atlanta (if they'll have me) for the majority of July and some of August, depending on when the plans materialize for a move out west. AMPED! Maybe someone will do a cross-country bike ride with me...or maybe I should get a job. Interesting options.

Anyways, we can't wait to see everyone, especially our lovely parents who haven't had any heart attacks while their children have gallivanted around South America the past months. We love you!

-B&H

How to do Patagonia in a Week (We don't recommend it)

(This trip was actually a month ago. We apologize. It has taken this long to recover.)

After a few relaxing days in Bariloche, we decided it was time to head further south to see the real Patagonia. Considering Byron had been carrying a tent in his pack for over a month, and I just bought a new sleeping bag, we figured a camping trip was finally in order. Of course, we chose one the coldest parts of the globe to do it.

We went to the most popular bus/tour company to start to plan our trip, but it turned out to be the last day of the season for this trip and it sounded a little too pricey. The road closes for the winder due to ice and snow, so the buses stop running in April. Rental car companies are abundant in Bariloche because the entire province is a very popular tourist area for Argentines and foreigners alike. In the winter, it's a ski haven and gorgeous mountain/lake community in the summertime. Anyway, we went to about 7 different rental companies to compare prices. Some of the companies refused to give us anything but 4-wheel drive vehicles after we told them we plan on driving down Route 40 to El Calafate. They said there are parts that you need a good car for; however, other companies were more than happy to give us their cheapest model and send us on our merry way. Which option do you think we went with??

You got it! The cheapest car possible. A Volkswagon Gol. No airbags, no frills, just right. And on a chilly morning in mid-April we hopped in and off we went! We were recommended by the car company to go for 9 or 10 days, but who has the money for that?! We decided to go with just a week and go really heavy on the daily driving.

The only map we had was in the Lonely Planet guidebook and a few words of advice from the hostel owners. Our first stop was a 10 minute stroll through El Bolson, the hippie haven of Argentina and an artisan locale. The town is really nice, but we had no time to waste so we vowed to return to it on our way back. The entire trip is 2.000 km each way, so we wanted to get as far as possible in the first day.

This is where the real adventures began... about 3 hours into the trip, I began to doze off. Did I mention the car was a stick shift and I don't know how to drive one? So Byron was just happily weaving down the highway when he felt something go wrong. We got a flat, and for no apparent reason. Needless to say, Byron wasn't thrilled to be changing a tire so soon into the trip, and I was worried that this meant bad news for the rest of the week. However, when we got to the next town (in a few more hours) we found the “gomeria” (tire store) and were able to get a used tire for $150 pesos. We kept the receipt, and were determined to get this money back since the tire was obviously bad when they gave us the car.

It was about 8pm when we finally got the the small town we were heading towards for our first camping experience. The town is a little scary because there is a huge military base there and soldiers all over the place. As it turned out, there was no campground, and the only hotel was about $70US a night, so we decided we'd try to make it to the next town, which is much bigger and was sure to have somewhere to sleep for cheap. We were both hungry and a little cranky, but we gassed up the car and headed out of the creepy tiny town.

Route 40 goes directly down the western side of Argentina, along the Andes. Although it is a very popular journey, large swaths of it remain unpaved. So at about 10 pm we realized that we had been driving on rocks for just a little too long. The biggest hint was when we popped tire #2 on a boulder in the road. The entire part was 120 km, and we only managed to go 20 in the first hour! It was very late, completely dark around us, and the only other cars on the road were huge semi trucks leaving us in the dust, literally. I begged Byron to go back, since we had no more spare tires and the road ahead was ominous. So we drove the same treacherous hour back to the town, hoping not to be blown off the “road” by Patagonian winds. We parked the car on an inconspicuous street, pulled out our sleeping bags and slept all night long covered from head to toe so no one would be the wiser. We didn't wake up until 9am!!!! because it stays dark there for so long!

That was day one.

Hanna and Byron Enter Patagonia (April 12, 2009 and onward)

In Salta, we decided that we were tired of traveling and purchased our next bus tickets to go directly to Bariloche. We promised some friends we would meet them there and had two or three days to spare. A bus from Salta to Bariloche is approximately 36 hours long and costs about $130US per person. They use the term “direct” loosely. The bus makes all it's usual stops along the way in every small town. The only thing that makes it direct is that it gets there eventually, as opposed to us having to change buses along the way. So we set out for what we hoped would be our longest bus trip ever...

Thirty-five hours later, after eating the same meal three times and our bones permanently stuck in a sedentary position, we started driving through the oasis of northern Patagonia. Bariloche is the “Aspen of South America.” We coined that phrase, but nothing could be more accurate. It's beautiful, overpriced, covered with stores selling outdoor equipment and fancy chocolates, and it revolves completely around the tourism.

Luck was on our side when we discovered that the hostel recommended by the guidebook was completely full. I consider this lucky because we ended up staying in an old hotel, converted to a hostel for half the price with a huge shared kitchen and got our own bathroom to boot! Unfortunately, they didn't have Wifi which is another reason we are so behind on these blog entries. We literally sat on the curb outside of another hostel to steal their wifi for emergency email check-ins.

After a few relaxing days of cooking, shopping, and enjoying the clean fresh air we met up with our friends Sasha and Alex. Our first adventure together was dinner at an “tenedor libre” (all you can eat buffet). The food was excellent, mostly Asian cuisine, but not lacking in freshly grilled meats and five different types of flan for dessert. Another culinary excursion we took was Byron's first experience with fondue – delicious meat and the chocolate was amazing!!! Enough about the food...

Our first big Patagonia excursion was a trip to one of the national parks in the area to see the glacier Trenador. We drove for about 2.5 hours each way to go on a 20 minute hike to vantage point from which you can no longer see the glacier itself. Just one more confusing Argentine experience.

On the way back from the “hike,” Byron decided he needed to take a stranger's rowboat out for a ride in the river. It was parked ashore next to a nice bridge and a huge campground/restaurant. Clearly, I advised Byron against it, and even more clearly, he did it anyway. Needless to say... we were no-so-politely asked to get out of the boat and leave immediately. The conversation went something like this for those of you who know some elementary Spanish:

Señor Boatowner - El barco es tuyo?
B – No. Lo siento.
Señor Boatowner – Porque estas en el barco?
B – Lo siento.
Señor Boatowner – Sala el barco ahora mismo!
B – Lo siento!
Señor Boatowner – Quieres que yo tomaria su coche?!
B – No.

And we ran out of the boat!
(It was parked just the left of where I'm sitting)

Happy Mommy's Day!!!

To Linda and Avigail... we love and miss you mucho!!!

Back in BsAs

So, our long road has led us safely back to Buenos Aires. We parted ways with our new friends Dan, Diego and Sarah at the out of control packed bus station on May 1 (the rest of the world celebrates Labor Day today and everyone was skipping town). We taxied with our stuff back to our old Casa Gallo to spend the next couple of nights while we looked for a new place to crash.

It has been a couple days now, and we know we have to continue on our travel blogs, but we wanted to let everyone know that or daily lives no longer include bus stations, hostels, walking with huge backpacks, and scouring cities for food and fun things to do. We now live in a neighborhood referred to as Belgrano. It's a happening place near other happening places. We're on the 20th floor with another happening couple (one Argentine and another Miami chica) and we have an excellent (also happening) view of the city.

We still have a ton of pictures and new cities to write about so don't stop following the blog quite yet! We saw some of the largest waterfalls in the world in Iguazu, spent countless hours on the bus and in a scary rental car, almost made it down to the end of the earth (wayyyyy south), hiked, saw glaciers, camped, got ripped off and poshed it up in Argentina's Aspen. You know, the usual 26 year-olds adventures. At least the ones without jobs.

Oh yeah, and we're looking for jobs. Anyone got one?

-Byron and Hanna.

Uyuni forth to Salta...why waste time there? Onward to Bariloche!

So we prepped ourselves for another shortish trip to the border town that would permit us the salvation that is Argentina. We still knew there was to be some sort of hiccup, Bolivia hadn't thrown the kitchen sink at us yet. We waited for the train which of course was at the normal hour of 3am. While at the train station we located a quiet corner on the unfinished concrete second floor. We sat down and started the terrible movie called Australia (we got nothing against the country, just the crap-tastic movie). By the time we were perfectly comfortable and had warmed up our butt patches of concrete a pleasant security guard demanded that we vacate the area and head downstairs where all the comfortable chairs and lounge area was (detect any sarcasm there? To their credit, there may not have been bedbugs on the floor...congrats). We got to watch 20 more minutes of Australia before the computer crapped out, then we tried any sort of activity that would keep us entertained for the next three hours...sleep, read, people watch; but none of them worked at all and our tiny alpaca blanket could just barely keep us warm against the concrete floors and brick walls.

Finally our First Class Coach arrived and it was a stampede for the comforts of a seat. We didn't choose first class as much as first class chose us. This train ran three times a week, and there was no chance we were going to spend another two nights in Uyuyuni eating at the same pizza place (which was phenomenal) and walking around the 12 square block town. As there were no more 'middle class' seats and we dreaded what the 'third class' seat entailed, we sprung (for an extra US$6) for the top notch service. After sleeping for a bit, we were informed of a rail car in which breakfast was provided for us. (This was what we paid six dollars for, as the seats were nothing spectacular.) Upon our triumphant return, we looked up at the television monitors to notice they had so kindly put on 80's videos for our viewing pleasure. Hanna knew every word to every song. I knew pretty much every chorus.

We arrived in the border town so that we could run back over to Argentina. After a brief walk and some last minute shopping to get rid of our last Bolivianos, we approached the monstrous lines and herds of confused tourists looking for guidance. To leave a country, you have to get an exit stamp. There literally are two sides of the border, a little stream between and a smattering of border guards who would probably care less if you walked right on by, but wouldn't let Hanna cross to go to the bathroom. We waited in the Bolivian line for about 3 minutes before one of the guards picked up that we were not from South America. Did the huge backpacks give us away? He asked us for our passports and promptly disappeared. The whole Western world continually tells you to never let your passport out of your sight, but throughout this trip our passports had actually been out of our possession for entire bus trips. But, no foul play has occurred and we continually are returned our passports with a smile, just like the chunky Bolivian guard did.

We wandered across the border to wait in another line on the Argentine side, but this time there was a special line for us foreigners. They took all of our passports in one fell swoop and disappeared. We waited and waited, bought some candy from a crazy lady, saw trucks and bikes cruise through with little more than an acknowledgment. Finally, our dude emerged with his huge stack of precious passports and handed them to us and instructed us to wait in another line. We were watching the clock and knew that the last bus to Salta from the Argentine border town was leaving in a mere 30 minutes. The second line was 'customs' to check our bags. Some people they completely gutted and swabbed for any sort of residue (of course leaving clothes and other items strewn across the table for the traveler to furiously pack back), and others, like Hanna and me, they purely opened a couple zippers half-way and let us through.

We jogged to the bus terminal, as cabs are for pansies, and asked for directions from at least three locals who told us all different directions. When Hanna finally asked a 14 year-old girl, we were able to get some sensible direction. We frantically bought a bus ticket and bought some sort of sustenance (6 empanadas) and got ready for another 8 hours to complete almost a 24 hours period of hectic travel.

SALTA!!! The town that everybody recommends, but nobody actually goes to... We found a hostel willing to let us use their showers and ate a burger on the street at 1:30am. For all practical purposes, Salta was good.

Bolivia – Unpaved. Uncouth. Unforgettable. cont.

After getting our fill of $0.50 hamburgers and having seen the “sights” in La Paz, we decided it was time to move on to a place where the air is breathable, zebras don't direct traffic, the bedbugs are not as plentiful, and Wifi exists. La Paz wasn't all bad. We ate at a delightful thai/indian/chinese restaurant and bought some gifts, of which you will all surely reap the benefits (I still remember not to end my sentences with a preposition!).

Since we were on a time crunch to meet some friends in Patagonia, we decided to go ahead as start heading south. Booking buses in Bolivia is far more complicated than anywhere else. Unless you are going to La Paz, bus options are limited to two or three days a week and there is no such thing as a "nice" bus. So we bought our tickets for an overnight bus to Uyuni, home of the world's largest salt flats YUUUMM!

The bus trip started off just as all of them do, with many many stops on the way out of town to pick up locals that know how to avoid the bus station. At every stop I asked Byron to look out the window and make sure no looters were taking our luggage off the bus (we heard that was pretty common in Bolivia). At around 3am we stopped for a bathroom/snack break and to change bus drivers. Although this bus trip is expected to be 12 hours, the buses do not have bathrooms on them, and that is a luxury that I had grown quite accustomed to. Not only were we missing bathrooms, but the roads were missing something too - pavement. The bumpiness was unbearable, to say the least.

At about 4am, I finally got some sleep because the bus was stopped completely for about an hour. I was too tired to wonder why we weren't moving, and of course, Byron was sleeping through it all. So around 5am, in the cold, dark, endless abyss of Bolivian landscape, everyone was asked to get off the bus and start walking. We walked past a big semi that was apparently stuck in this tiny stream of water in the road. We kept walking until we all crossed the stream. Our shoes were a little muddy, but it certainly didn't seem like anything a huge bus couldn't get across. So we watched as our bus crossed the 'treacherous' body of water, got back on, and eventually made it to Uyuni.

Although tours of the salt flats can last up to four days, but we opted for the one-day quick trip, mostly because money was starting to run thin. As soon as we stepped off the bus at the crack of dawn in this tiny tourist town, four people walked up offering us their company´s tour packages. Since we were completely drained and frustrated, we went with the guy who spoke English. Good job buddy!

What exactly is a SALT FLAT? Exactly what it sounds like. A dried up flat lake that left it's salt deposits for all of us to enjoy. The four-wheel drive vehicles tours begin by taking you a "train graveyard." Sounds cool, right? Wrong. See photo evidence. The trains were all covered in graffiti and virtually unrecognizable as former locomotives. From there, we drove about 20 km to a town made complete of salt, all the houses, tables, statues, souvenirs, and more souvenirs. It all looked pretty cool, but tasted even better. Once we drove onto the actual flats, things started getting truly impressive. You are requested to bring sun glasses because the glare of the salt is so intense, which also meant the heat pounds right back up at you. There were parts where nothing but salt could be seen in any direction, as if you're in the middle of the ocean. They really got lucky on this tourist attraction. It is amazing!

La Paz – How does anyone breath here??? AND DEATH ROAD!!!

As people were shuffling into midnight mass we made our way to the market to sample the local fare. Hamburgers were fifty cents, sausages were fifty five cents, fresh squeezed juices were forty five cents, and they were giving away deserts (all converted into American currency). It was pure madness. Not only has this city bought every single Blue Bird school bus from the United States, they have also figured out how to make them pollute even more than we did. Hats off to them. The streets were filled with buses and minivans taking people all across town (and probably right back), every other store was a soccer store, adventure center or a hostel, and the sidewalks were the width of half a person. Vehicles were everywhere. You couldn't cross a street unless the traffic was gridlocked (which it almost always was) and breathing really wasn't an option.

We walked around until we found a place to book our Death Road experience for the following day and then tried to find a safe retreat from the hustle. We probably would be completely caught up on blog postings had our hostel not been overtaken with a group of Asians who had each brought three laptops and had them all hardwired into every available port in the place. They were uploading millions of pictures in which they were giving the good old thumbs up. I kid, I kid. Kind of.

So...the next day we actually got to experience DEATH ROAD! It is a road the Bolivian government all but closed in 2005 due to the casualty count surpassing 300 annually. Now it's open to extreme bikers and the occasional local truck that needs to make the venture out of the city below. The most dangerous part of the highway is just over 60 kilometers and from our starting point, was down the whole way. From what we can recall, it's over 2,500 meters in overall descent over the course of the ride along with a whole lot of DANGER! We found Hanna a safer spot in the 'Byron Support Van' that was driven by the more than capable Juan. Of course we all know that Byron don't need no support van, so she was there to cheer his name every once in a while.

Death Road was spectacular. The views were as incredible as the road was crappy. We stopped every couple of minutes to let everyone catch up and discuss what dude had gone flying off this corner last year or how dangerous the next twenty minutes were going to be, etc. The road was complete with sharp turn after sharp turn and gorge after gorge. I've ridden on cliff side roads before, but never ones where the cliff extends over 1000 meters straight down. This is no exaggeration if you can't believe our scenic pictures. They also took hundreds of pictures of us all dressed up in their gear and looking super suave. After we rode for over 4 hours, we reached a nice hotel complete with a swimming pool, hot showers and a late lunch feast prepared for us all

.

We drove back on the new highway that was constructed as the safer alternative to the Death Road. They call it the Pansie road. It's for those people afraid to live dangerously.

Oh, and check out the doggies they had at the hotel at the bottom....cuties.

Bolivia – Unpaved. Uncouth. Unforgettable (April 3-5)

After sadly parting ways with Phil and Bianca, we took off for Bolivia. Being the super travelers that they are, P and B left us with many pearls of wisdom about their adventures in Bolivia. Thanks guys!!

We took off on yet another overnight bus headed for Copacabana, Bolivia, just across the border from Peru. We set off for this leg our our trip with several hundred US dollars in our wallets, knowing that there is a $135 entrance fee for Americans – only Americans. We began to notice a general theme against United States citizens in the country. Don't they realize that Bush isn't president anymore?

Anyways, as we cruised along in the shaky bus towards the border, the bus personnel began to circulate around and notice that we were the only American on board. They asked us about the visa 'requirements' and if we possessed our necessary copy of our passport, copy of a credit card, proof of yellow-fever vaccination, $135 US dollars, a signed release stating that we would surrender our first born child, etc. Of course, since we were never planning on traveling to Bolivia we had none of the required docs, just purely the cold hard American cash that these border agents were slipping into their pockets. The bus company employees seemed okay with this explanation. Perfect. As it turns out, so are the Bolivian border patrol agents.

Although the visa costs $135 and even our state department website confirms that info, the visa itself clearly states that it only costs $100US. Busted, even though we still paid. Someone is making a killing on this scam. We quickly made copies of our passports, ignored the request for a credit card copy and paid $10 extra a piece to make up for our lack of vaccinations. We're such chumps.

We set our sights for Copacabana singing the song in our heads....'her name was Lola, she was a showgirl'. It only seemed right that each and every time someone said Copacabana it was to the tune of the song.

Once we were there we realized there was no ATM to be found until we got to La Paz, approximately 3 days later. We changed all the money that we could scrape together...about $60US for the next three days, from which we needed to pay for lodging, food, beer, bus tickets, boat tickets (to and from Isla del Sol) and other necessities. It sounds like so much more when you put it into Bolivianos...we had OVER $400! We definitely felt the pinch, but once we discovered the little cart ladies who sold lightly fried trout with a pile of potatoes and rice for $10 Bolivianos we knew we would make it. But that was after our Isla del Sol excursion. We're getting ahead of ourselves, they were that good. Hanna might become a little cart girl when she gets back to the states. Seems like a better career path than social work and plus, Byron wouldn't look that good in a skirt.

So, back to Isla. The trip over there was quite silly. I suppose they wanted to make sure that we could see every nook and cranny of the landscape since the ferry never got much faster than the boat equivalent of a doggy paddle. The views were quite stunning as we sputtered across the highest navigable lake in the world. Cliffs dove into the lake and every turn uncovered more and more natural beauty. When we happened upon Isla del Sol, we encountered a huge celebration. The entire island (less than 600 people) was in the 'port' area having a great time. Some even brought their donkeys to celebrate. How thoughtful. We found out the 'President' of Bolivia had been there that day, which warranted the small Navy gunship and all the armed personnel. The lovely ladies weren't too busy lusting after Evo Morales to charge us the appropriate entrance fee to the island. There's always time to add another tax on tourists for another non-service.

Once we walked in, we had to find a place to stay for the night. From the harbor we looked directly upwards at the island. We were clearly at the bottom and the trek up with our bags was sure to be quite a haul. Hostel prices varied wildly and all the twelve year-olds on the island were more than willing to set us up in any sort of habitation possible. Really dig the child labor the elder locals employ. Once we got set up in a room with an excellent view of the lake and Byron bargained down the 15 year-old from 70 Bolivianos a night to a mere 50 (less than US$3.50 each) we hit the road to find something refreshing to drink. Of course we had to bargain with another what we reckon was a twelve year old girl. After we struck a deal with the kid for a candy bar and room temperature beer we headed back to our hostel to enjoy the tree stumps that had been carved into excellent seats.

We headed towards the top of the island for the sunset with a couple of out new best friends from the UK. There were approximately three restaurants open. Once we sat down and one of us tried to order something that wasn't trout, we were informed that the chicken shipment hadn't made it that day (in reality we think they had eaten all the chicken in honor of Evo). We enjoyed the sunset and realized that the locals weren't kidding around when they told us how cold it got after the sun went down.

We had planned on spending two days on the island, but due to the lack of friendliness extended and the lack of options available on the Isla, we took off with the intentions to spend a night in Copacabana. We hooked it up with the boat ride back the next afternoon after we hiked around, messed with the donkeys, llamas and experienced everything that we could squeeze out of it. We didn't have to pay anything to leave the island. Thank goodness.

Copacabana was pretty excellent, especially since we were there right on Easter. They decorated their cars, taxis and semi's to the nines and made all kinds of crafts out of palm leaves. We walked around and every once in a while sat down to enjoy another ridiculously cheap trout dinner, just because we could.

Copacabana was a nice little city. We definitely missed the summer months, and I can only imagine how many tourists would flood the beaches of the lake and enjoy one of the many wonderful swan paddle boats they had to offer. We began to set our sights on the next segment of our journey. Back to the hustle bustle of a crazy city. We were off to La Paz next. Byron was mentally getting ready for Death Road and Hanna was trying to figure out how she might tell his parents that he went over the edge.

Rafting!

Since we weren't quite finished soothing that outdoor itch, we took advantage of Cuzco's bargain prices on a whitewater rafting adventure. It was a great time, but the rapids were...not even scary for Hanna. On the upside, they outfitted us to the nines and fed us an amazing lunch. Good work Peru!

Machu Picchu – Old Mountain

Words don't really do this bad boy justice. Neither do the photos (but of course we'll try to impress). Lastly, the random information that the tour guide makes up along the tour doesn't amplify the experience ('we think this was for this purpose', 'maybe they used this for this reason', 'we think this is the outline of a condor that they used to pray and sacrifice people to the gods', etc). Everything about Machu Picchu is absolutely stunning and amazing. The day we summited started a little foggy and a little difficult in the dark with only one flashlight for the four of us, but ended in pure magic. The day cleared up, and we marveled in the splendor that is Old Mountain. They refer to the mountain as old because they don't know the real Inca name for it and in keeping with the general unkown theme, the mountain beside Machu they call Young Mountain or Jueanu Picchu. Creative huh?

In order to climb the young guy, you have to be one of the first 400 people in line. Twasn't a problem for us since we were among the first 50 people to get in for the day. We got a ticket in for the 10am trek up the mountain after our ludicrous tour/guessing/hypothesis game of the ancient ruin. The trek up Jueanu Picchu would never have been allowed in any other country. We had to sign-in because they wanted to keep track of who entered the base of the mountain. The tour guide had factually told us that someone had gone missing last year and since then they wanted to keep track of everyone who came in and out. We saw a chick in clean white capris' applying make-up while standing in line, so figured it was just a silly mountain, no harder than anything we had already done. Boy was I wrong. The person who they couldn't find must have fallen further than anyone else, because people surely fell off this mountain and at least gravely injured themselves on a daily basis.

The mountain served as an Inca look-out/guard tower back in the day, but had been retrofitted with some handrails on the lower part of the mountain that afforded you the ability to grasp onto and pull yourself up. At the time I thought it was going to be much harder to get down. The closer we got to the top the more arduous the path became, and the more you reached out to grab whatever in order to stabilize yourself. We followed the signs through a cave and up to the top of the Young Mountain. The view was phenomenal, but I failed to snap a picture because I couldn't take a second to release my hands off the frail vegetation around me. As we reached the top of the mountain, we felt a funny substance dripping from the sky. A slight rain had begun. Not the type that soaks or drenches but the kind that makes the slippery surfaces more slippery. Perfect.

We scrambled back down slowly to find Hanna asleep on the very same bench that we left her. Nice hour and a half nap, especially since we woke up before the crack of dawn. Once we collected the team, we went up the hill for the 'facebook profile pic'. Everyone knows that spot where they see everyone taking the required picture. The one that looks like the ruins were photoshopped in.

Overall Machu Picchu was an incredible success. I mean just check out the classic pick we took here...Jueanu is that peak you see in the background below.