Dopo il viaggio nel freddo, tornai a La Paz e trascorsi alcune settimane piene di attività ed esperienze, avendo ancora un ultimo fine settimana in questa città selvaggia prima di proseguire. In realtà, per domenica a La Paz era programmato il Clasico Paceño, il duello tra i due rivali cittadini 'The Strongest' e 'Club Bolívar'. Uno dei grandi derby del Sud America e la partita più importante del paese. Non potevo negare una certa anticipazione per questo incontro, ma rimasi deluso quando, il giorno del mio ritorno, scoprii che la partita era stata rinviata a tempo indeterminato. I due club avrebbero dovuto disputare le loro gare di KO in Copa Libertadores contro i rappresentanti Flamengo di Rio de Janeiro e Peñarol di Montevideo e, sebbene le date fossero note da mesi, due giorni prima dell'incontro la federazione e i club si resero conto che era necessaria più preparazione e così il Clasico fu cancellato. Cosa succede - così trascorsi gli ultimi giorni a La Paz passeggiando per la città e dedicandomi ampiamente al calcio amatoriale. Anche questo è bello e scoprii casualmente alcuni angoli della città in cui altrimenti non sarei andato. Ma ora dovevo definitivamente dire addio. Salì sul bus in direzione Copacabana, una piccola città sul lago Titicaca, e lanciai uno sguardo un'ultima volta sulla città. Anche il maestoso Illimani si mostrò ancora una volta sotto un cielo blu intenso, mentre il bus arrancava su per i pendii alla periferia della città. Un po' di malinconia si fece sentire, dopo tutto il tempo emozionante in questo paese fantastico. Per me, senza dubbio, il paese più autentico e avventuroso tra quelli visitati in Sud America. Ma non dovevo ancora dire addio, perché avevo un'ultima fermata al famoso lago Titicaca, il lago navigabile più alto della terra a un'altitudine di 3.800 m. Il lago si trova al confine tra Bolivia e Perù e ha un'importanza significativa per i popoli indigeni delle Ande. La mitologia inca afferma che qui il dio del sole Inti inviò i suoi figli, Manco Cápac e Mama Ocllo, per fondare il popolo inca. Pertanto, il lago Titicaca è visto anche come il luogo di nascita dell'impero inca. Dopo circa 3 ore di viaggio, arriviamo al lago con l'arrivo del buio e immaginiamo su traghetti di legno. I traghetti sono all'incirca larghi come un autobus e sono costituiti solo da una piattaforma di legno e dai motori per la propulsione. Quindi saliamo su questo strano mezzo di trasporto e attraversiamo dall'altra parte. Anche se ci troviamo ancora sulla terraferma, attraversando un promontorio il viaggio viene accorciato di diverse ore e così arriviamo a Copacabana prima dell'arrivo della notte. Mi sistemai in un ostello su una collina e ascoltai il chiacchiericcio infinito di un gruppo piuttosto numeroso di cani. Fino a tarda notte ci fu un litigio incomprensibile nel branco di randagi e cercai di trovare calma nonostante quel rumore. Dopo un'eternità a sentirlo, anche i cagnolini si calmarono e finalmente regnò una tranquillità celestiale sulle rive di questo luogo mistico.

Alle 8 del giorno successivo suonò la sveglia e mi diressi verso il piccolo porto della città. L'obiettivo della giornata era l'Isla del Sol, l'isola più grande della parte boliviana del lago Titicaca e sede di numerose rovine e siti archeologici, tra cui la formazione di rocce Roca Sagrada, il luogo dove si dice che il dio del sole abbia creato il mondo. Il traghetto attraversava lentamente il lago e, sebbene il sole brillasse in faccia, faceva un freddo glaciale nelle prime ore del mattino. Dalla barca osservai il paesaggio desolato e incredibilmente bello, l'acqua era chiara e ci muovemmo lentamente verso l'isola. Due hippie con tre chitarre cercarono di suonare e, sebbene il tentativo fallisse miseramente, non si lasciarono scoraggiare e intrattennero il resto dell'equipaggio durante tutto il viaggio con le loro melodie suonate a livelli estremamente bassi. Una vera e propria prova di resistenza per ogni udito e feci i salti di gioia per il livello acustico quando, dopo oltre un'ora, raggiungemmo il porto nord dell'isola. Silenzio, niente altro che silenzio – assolutamente meraviglioso. A me piace il suono delle chitarre, ma questa esibizione non aveva assolutamente nulla a che fare con la musica e se avessi preso qualsiasi strumento e suonato in modo distratto, non sarei passato inosservato in questo orchestrato dei dannati. Dalla località nel nord dell'isola mi misi in cammino, attraversai alcuni piccoli insediamenti e salii sulla cresta collinosa al centro dell'isola. Più in alto si sale, più belli e impressionanti diventano i panorami sull'isola e sul lago. Un'inesprimibile calma aleggiava nell'aria, praticamente non c'erano altre persone in giro e si poteva quasi sentire lo spirito misterioso e speciale di questo luogo. Continuamente mi fermavo, mi sedevo per un breve momento e lasciavo il mio sguardo vagare per alcuni minuti o anche di più verso l'orizzonte. Terreno roccioso, vegetazione arida, il cinguettio di uccelli sconosciuti e l'acqua blu brillante del lago. Semplicemente bellissimo e proprio il luogo giusto per lasciar vagare l'anima per un momento. Oltre un paio di agricoltori indigeni con asini e muli, non incontrai nessun'altra persona per tutto il mattino. Gli abitanti, principalmente appartenenti alla cultura Aymara, vivono una vita semplice. Agricoltura, pesca e un po' di pettegolezzo da villaggio, non c'è molto di più qui. L'atmosfera è tranquilla e pacifica, quasi come un viaggio in un altro tempo e per me un ambiente sorprendente e assolutamente in sintonia per dire addio alla Bolivia. Nonostante tutta questa vista idilliaca, bisogna anche tenere a mente che il lago Titicaca è uno dei laghi più inquinati del mondo. In particolare, la grande quantità di acque reflue, soprattutto delle città e dei villaggi circostanti, che vengono sversate senza trattamento nel lago, rappresenta un problema. Inoltre, ci sono circa 30.000 miniere illegali attorno al lago, che fanno defluire anch'esse le loro acque reflue fortemente inquinate da piombo e mercurio nel lago senza essere depurate. Sebbene ci siano numerosi progetti per la bonifica e la protezione del lago, sia dalla parte boliviana che da quella peruviana, tuttavia mancano le risorse e anche il coordinamento e quindi l'inquinamento rimarrà probabilmente un problema a lungo termine. Se non si affronta il tema, come visitatore si percepisce poco di questo, l'acqua è chiara, l'aria è piacevolmente pulita e in generale ci sono pochi rifiuti o altre tracce umane in giro. Di fatto, il posto appare molto idilliaco e incontaminato. Molto piacevole, sebbene non si debba ignorare la questione dell'inquinamento ambientale.

Il resto della mattinata proseguii a camminare per l'isola (circa 15 km in totale) e mi deliziai nella calma e nelle meravigliose viste. È incredibilmente piacevole, mi sembrava di essere l'unico turista sull'isola. Anche se a distanza si vedevano gruppi di persone più piccole, la grandezza dell'isola le disperde bene e puoi trascorrere quasi tutta la giornata in questa bella natura praticamente da solo. A tratti i panorami e il lago avevano un alone mediterraneo e dovevo ricordarmi brevemente che non mi trovavo in Corsica, ma nei territori delle Ande a quasi 4.000 m di altitudine. Nel primo pomeriggio raggiunsi una piccola località e mi concedetti un abbondante pranzo e una birra con una splendida vista, prima di dirigermi verso il porto meridionale dell'isola. Le numerose rovine e formazioni rocciose che si attraversano o si vedono da lontano danno un'idea della spiritualità e della vita del popolo inca, senza che io mi sia fermato a studiare in dettaglio i singoli siti. Per me, quel giorno si trattava principalmente di elaborare tutte le impressioni di questo paese emozionante e mettere ordine nei pensieri, prima di intraprendere nuove avventure. Ancora avrei potuto osservare abbondantemente i siti culturali e i resti dell'impero inca in Perù.

Arrivato al porto sud, c'era ancora un'ultima piccola grande difficoltà. Erano le 14:00 e il prossimo traghetto regolare per tornare a Copacabana partiva tra esattamente 2 ore. Sfortunatamente tardi per me, poiché il viaggio di ritorno durava poco più di un'ora e volevo prendere l'unico bus per Puno, che partiva alle 17:30, perché da Puno dovevo andare direttamente con il bus notturno a Cusco. Inoltre, avevo lasciato i miei bagagli nel luogo di soggiorno, che si trovava su una collina alla periferia. Sembra un brutto tempismo, ma non volevo affatto rassegnarmi alla situazione e girovagavo per il porto cercando una strategia di uscita a breve termine, per scendere dall'isola. Di tanto in tanto piccoli battelli attraccavano e partivano, ma erano riservati per gruppi di viaggiatori prenotati in anticipo e chiesi all'equipaggio se ci fosse eventualmente la possibilità di trasportare un turista tedesco di ritorno a Copacabana. La risposta era sempre la stessa: Teoricamente sì, ma nulla andava senza l'accordo degli anziani del villaggio, che apparentemente avevano sotto il loro controllo tutto il traffico portuale e nemmeno dopo insistenti chiedere nessuno dell'equipaggio voleva mettersi contro i sorveglianti, poiché questo significava probabili guai. All'ingresso del porto, con vista sull'impianto, sedevano 5 uomini anziani che gestivano l'intero flusso di pagamenti e la logistica. Questi signori incassavano anche l'importo per il trasporto e rappresentavano una sorta di autorità suprema del porto, che era più un molo per vari piccoli battelli e traghetti. Raccontai al consiglio degli anziani i miei dilemmi e chiesi di salire su uno dei battelli per turisti. Dopo un breve esame della mia figura, tuttavia, la richiesta fu unanimemente respinta e fui invitato a ritirarmi. Iniziai a sentire un'ansia crescente, poiché l'imbarcazione delle 16:00 significava automaticamente perdere il mio bus e la successiva partenza notturna per il Perù. Così tentai nuovamente di ottenere un passaggio per Copacabana, ma purtroppo senza possibilità. E tutto questo sotto lo sguardo dei capi dell'isola. A un certo punto, ne avevo abbastanza, tornai dai signori, tirai fuori 50 boliviani dalla mia tasca (equivalente a 6,50 euro) e iniziai a svolazzare la banconota davanti a loro, per sottolineare la mia urgenza di tornare rapidamente sulla terraferma. Mi ignorarono freddamente e me ne andai irritato prima che un fischio attirasse la mia attenzione. Uno degli uomini aveva sentito e mi fece cenno di avvicinarmi. Dovevo mostrargli la banconota. Detto-fatto e, dopo un breve scambio di battute con i suoi colleghi, indicò una barca che stava per partire dal porto. Prese la banconota, fece cenno all'equipaggio che avevo appena acquistato un biglietto e mi fece segno di dirigermi verso la barca. Presi le gambe in mano, corsi verso il molo e saltai sulla barca in partenza, dove un gruppo di turisti mi osservava sorpreso. Meraviglioso, era poco dopo le 14:30 e stavo tornando sulla terraferma. I guru dell'isola erano anche 50 boliviani più ricchi. Una classica situazione di vittoria-vittoria. Ottimo, quindi non ci sarebbero stati ostacoli per il mio viaggio in Perù. Una volta arrivato a Copacabana, mi diressi verso l'ostello per prendere il mio zaino, che avevo precedentemente concordato di riporre in una stanza e mi resi conto con stupore che la porta era chiusa. Sfortunatamente, i proprietari non erano presenti e nemmeno le mie telefonate ricevevano risposta. O no, tutta questa agitazione per non riuscire a prendere il mio zaino e rischiare di perdere il bus. Fortunatamente, dopo un’ispezione veloce, scoprii che una delle finestre della stanza si poteva aprire e salii usando diversi secchi nel magazzino per evacuare i miei oggetti. Completamente sudato e con il mio bagaglio, corsi dall'ostello alla stazione degli autobus e arrivai circa 15 minuti prima della partenza del mio bus. Quasi un atterraggio perfetto, avevo ancora un certo margine.

Mi sedetti brevemente, poi salii sul bus e partii per il confine - Bolivia, è stato un onore e una gioia indescrivibile - porterò nel cuore il tempo trascorso con te e penso che ci rivedremo sicuramente. Buona fortuna!

After the days spent in the Bolivian rainforest and the Pampas, it was finally time to head to Potosi with a brief stop in La Paz, hopefully this time without any road blockades or complications. And indeed, after a relatively relaxed night drive by Bolivian standards, the bus arrived in the early morning hours at a temperature around freezing point in the city in the south of the country. A stark contrast to the previous days, not only regarding temperatures. The barren landscape and the people adapted to the harsh conditions seem much colder and more distant compared to the environment in the green part of Bolivia. After checking into the hostel, I explored the city. Potosi lies at the foot of the 4,782-meter-high Cerro Rico and was one of the richest cities in the world in the 17th century due to its enormous silver deposits, serving as the center of the thriving Spanish colonial empire at that time. With indigenous slave labor, the Spanish crown extracted immense wealth here. It is estimated that up to 8 million people lost their lives in the process. Even today, thousands of miners work under catastrophic conditions in the mines, with an average life expectancy of just over 40 years. Not necessarily a pleasant place to linger. However, you can take a guided tour into the depths of the mountain, and since this is quite unique in the world, I wanted to seize the opportunity, which should also be the primary goal of my trip to Potosi. The city generally has a rather relaxed vibe, and in the shadow of the silver mountain, you can admire various beautiful colonial buildings. After spending the rest of the day sightseeing, I made my way back to the hostel and booked one of the tours for the next day. The night was quite short, as the altitude was once again felt; however, the breakfast in the hostel that morning was an absolute highlight and probably the best meal offered during my tour so far. Fresh fruit, various juices, pancakes, delicious bread, avocado, eggs, and various spreads – all for the price of a night’s stay of just under 10 euros. Absolutely top-notch. After this culinary delight, I was picked up and we set off in a rickety older model minibus towards the outskirts to Cerro Rico. On the way, we stopped at a market, mainly serving the miners, and bought a few gifts for the workers. Our guide mentioned that the guys in the mountain would especially appreciate cola, coca leaves, and gloves, so we bought all of that. I also bought two packs of self-rolled cigarettes because I knew how much the miners liked to smoke. Even strong smokers in our regions would likely wrinkle their noses at the sight of these local cigarettes. Definitely not normal weed but actually hard tobacco. Additionally, there was dynamite for sale at the market. Dynamite! In a public market. Simply unbelievable and unimaginable for us. Here, however, you can get a stick for around 2 euros, including a detonator. Furthermore, there were small and large containers with 96% alcohol lying around, which the workers likely drink together after their shift. Since conventional alcoholic beverages are way too expensive for people here, the extremely high-proof alcohol is an excellent means of numbing themselves and probably also of coping with the hard and dangerous working life. After the market, we (me and yet another group of French people) were driven to a garage and equipped with the necessary work gear: rubber boots, coveralls, helmets, headlamps, and a small improvised backpack for our gifts. For us, it was certainly an experience to think about actually working in the mountain with this gear, though quite absurd. The next stop was a factory located right by the mountain for processing the ores and metals. At first glance at the installations and machines, I thought it had long been abandoned and only served as a display for visitors. In fact, the entire facility is still actively used, a strange thought when seeing the worn and mud-covered equipment. Everything that serves its purpose here is used until the end of its durability and well beyond. Our guide briefly explained the processes at the plant, where the valuable rock is separated from the rest with relatively simple means. Here, clients can also directly acquire goods. Various rocks and ores are stacked in bags and available for purchase. Some miners sell the treasures they extracted from the mountain themselves. However, these are truly only the remnants from the glorious times. The mountain is almost completely depleted, and hardly any substantial amounts of the precious metal can be found anymore. Only the thought of a lucky find and the resulting wealth, providing an escape from the harsh working life, drives some of the workers into the mountain each day.

By late morning, we reached the mountain. In front of the entrances, you see the most basic infrastructure for tackling the heavy work. Carts or mine wagons, various tools, pneumatic drills, hammers, and various steel ropes and winches. There are also basic huts for storing tools and belongings. When you look around at the scene in front of the mine entrances, it's instantly and unmistakably clear what an absolutely backbreaking job is performed here. Everywhere, the remains of dead llamas hang around, and the mine entrances are thickly smeared with llama blood. All this serves once again to honor Pachamama and ensure the safety of the miners. The offerings are intended to ensure that the earth and the mountain do not become angry and protect the workers, as mining is considered an intrusion into the body of the earth. Subsequently, we entered one of the shafts and slowly walked into the mountain. There are reportedly up to 400 entrances at Cerro Rico; the exact layout and number of shafts and tunnels is not known precisely, as for decades, mining has been done without any control or regulation. It is certainly reassuring to be accompanied by a guide, as just after a few minutes in the mountain, the extent of the devastation becomes apparent. Everywhere are tunnels, entrances to other levels, corridors, holes, and shafts. Keeping track of this madness seems impossible for a layperson. At least at the beginning, one can still follow the course of the tracks, which, however, after a short time also split with the shafts in all possible directions. Still relatively close to the entrance, we entered a room where a strange figure is set up. Here resides El Tio, the devil and ruler of the mountain. The Tio is adorned with coca leaves, beer cans, and bottles of high-proof alcohol, and a cigarette stub smolders in his mouth. Before their shift, the workers stop at Tio and also hand him offerings. If Tio is pleased, he protects the workers, or so the belief goes. Since the miners descend into the realm of the underworld, where Pachamama also no longer has direct access, Tio is richly bestowed. Tio should be kept in a good mood so that he does not harm the workers in the mountain. If he is not respected, he brings misfortune. We also gift Tio a portion of our offerings, and our guide opens a bottle of high-proof alcohol. After a hearty sip, he hands the vessel to me, and I take a shot. Absolutely disgusting, and you immediately feel the strong alcohol entering your system. The whole thing goes around, before he pours a sip of the drink onto his finger, ignites it, and lights a cigarette with it. A bizarre spectacle in an absolutely bizarre place. Tio seems to be pleased, otherwise, I probably couldn't write these lines now. Subsequently, the bottle is handed to me again. I decline, but the guide points out that a single sip brings misfortune, so I once again bring my mouth to the bottle, letting only a minuscule amount pour into my throat. Unimaginable that one can consume this liquid in larger doses. After pacifying Tio, we continue deeper into the mountain. From all corners, whistling and hissing sounds can be heard, a wild tangle of pipes runs along the ceiling. Some gas or compressed air escapes, it smells sour and unpleasant, the air is thick, warm, and laden with various gases. We encounter our first workers, who are on a break, and offer them our gifts. The coca leaves are especially in high demand. On the one hand, they are an excellent remedy for various physical issues related to altitude, and on the other, the miners use the leaves to measure time. The mouth is stuffed full, and they chew until the leaves lose their flavor; this occurs after about 4 hours and serves as a signal that half of their shift is now over. The regular shift during the week is 8 hours, but on weekends, it can often last 12 to 16 hours. This is hardly monitored; they work until physical exhaustion and probably often beyond that. Time and again, you hear a loud noise approaching from the distance; the guide shouts something frantically, and we press our bodies against the walls of the tunnels. One of the mine wagons is approaching at high speed with deafening noise. Depending on the direction, it is either empty or loaded with rock and pushed by two workers. Naturally, no consideration can be given to curious visitors here. If one does not manage to quickly get into a niche or against the wall, one risks being hit by the wagons. Whether there are occasional accidents with tourists is something our guide remains silent about. However, statistics regarding the workers are kept in rough terms; around 10 to 15 deaths occur in the mountain each month. The actual number is likely much higher; only those accidents resulting in immediate fatalities are recorded. No one speaks about the long-term consequences.

Further in the mountain, we switch levels using ladders and crawl through tight holes. It is uncomfortable and definitely not a place for those with claustrophobia. The next workers we meet are mining rock in a shaft beneath us, which is only accessible through a tiny entry hole. We offer cola and cigarettes; the workers are very friendly and appreciate the gifts. The gloves are also gratefully accepted. On the tour's side, it states that a portion of the fee paid goes to the workers. I hope this is true and that tourism in this area might contribute, at least in part, to a better life for the locals.

We continue deeper into the mountain; it has now become unbearably hot, surely over 30°. The guide reports temperatures well beyond 40° Celsius deep inside Cerro Rico. One can hardly imagine how such back-breaking labor can still be performed in such heat. The walls are now yellowish in some spots, shimmering under the light of the headlamps. It's the toxic element arsenic, which is often mined in connection with silver and tin. We are warned not to touch anything and to move cautiously through the tunnels. By now, everyone in the group has donned a protective mask; the dust content in the air is high, and breathing is becoming increasingly difficult. We have now been walking through the mountain for quite a while, and I have a suffocating feeling. I neither know how far we are inside the mountain nor would I probably find the exit without our guide. It's insanity to try to navigate here. The workers seem to find it easier; we repeatedly encounter groups of 2 to 3 people, give them gifts, and have short chats. The strain is visible on their faces, and one falls into a deep humility and gratitude, realizing that by some fortunate circumstances, one is not destined to earn a living in such a harsh environment. Deep inside the mountain, the tunnels become narrower and tighter; one must sometimes walk bent over through the shafts, and the helmet is absolutely necessary—every few meters, you hit your head somewhere. Everywhere, empty beer cans and bottles of high-proof alcohol lie around. Probably the only way to endure the shift. One can only guess how many of the accidents are attributed to the intoxicated state of the workers.

I am relieved when our guide announces that we are already on our way back. After what feels like an eternity, we arrive at one of the exits of the mountain, and I am happy to once again see daylight and not have to disappear into the darkness of the silver mountain the next day. “La montana que come hombres” - the mountain that eats men. This is how the locals refer to Cerro Rico. It is not out of the question that this will soon result in a larger catastrophe. The mountain shrinks annually by several centimeters due to uncontrolled hollowing, and researchers predict the collapse of Cerro Rico in the not-so-distant future.

However, it is also worth highlighting the positive mindset of the people, as when I brought up the possible scenario of a collapse with our guide in the mountain, he replied: “Think positive – this can happen. But we are here, so not today, maybe tomorrow.” A wonderful gallows humor that, despite the external circumstances, actually brings a fleeting smile to my face.

Back in the city center, I spent the rest of the day walking to a viewpoint and gazing at the silver mountain towering over the city. From afar, the giant appears calm and peaceful; with the experiences of the day, one has a rough idea of what suffering happens daily inside Cerro Rico. Probably one of the hardest jobs on our planet and certainly one of the most bizarre places I have ever been, alongside the sulfur mine in the crater of volcanic Ijen in Java.

Before heading back to La Paz by night bus the next day, I attended a game from Nacional Potosi, the local football club playing in the first Bolivian league. Again, the backdrop of the city and Cerro Rico in the background. The stadium is at 4,000 meters and, together with the stadium in El Alto, is one of the highest in the world. Everything about this place is rugged, barren, and sparse. Be it the landscape, the lives of the people, or the oxygen levels at these altitudes.

The trip to Potosi will definitely keep me occupied for quite a while. Anyone wanting to learn more about the history of Cerro Rico and the city of Potosi can simply google “Cerro Rico” and “The mountain that eats men.” There are countless excellent and extremely interesting articles on this topic and about the people who navigate the mines daily.

Listing all this would surely exceed the limits of this text.

PS: The return trip to La Paz once again seamlessly fell into the aria of unbelievable bus rides in Bolivia. Knowing that it can get very cold at night on the Altiplano, I specifically asked before purchasing the ticket (as usual) if the bus has heating. The convincingly stated “Si” turned out to be a lie, and the journey resembled a trip in a freezer. Despite long underwear, two pairs of socks, a sweater, fleece and windbreaker plus scarf and hat, I froze my rear end off terribly. All windows were frosted on the inside, and I couldn't keep my eyes closed for a minute because I was busy trying to warm myself the entire trip. At some point, I even removed the cover from the seat to use it as a blanket. I was so happy when we were back in La Paz that I immediately jumped into a taxi and cursed throughout the entire ride to the hostel. Then straight to a hot shower and into bed, where I continued to shiver for quite some time. Fittingly surreal for this surreal place, the return from Potosi.

After a week in La Paz, I wanted to realize the plan that was still buzzing in my head and travel back to Potosi for a few days to visit the mines. Logistically, it was absolute madness since I had to take the night bus almost back in the direction of the Chilean border, but once you set your mind to something, it's hard to be dissuaded. At least, that's how it is for me, plus I had time.

Early in the morning, I bought the bus ticket, locked my luggage away at the terminal for the equivalent of 25 cents, and wasted the day in the city. When I arrived at the terminal half an hour before departure and inquired with the company about the departure gate, the lady took my ticket and handed me back the already paid amount. Quite perplexed, I accepted the amount and asked for the reason. Roadblocks in the direction of all major cities in the east and south of the country. And since the route from La Paz to Potosi is one of the main arteries of the country, this route was affected as well. Although the logistics and transport sector had announced a strike in the country, it was supposed to start in a few days, so it was really not relevant for my travel plans. But apparently, plans had changed, and nothing was moving on the connecting roads. The reason for the blockades, a daily occurrence in Bolivia: fuel shortage throughout the country. In the days prior, I had seen long lines at gas stations, cars, trucks, and people with canisters trying to secure the last reserves for themselves. So, it seemed to be a pretty acute problem, and the industry was trying to put pressure on the government with roadblocks. Well, no Potosi for now, but what now? I didn't feel like spending a few more days in La Paz, so Plan B was activated, at least in my mind, because after all, the country was paralyzed by the roadblocks, and I had no idea if any bus would be going anywhere. Plan B was the town of Rurrenabaque, located in the tropical rainforest of Bolivia. From there, various boat tours can be taken to admire the whole diversity of the forest's flora and fauna. At the bus station, I inquired about the situation, and I was assured multiple times by different people that the passage north was not affected by the blockades and that the buses were running smoothly to this part of Bolivia. Perfect! I added another day in the city and in the evening it was the same game again - off to the bus station, which for buses to the north, was located in a different part of La Paz. Just before departure, there was chaos or typical Bolivian normality: the bus for which I had purchased a ticket was already fully booked, so I was assigned to a new bus on site twice and stood around with my backpack like a fool for about 2 hours after the regular departure time. Among various street vendors, stray dogs, and the most bizarre characters, I had time to observe the means of transport, and after a brief inspection, I understood why several locals had told me on my journey that the buses to and from Rurrenabaque were the worst in all of Bolivia. Although the poor technical condition of the vehicles in this country was nothing new to me, I was nonetheless briefly astonished by the magnitude of the deficiencies. Tires completely worn, smashed windows, missing headlights, and deep scratches all over the bus's exterior. Perfect conditions for a relaxing bus ride. When it then went at high speed over the finest gravel roads, you could basically only close your eyes and hope it somehow goes well. It worked again – at least until somewhere in the middle of the night. For unknown reasons, the bus stopped in the pitch-black landscape, and nothing was moving. After a short wait, I wondered why some people were leaving the bus before news spread: roadblock. Oh interesting, and yet the bus company staff in La Paz all agreed that there was no problem in that direction. Classic misjudgment - haha. And what now? First, I got off the bus, checked the situation, and made a plan. It was shortly after 4 a.m., and we stood with a larger number of other vehicles in the middle of nowhere, still over 100 km away from the actual destination at a roadblock. A portion of the passengers started moving and walked along the road in the driving direction. So, I followed the locals and spotted two more gringos ahead of me, who also seemed to have Rurrenabaque as their destination. The couple was from France, and the three of us marched through the night. After about an hour, we reached a small village that had a few shops and vehicles. It was around 6 a.m. by then, and the small place was coming to life. The only problem was that there were no people who wanted to take us further towards our destination for a fee, as all transport and taxi companies were also participating in the strike and blockades. Good, somewhat logical, but of course not optimal for us. In the village, we met another four French people, three girls and a guy, who had also been stranded at the blockade and had all coincidentally met here. Quite the funny coincidence. One of the French guys spotted a local in the distance on some sort of tricycle with a loading area. Interesting! And practical! So, we chatted with him, explained our situation, and for the equivalent of 1.20 euros, we continued on the loading area of this unusual vehicle in the direction of our goal. Unfortunately, the ride didn't last long, as after about 15 minutes, we stood at the next blockade. And the Bolivians don't mess around here. Blockade means no passage anymore; even for mopeds and bicycles, it's nearly impossible as the roads are so blocked with trucks and cars that it's just possible for pedestrians to pass through. So, we passed the blockade and walked for what felt like an eternity until we stopped a larger van. The lady in the vehicle was very friendly and said that normally she could drive us to Rurrenabaque without problems, but not during the strike, as she was joining and needed to be at the blockade shortly. However, she had an idea and invited us to get in. We drove a bit back to her house and she suggested that her son could take us. We quickly negotiated a price, waited until the son, who was actually 15 years old (I have no idea how that works here with driving licenses), dropped off the mother at the blockade, and continued the journey. A curious scene for sure: Bolivian rap on the radio and a 15-year-old driving six French people and a German on a country road through the jungle. But the young man did excellently, and after about 1.5 hours, we arrived at the next blockade. As mentioned earlier, the Bolivians don't mess around here, and we had to walk on foot to the other side of the barrier and then switch vehicles. The last vehicle was a classic tuk-tuk, and the group split into two of these rickshaws. Shortly after 10 a.m., we finally arrived in Rurrenabaque and were pleased that despite all the excitement, we had reached our goal relatively relaxed. Then a shared breakfast, and off to the hostel. Surprised by this very beautiful place, I settled into my four-bed room and admired the view. Located right by the Beni River, only a wooden structure with screens separated the room from nature. Really beautiful, plus relaxed people and a pool where one can end the day with a cold beer. Or something like that, it was only noon. There was beer anyway, and for the rest of the day we played cards, chatted about everything possible, and did absolutely nothing productive. I repeated the same the following day and especially enjoyed the comfortable situation of no longer hanging around at an altitude of nearly 4,000 m. You could noticeably feel the extra oxygen in the air and the connected energy that overwhelmed you. Full of enthusiasm, I booked a 3-day tour in the Pampas of the Beni River and was excited about what was in store for me. In the morning of the third day, off we went in the car with three more French people (surprising) towards the Beni River. Along the way, we stopped several times at the roadside and observed capybaras in the swampy landscape who were evidently enjoying their existence and indulging in strenuous activities like bathing, swimming, and lounging in the shade. Quite charming creatures, and their relaxed nature fits perfectly on this continent. For me, it was also the first time on this trip that I was able to observe capybaras. After a while, we stopped in a village and were served a decent lunch in a sort of guesthouse. The business was firmly in family hands; the father lounged in the shade, the mother cooked the truly excellent meal, and the perhaps 10-year-old son served the dishes in fine attire. Seems to be quite normal around here. After the sustenance, we traveled a little further until we finally reached the river bank, where together with our guide Juan Carlos, we loaded the supplies for the next few days into the boat. The wooden kayak finally set off, and with a slightly chugging motor, we sailed down the river. Just after a few minutes, we could observe who rules this area on the banks - every few meters there were crocodiles, caimans, or alligators lying in the sun and letting the sun shine on their scaly skin. Quite a bizarre scenery in which we found ourselves, among the rulers of the pampas were various birds, hundreds of turtles, monkeys in the trees, and capybaras scattered around that seemed unfazed by the presence of the predators. This continued for over three hours down the river, and the view roamed all around. Quite exotic creatures were to be discovered along the way. And in the meantime, the surroundings radiated a pleasant tranquility. A stark and necessary contrast to the chaos of the big city. Finally, we reached the camp in the late afternoon and settled into our basic accommodation. There was a communal room and three huts with beds and hammocks, all made entirely of wood and built on stilts. This was probably necessary given the greedy roommates, and the knowledge that crocodiles are poor climbers was quite reassuring. After that, we went a little further with the boat to observe the beautiful sunset in the middle of the pampas. A wonderful scene and the peace that came with it - a place to feel good. On the return journey in the dark, the eyes of the reptiles reflected in the light of our flashlights, shining everywhere like buttons, making you realize the extent of the crocodile population. This was clearly crocodile land, and unintentionally leaving the boat was not a great idea. To wrap up the day, an elderly lady served us an excellent dinner, and I went to bed pleasantly satisfied. I listened for a short time to the countless sounds of nature before my eyes quickly closed.

The next morning, we were woken up quite early, and after a decent breakfast, we went back out on the river. Piranha fishing was on the agenda. We stopped not far from our hut camp and with a line strung on a piece of wood and small meat pieces, we tried our luck. As soon as you held the bait close to the boat in the water, you could immediately hear the jaws of the predatory fish clacking, and if you didn't jerk the line towards you and were also lucky that one of the creatures swallowed the hook, the meat was already gone. Incredible how fast and energetically the piranhas devoured the bait, sometimes the fish would leap out of the water in groups while the meat disappeared between their razor-sharp teeth. While I struggled to outsmart the fish, Juan Carlos pulled one piranha after the other from the water, sometimes at the rate of one per minute. Practice makes perfect, I settled with two caught fish. After that, we continued a bit further up the river and into the pampas, the swampy and extensive savanna landscape with quite open vegetation. Here, the anaconda, the largest constricting snake in the world, is also at home, and armed with sticks and rubber boots, we wanted to find one today. We waded through grass taller than me, swamps, and ponds, trying to find any clues about the snake's whereabouts. However, we had no luck. It seemed to be more about the event itself since Juan Carlos revealed to me after hours of searching through all sorts of supposed hiding spots and ponds that the chance of finding an anaconda was quite low.

So, we returned to camp with a somewhat acceptable yield of predatory fish but without a sighting of an anaconda, and the fish were prepared. Luckily, this was not the only meal since the edible part is quite limited or rather: there’s almost nothing edible on a piranha, and the flavor isn't particularly spectacular either. However, the rest of the midday meal was excellent, and after the sustenance, the three French people said goodbye, leaving me as the only guest in the camp. Juan Carlos and I decided to take a nice long afternoon nap, and after resting, we went out again on the boat. It was wonderful in this quietness, alone with the guide and amid this diverse flora and fauna, I enjoyed the view from the boat and relaxed. At sunset, we stopped at an estate in the middle of nowhere and enjoyed the view into the vastness of the steppe while having a cold beer. Then the same game again: back with the boat to camp while once again marveling at all the glowing points at the riverbank. I asked myself several times if it would be possible to swim across the width of the river at any point without falling victim to the voracious maw of one of the crocodiles. Probably quite difficult; however, the proof of this thesis was not obtained, as there is still much more to discover than the inside of a giant lizard. At camp, everything was very relaxed, and with the three of us: Gringo, guide, and the wonderful cook, we let the evening wind down, and I climbed into bed satisfied. However, my sleep that night was repeatedly interrupted as a horde of howler monkeys made themselves comfortable near my hut and jumped from the treetops onto the tin roof several times. Since these colleagues are quite solidly built, that makes a substantial racket, and I was startled awake more than once from deep sleep and needed a moment to realize what was happening. Luckily, even the wildest monkeys eventually get tired, and by the morning hours, the commotion was over. The next day, it wasn't quite as early again but after another really good breakfast, we set off again. Juan Carlos had the glorious idea of looking for the anaconda again. His feeling told him that today might be a good day for sighting the snake, or maybe he just dreamed of it. Regardless – I agreed, and it went back out into the savanna in the same pattern as the day before. Once again, we waded through dense grass, sighted supposed nests or hiding spots, and poked around randomly with our sticks, only this time in a different part of the pampas. Eventually, I discovered an unnatural organic appearance in the dense grass and inspected it closer – snake skin! And from a larger snake. I called Juan Carlos for expertise, and indeed - it was the shed skin of an anaconda. No snake, but at least a success after all that wading and poking. Satisfied, the stick seemed a little lighter in my hand, and shortly after, the big surprise came. Juan Carlos whistled and beckoned me his way. “Anaconda” echoed through the steppe, and after a quick step, I could hardly believe my eyes. From a bushy hiding spot among the grasses, the graceful head of a snake looked at us. Completely still, with no body movement, the head was raised in the air, and the only thing that moved was the reptile's tongue. With that, it perceives everything possible: smells, vibrations, and sounds. I watched the snake fascinated from close quarters. The approximately three-meter-long body was entirely hidden in the thicket, only in certain places could you perceive the black-brown skin. A perfect camouflage; the only thing that stood out from the landscape's surface was the snake's head. A beautiful animal, and even though it was a rather small anaconda, I was completely euphoric and delighted about the sighting, like a small child. For some time, I continued to observe the animal from near distance but without touching the snake. Completely calmly, the animal endured my staring, and the tongue was the only part that moved the whole time. Fascinating. Fully satisfied, we returned with our boat to the dwelling and devoured the already prepared lunch. Throughout the entire excursion into the pampas, the food was really outstanding, and my thanks again go to the excellent cook. After that, we loaded everything onto the boat and returned for what felt like an eternity to the starting point of the journey. Along the way, we still stopped at an expansive bay of the river and moored the boat, as here were supposed to be some special residents. With knocking sounds on the boat, we drew attention to ourselves, and it didn't take long before the landlord showed himself for the first time: right next to our boat, the head of an Amazon river dolphin emerged. Wow – what a fascinating shape. We knocked on the wood of the boat repeatedly, and gradually we saw the dolphins in their striking pink garments flipping out of the water. Overall, this is a group of about 5 or 6 dolphins that are native to this river region and show themselves to visitors. I had never seen such a strange shape with its pink coloration and pointed snout before. Theoretically, you can bathe with the dolphins here; however, after all the eventful days, I was content with observing from a distance. The little ones made a few rounds in the murky water around the boat and then disappeared. We also vanished and continued on our journey. Upon arriving at the small harbor of Santa Rosa, we switched from boat to car and made our way back to Rurrenabaque. I enjoyed a long shower in the facilities of the travel agency and prepared for the return journey to La Paz. This was going to be quite an adventure again, seated in the very back row of the bus; however, the problem this time was merely the driver. He drove wildly and way too fast over the gravel roads and through numerous potholes. Sleeping was hardly an option; we were thrown around the half bus multiple times by the most violent jolts on the rear axle. The driver, however, seemed quite unfazed; he apparently had a mission, and almost two hours earlier than planned, we arrived completely rattled at the bus station in La Paz. Absolutely senseless this wild ride since I was supposed to take a bus later that night, and since it was 6 a.m. upon arrival, it meant now waiting for some shop to open where I could enjoy breakfast. Luckily, I was already accustomed to the theme of “bus travel in Bolivia,” and this ride was just another chapter in that.

The trip into the green lungs of Bolivia was definitely an experience and a very successful change from the chaotic hustle and bustle in the heights of the Altiplano.

Right after my arrival in La Paz late in the evening, Nim informed me that she had booked a tour for us tomorrow down the legendary Death Road on bicycles. We had discussed this beforehand, but I assumed that I could at least acclimatize in La Paz for a day or two before engaging in any activities. Well, it seems I was wrong, and after a really dreadful night where I hardly slept due to the altitude, we were off early the next morning. We were loaded into vans, with the bikes already stored on the roof, heading up to over 4,600 m in elevation. Since my arrival yesterday, I had only been able to see the city in the dark, so on the ride, I got my first glimpse of the lively chaos that unfolds here during the day. A bit outside the city, the bikes were unloaded, and we received initial instructions and an overview of what to expect that day. For a small extra fee, we had chosen bikes with front and rear suspension, a wise choice that would prove beneficial later. Following this, we were outfitted with various protective gear: jacket and pants with protectors, elbow and knee pads, and gloves. There must be a reason why we suited up so well for this journey.

The Death Road or Yungas Road - also known as Camino de la Muerte - was considered the most dangerous road in the world until 2007. It is estimated that approximately 200 – 300 travelers die each year on the route, which stretches for about 65 km and was the main connection between La Paz and the Amazon rainforest until the construction of a new two-lane road. Since the road is now rarely used for regular traffic, it can be navigated relatively easily by mountain bike, crossing nearly all climate zones of South America until reaching the goal at 1,200 m.

Our guide told us that every year, 1 to 2 fatalities occur during the rapid descent, but with our fantastic Transformer-style protective gear, we felt invulnerable! ;)

The first section of the route is driven from the La Cumbre Pass approximately 22 km down the newly paved road into the valley, offering spectacular views of the surrounding mountains and gorges. This section is usually secured with guardrails, and the road surface is quite good. The only issue here is the traffic and the madness displayed by some drivers with their maneuvers. After this section, the actual Death Road begins with its narrow unpaved track and steep cliffs. At some points, the road is only 3 meters wide, running alongside steep drops that fall hundreds of meters. Before we are released onto the unpaved section, we stop at a viewpoint to receive instructions and a warning to stay as far to the right as possible. This rule does not apply when approaching traffic comes, as it is allowed to pass (and this is a feature of this road) on the right from above. This rule was created because vehicles descending can maneuver better, thus allowing the uphill driver to have the side away from the edge.

From the viewpoint and the starting point of the actual Death Road, one can also see the course of the road leading further into the valley for the first time and marvel at the steep slopes on the roadside.

Initially quite cautious, we gradually picked up speed as we flew downhill on the unpaved track. It’s impressive what the bikes can endure and especially how much they can take. Perhaps a false assumption, but I felt surprisingly comfortable and safe on the mountain bike after just a short while, and the ride became wilder and wilder. I often waited at a spot with a spectacular view (and there are plenty) for Nim, and then took off again down the road with full speed. Nim also felt increasingly secure on the bike after a while, and we had a blast during the descent without really putting ourselves at risk, as we all wanted to arrive safely in the valley despite the adrenaline rush.

As we raced down the steep slopes, dramatic panoramas opened up with deep gorges and lush forests. At one point along the route, we even rode underneath a waterfall. Absolutely spectacular, and I would have loved to rewind time for a moment to observe the traffic that once struggled up and down this mountain before the new Yungas Road was built.

Around noon, we stopped at a wider section of the road for snacks, pancakes with Dulce de Leche, and fruit. After that, we continued into the valley, and I could clearly sense that the whole group (there were 12 of us crazy people in total) had become more confident with the bicycles, as the descent speed noticeably increased.

In the final kilometers before reaching the valley, we split off from the rest of the group with our 6-member team and engaged in a real race with position battles. Here the track was a bit wider, and it was genuinely fun to continue racing in a competitive spirit. Other than a small faux pas by a Frenchman who narrowly skimmed the edge with his rear wheel just before me in a curve (the Frenchman claimed it was relaxed, from my perspective it was inches away), there were no significant complications, and at high speed, the group sped towards the finish with a few position changes here and there. Upon arrival at the bottom, we all embraced. Bursting with adrenaline, we collectively realized what an incredible experience the past few hours had been. With faces covered in mud and dust, and aching wrists, we were served ice-cold beer, and we reveled in this eventful day. A big shoutout here once again for our decision to take the full suspension bikes. During the wild ride, we got jolted around so much that, without full suspension, my wrists would likely need to be in serious recovery mode.

After an hour, the bikes were loaded back on the roof, and we headed to one of the nearby villages in the valley, where dinner included in the price was served in tropical temperatures and dense forest. What a contrast to La Paz. The buffet was abundant and delicious, and to aid digestion, we lounged by or in the pool, admiring the colorful macaws that were frolicking in the trees.

On the subsequent long return trip – it took us almost 5 hours to reach La Paz – we shared many stories or just chatted about random nonsense before happily heading to bed.

In the end, it’s once again clear that some experiences are more than just adrenaline and adventure, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first glance. The crazy journey on the Death Road was not only a challenge but also a moment of pause amidst the wild nature of Bolivia – an experience that lingers long after.

La Paz as well. Puhhh. What a city and how incredibly difficult it is to somehow bring the impressions to paper in an orderly manner. This is really a challenge, and I don’t know how to even begin summarizing it. Overall, I spent more or less over 2 weeks in this chaos, and I will try to summarize it somehow. When you arrive in the city for the first time in the middle of the night, what stands out first is the incredible dimension of the urban space. You drive over El Alto into the valley and only see lights on the horizon. Houses, hills, and an unfathomable populated area in this seemingly hostile environment at an altitude of 4,000 meters. La Paz describes only the core city located in the valley. However, right next to it is El Alto. Formerly a district of La Paz located on a plateau above the city, El Alto is now an independent municipality with an estimated population between 850,000 and 1 million (as El Alto expands daily, the exact number of residents can only be roughly estimated). While the more affluent parts of the population settled in the sheltered valley, El Alto is rather a melting pot for people who can no longer afford to live in the supposedly better-situated valley. El Alto is a city with a very high proportion of indigenous population, and a large portion of the people have migrated from the Altiplano to El Alto in recent decades due to rural flight and poverty. As a visitor, you immediately feel the stark contrast between the more middle-class La Paz and the relatively impoverished El Alto. Looking from the streets of La Paz towards El Alto, you only notice the mountain ridge at the edge of the city, and it’s hard to realize that a much larger city still stretches beyond the city’s borders on the plateau. It seems completely surreal how the two municipalities entangle themselves in a kind of symbiosis. From the perspective of El Alto, however, during a ride on the Teleferico or while walking along the edge of El Alto, you gaze into the valley basin, and it is difficult to grasp the scale of the core city in the valley. Everything feels so surreal that you really have to remind yourself repeatedly that you are in an actual existing metropolis and not in some artificially created world or virtual reality. As mentioned before, while both municipalities are geographically very close to each other, they differ significantly in terms of population, economy, and cultural background. El Alto is considered the heart of indigenous identity and resistance in Bolivia, while La Paz traditionally represents the political and economic elite. All this is reflected in the perception of the actual cityscape. While La Paz appears like a “normal” South American metropolis, El Alto looks more improvised and rather simple in structure. Walking through the city on the plateau, you notice that the infrastructure is limited to what is essential. Simple street kitchens and supplies for the population take priority here. Bars, better restaurants, and other sites of urban enjoyment are hard to find. The population seems too poor to indulge in entertainment venues. El Alto is also home to one of the largest markets in Bolivia, if not in all of South America and the largest open-air market in the world. Known as the Mercado 16 de Julio, it stretches over vast areas of the city. When we strolled through the market on a Thursday, we quickly realized that it cannot be explored in a day. It’s unbelievable how extensive the market is, and even after hours, there seemed to be no end in sight. Without a doubt, this is the largest marketplace I have ever walked through, and everything you can imagine is offered here. In addition to everyday products, the market is also known for selling unusual and bizarre items. There are stalls with spiritual and esoteric products, healing remedies, talismans, or various items for religious rituals. Part of the market, and likely all markets in Bolivia, is closely linked to Aymara culture and the belief in Pachamama (Mother Earth) and other spiritual beings. During market days, almost all street traffic in El Alto comes to a standstill, and during our first visit to El Alto, we also missed the Cholita-Libre event because it was impossible to reach the event location, but more on that later.

To slightly structure the entire madness of La Paz, I'll mention some facts, impressions, experiences, and events that left a lasting impression during my stay.

The cityscape in general can be described as quite unique. There are few undeveloped areas; in the valley and on the slopes, houses and huts squeeze into every tiny open space, right up to the last buildable area at the edge of the rugged cliffs and slopes that surround the city. It’s a stark contrast to planned cities like Brasília or Washington, D.C. The only order and constant in the cityscape is the never-ending chaos. It is loud, and there is always movement somewhere, like in a proverbial ant hill. With a height difference of nearly 900 meters between La Paz and El Alto, the descent into the valley leads to one of the most spectacular views on the South American continent. And above it all looms the snow-capped peak of Illimani, at 6,439 m the second-highest peak in Bolivia and a prominent landmark of the city.

Teleferico:

To explore the city, taking a ride on the Teleferico, the highest cable car in the world, is highly recommended. There are now a total of 9 lines connecting both cities, and for 3 Bolivianos (about 35 cents), you can enjoy spectacular views over the rooftops of both municipalities. The cable car system visibly helps to relieve the roads and the nerves of the residents; given the size of the city and the still catastrophic traffic, it undoubtedly meant that before the construction of the Teleferico, an appointment on the other side of the city would involve a day trip. In about an hour, you can travel in a sort of ring system to all essential neighborhoods using the cable car and get a wonderful impression from a bird’s eye view without having to plunge directly into the bustling hustle and bustle and without being stuck in traffic for hours.

By the way, to ease the traffic chaos, the city employs zebras. Although not real animals, these are people dressed in zebra costumes who help regulate traffic. Here, traffic lights are merely seen as decoration, and state authority is not fully respected; the zebras serve as a link between the state and the population, using red and green signs to manage the traffic. This surprisingly works well, and these animal helpers are taken seriously and respected. After all, who can defy a zebra that jumps onto the street with a wide grin, goofing around and pointing out the next green phase?

Cholitas- Wrestling:

As previously described, one of our first excursions to El Alto was to see the Cholitas. Combat sport and shows are nothing unusual in Latin America, and since I had already visited lucha libre fights in Mexico, I had a vague idea of what to expect here. Due to the chaos on one of the market days, we missed the first scheduled fight day and decided to return to the arena in El Alto another time. We booked the tour at one of the first hostels, and together with other foreigners, we made our way up to El Alto. For about 10 euros, you acquire an entrance ticket, including a snack, drink, and souvenir. An estimated 90% of the visitors here are tourists, and among the interested locals, they retreated to the back of the hall on the concrete steps of the grandstand while plastic chairs are reserved for foreigners right by the ring. I honestly didn’t like this two-class society; however, since the entire event likely primarily lives off the income of tourists, I can somewhat understand it from the operators’ perspective. It’s definitely spectacular to see the Cholitas take turns hitting each other in several matches, both individually and as a team. Clearly, it’s all a show, but the athleticism of the women is quite impressive, and with some of the moves displayed, I’m sure any ordinary person would break every bone in their body. Somewhat rustic at times, with punches, kicks, hair pulling, and mutual beer-spitting followed by crushing the can on the opponent's head, a wide repertoire of actions is presented here. This also has a serious background, as domestic violence against women in Bolivia is unfortunately widespread; the Cholitas have taken this as a reason to emancipate from violence, learn combat sports, and showcase it to the audience. The majority of the earnings also go to the fighters (so we were told), thus supporting women in their daily battle against violence. Definitely a fun and interesting event; if you’re in La Paz, you should experience it.

San Pedro Prison:

In the middle of the city at Plaza San Pedro lies the largest prison in the country, well shielded from the outside world with its 18-meter-high walls. However, San Pedro Prison has nothing in common with a conventional correctional facility. The prison has a nearly autonomous economic system. There are apartments and markets, restaurants, bars, and even small businesses that provide services to other inmates. The prisoners pay for their cells, and there is a clear hierarchy regarding the type of accommodation and social status within the prison walls. Wealthy inmates can buy or rent luxurious cells, while poorer prisoners have to live in miserable and overcrowded cells.

The exclusively male inmates in San Pedro often live with their wives and children. Early in the morning, the women take the children to school and then work somewhere in the city, selling food or souvenirs before returning to the prison with the children in the late afternoon. Since the first hostel was located in the immediate vicinity of San Pedro Prison, we could observe the colorful activities outside the prison gates daily; during rush hours, women and children sometimes lined up to return to their heavy men because the demand was simply too high.

There are reports that cocaine is produced and smuggled in significant quantities within the prison due to self-administration. Unusual methods are employed for this: sometimes transported by pigeons or packed in apples, which are then thrown onto the street and picked up and further transported by contacts. The residents are generally aware of this methodology; however, it tends to be accepted more or less tacitly. If someone mentions it, that person is automatically implicated in the gangs' schemes and part of the problem. So, it is better to keep quiet and avoid trouble. During a walking tour, we were advised not to pick anything up near the prison walls – smuggling seems to remain an ever-present issue. Originally intended for 300 inmates, there are now reportedly over 4,000. If you’re interested in how things look inside the prison walls, just type “San Pedro Prison” into YouTube and gain a visual impression of the conditions described in the facility.

The prison also became famous outside Bolivia through the book “Marching Powder,” which tells the true story of British drug smuggler Thomas McFadden and provides a deep and authentic insight into the daily life in San Pedro Prison, which is fundamentally different from other prisons.

McFadden was arrested in 1996 with 5 kilograms of cocaine at La Paz airport and incarcerated in San Pedro. Quickly integrated into the unusual prison system, the clever McFadden begins to make the best of his situation, offering unofficial tours for backpackers and other tourists into the prison's inner workings with the help of corrupt guards and other accomplices to tell the unique structure and stories of the inmates firsthand. McFadden gained notoriety through these tours, and the tourists helped him with the earnings to continually improve his life in prison. He rose to a position within the prison that provided him with protection and a relatively comfortable life, while violence and power struggles shaped daily life within the prison.

On one of these tours, he met the Australian Rusty Young, who was so fascinated by McFadden’s story that he wrote a book about it – Marching Powder. The book, published in 2003, became an international bestseller and made San Pedro Prison world-famous. The reports about prison life and the state of the Bolivian justice system shocked many readers, and after publication, the authorities tried to tighten their grip and curtail drug smuggling, which presumably only succeeded for a short time. At least the official tours into the prison are now strictly prohibited. There were reportedly some unpleasant incidents, and the government has finally put a stop to this. The last story I heard about the still unofficial tours was about 3 Australians who reportedly had to raise a significant amount of money at the beginning of the year to leave the prison unharmed. Surely such a tour would have been interesting for me as well, but under these circumstances it is certainly not feasible and just plain foolish and dangerous.

To this day, the book is not available in Spanish. Perhaps to avoid confronting the majority of the Bolivian population with the true conditions inside the prison walls.

Markets and Pachamama

I briefly touched on the significance of markets for the local population with the example of Mercado 16 de Julio. Entire neighborhoods are covered with stalls on certain days, and there are streets for sweets, hygiene products, clothing, or fruits. There is also bustling activity in La Paz. Even in major cities, there are very few actual supermarkets; all daily necessities are purchased in countless small kiosks or at the market. The business here in the country is traditionally firmly in women’s hands. Women are said to have a good business sense, whereas men are thought to take their earnings straight back to the next brewery to drink. Indeed, I noticed that during all my walks, almost exclusively women were behind the stalls. As a customer, for every item desired, you have your own market lady, who besides the goods also shares a bit of gossip and, depending on the length of the business relationship, offers a decent discount in the form of more goods. Thus, you stroll over the vast areas and shop with the respective “Caseritas” (the friendly term for market women) for potatoes, beets, or onions. And you should be careful not to avoid the respective caserita responsible for your desired product and go to another lady, because then, besides the good personal relationship, the special price and better quality of products are gone for good. In addition to traditional markets, there is also a witch market in La Paz, where you can find all sorts of tourist trinkets as well as very unusual products, such as dried llama fetuses, exotic herbs, talismans, amulets, and various ritual ingredients. Here as well, the goods are traditionally offered by Cholas or Cholitas (indigenous women) in their traditional clothing. The clothing of the Cholitas consists of a long skirt, up to 10 petticoats, a shoulder shawl, and the typical hat. The ladies also make for an interesting photo motif, but one should proceed with extreme caution when photographing the indigenous population or ask for permission beforehand. Many indigenous people believe that photographing them can steal their soul.

At the witch market, everything is closely linked to the deep connection of Bolivian society with traditional beliefs and nature. For the Western visitor, the market represents a bizarre attraction; for many locals, however, it is an essential part of daily life and spiritual practice. Here, the traditional knowledge of the Aymara culture is preserved, and Pachamama is revered. Pachamama, also known as Mother Earth, plays a central role in the indigenous culture of the Andes, both in Bolivia and Peru. She is considered the personification of the earth, goddess of fertility, nature, and life. Everything revolves around Pachamama here, and you are confronted with this theme almost daily. On the street corners in La Paz, you see shamans everywhere, called Yatiris, who facilitate personal contact with Pachamama, for personal contact is unfortunately not possible for the average citizen. The ritual goes as follows: You have a wish or need and would like to seek Pachamama’s assistance. So, you gather a few offerings and head to a Yatiri. The offerings (llama fetuses, coca leaves, candies, flowers, alcohol, or perfume) are arranged on a special tray and burned. Through the smoke of the burnt offerings, Pachamama sees the contact request and turns her attention to the person in question and their request. The offerings are meant to maintain the balance between man and nature and ensure her protection. Whether these rituals are generally successful, I cannot say, but it seems there’s something to it; especially in the city center of La Paz and near markets, you often see these ceremonies.

A central role in the colorful assortment of offerings play llama fetuses, which are especially needed when building houses. Before laying the foundation stone, ashes and a baby llama are included in the earth, thus securing the protection of the house by Pachamama.

There are also reports that when constructing larger houses and buildings, human sacrifices are resorted to in order to ensure protection. During the demolition of older structures in the cities, the remains of people are sometimes found in the foundations. Officially, this is no longer common practice today, and it is socially frowned upon, but several Bolivians have told me that this is still practiced. Rumors have it that homeless and alcoholic people are specifically targeted to honor them in one last “great night” before offering them. Also, on a free walking tour, human sacrifices were mentioned, but I could not find verified sources or evidence in my research.

In general, the cityscape regarding the demographic structure is heavily influenced by the indigenous population; about 40% of Bolivians identify as indigenous peoples, which is the largest share among all South American countries. However, over 80% of Bolivia's residents are Catholic. Since the colonial period, Catholicism has been deeply rooted in the country; the Spaniards successfully managed to evangelize a large part of the population.

At the center of La Paz stands the Basilica de San Francisco, built in the mid-16th century during the Spanish colonial period, which features one peculiarity: On the front facade is a representation of a naked woman, Pachamama. This figure was intended to encourage the indigenous population to practice the Catholic faith. The indigenous people, drawn to the Pachamama figure, entered the church, and were astonished. In the church, the Spaniards had placed mirrors. Since the indigenous people were unaware of mirrors, they were astonished by their own faces, and the Spaniards told them these were their souls. And if people came to church often enough and prayed to their God and their souls, their souls would be safe in the church and would ascend to heaven. Along with horrific depictions of hell shown to the indigenous people, which instilled great fear, they obediently attended church and prayed to the god of the conquerors. This is a vivid example of the creativity of the Spaniards in evangelizing the local population.

Apart from the execution of their traditional beliefs, the traditions and rituals of the indigenous population are omnipresent in the cityscape, be it at the markets, through the Cholitas, or the Yatiris. That’s what makes La Paz so unique and interesting for me; you feel like you've arrived in a different time, far removed from the modernity of European capitals. Notable in La Paz are also the many shoeshiners standing on every corner, often with their faces completely covered. Since the profession of shoeshiner is considered inferior and contemptible in Bolivian society, the men cover their faces, especially to avoid being recognized by acquaintances and relatives. It's a stark example of discrimination, which likely stems from the belief that during Inca times, the lowest job was to clean the feet of the Chaski (the messenger) after a long journey.

What else can I personally report about La Paz?!

Most of the time, I spent here with Nim, a wonderfully crazy Australian with whom I explored North Chile and Bolivia. After 3 days in a really awful hostel (much too small rooms, uncomfortable), we booked an Airbnb with two private rooms for a cheap price, and we also treated ourselves to some good rest after all the excitement of the last weeks and the daily adventures in the city. This was also necessary as you can feel the altitude at times and with the constant up and down through the streets of the city. In La Paz, I had a significant problem with the food for the first time on my trip and was out of commission for 3 days due to constant toilets visits from all body openings. I have no idea if it was already a food poisoning, but it definitely wasn’t enjoyable.

Of course, we also watched soccer, and a visit to the city's cemetery should not be missed during any stay in La Paz. While attending a match in the Copa Sudamericana: Always Ready – LDU Quito, we visited one of the highest football stadiums in the world (4,170 m above sea level), the atmosphere at the Cementerio General de La Paz was rather calm and respectful. Walking through one of the most significant burial sites of the country feels somewhat like being in a Wes Anderson film. All the artistic tombs, the magnificent mausoleums, and the morbid street art against the backdrop of the constructed slopes leave a quite surreal but somehow beautifully sad impression.

I could probably write for hours about everything I experienced or perceived in La Paz, but I instead recommend a personal visit to this crazy city – for me definitely one of the most exciting, if not the most exciting urban space I have ever moved in.

La Paz, the colorful city high up on the Altiplano as a melting pot of history, culture, and tradition: colorful chaotic, wild, contrasting, rough, rugged, windy, historical, hectic, exciting, authentic, diverse, breathtaking, and above all, UNIQUE!

Prima di arrivare effettivamente nella città di Cochabamba, devo assolutamente parlare del viaggio, poiché si è rivelato piuttosto interessante e spettacolare.

Da Samaipata ho preso un Colectivo per circa 30 minuti fino a Mairana. Poiché ero piuttosto in ritardo e il Colectivo parte solo quando è pieno, ho acquistato l'ultimo posto libero per circa 1,50 euro e sono arrivato in tempo al punto di partenza del bus per Cochabamba. La mia prima impressione del bus non mi ha fatto dubitare delle sue capacità di viaggio, ma il mezzo era così logoro che in territori dell'Europa centrale non sarebbe stato affatto permesso circolarvi. Inoltre, il conducente, vestito con sandali, borsa a tracolla e una sigaretta in bocca, non dava affatto l'impressione di essere la persona giusta per manovrare quel veicolo. Così è iniziato il viaggio selvaggio e, dopo poco tempo, abbiamo dovuto fermarci per la prima volta, perché oltre al forte rumore prodotto dai freni, si presentava anche un problema con la pressione dell'aria in uno dei pneumatici. Durante la prima sosta, senza assistenza, abbiamo fatto delle pause regolari per ispezionare qualcosa riguardo uno dei pneumatici anteriori. Sembrava non essere un problema serio, perché il veicolo continuava a muoversi costantemente. Finché non siamo risaliti sull'Altiplano e non siamo saliti oltre i 3.000 metri, il viaggio è stato relativamente tranquillo. Tuttavia, con un percorso più impegnativo, il conducente ha scoperto il suo lato da corsa e, a pieno gas e con varie manovre estremamente rischiose, la follia ha avuto inizio. Il bus emetteva rumori che non riuscivo in alcun modo a decifrare e, guardando giù per le gole e notando l'assenza di misure di sicurezza come guardrails o altre barriere, potevo solo immaginare grossolanamente le conseguenze che avrebbero avuto luogo se il nostro autista avesse avuto un momento di debolezza. Per rendere la situazione più tollerabile, ho semplicemente fissato il finestrino e ho cercato di concentrarmi su qualcos'altro. Nel frattempo, ho sentito più volte il brusio ansioso e nervoso degli altri passeggeri e, durante uno dei sorpassi completamente superflui - ovviamente prima di una curva poco visibile - abbiamo quasi speronato l'autobus che stavamo sorpassando. Erano davvero centimetri e riuscivo a toccare la carrozzeria dell'autobus allungando la mano fuori dal finestrino. A complicare ulteriormente la situazione, c'era anche traffico in arrivo, e con un forte clacson siamo sfuggiti per un pelo a una collisione, e questa non è stata la prima situazione estremamente critica durante il viaggio. Alcuni boliviani si sono messi a urlare e hanno cercato di convincere l'autista a moderare la velocità con frasi cariche di insulti. Tuttavia, l'autista sembrava sentirsi offeso nella sua dignità professionale e ha spinto il bus ancora più forte attraverso le curve dell'Altiplano. Nel frattempo, una donna a bordo si è sentita male e è crollata nel corridoio centrale. Diversi passeggeri hanno cercato di aiutare la donna e anch'io volevo contribuire con dell'acqua. Tuttavia, a causa dello stile di guida di questo pazzo, era impossibile mantenere in piedi stabilmente, e ci muovemmo per il bus come se camminassimo su delle uova, mentre la donna rotolava nel corridoio centrale. Che spettacolo grottesco! Come in un film, tutte le persone venivano sbalzate per il bus, finché qualcuno è riuscito a far capire all'autista che si trattava di una situazione di emergenza. Il conducente ha finalmente rallentato un po' e dopo un po' la donna ha ripreso conoscenza. Il suo sistema circolatorio si è stabilizzato e il resto del viaggio si è svolto relativamente normalmente.

Peccato che a causa delle circostanze del viaggio non si potesse godere a pieno del panorama, perché era davvero mozzafiato. Attraverso le diverse zone paesaggistiche, dai pendii lussureggianti delle Ande, passando per il secco Altiplano con le sue viste impressionanti, fino a giungere alla valle relativamente verde di Cochabamba, questo viaggio in condizioni normali sarebbe un vero e proprio punto culminante.

Arrivato a Cochabamba, avrei dovuto incontrare Nim, e in anticipo avevo riservato un letto nell'ostello, e siamo andati per un viaggio culinario. Cochabamba è spesso soprannominata la capitale gastronomica della Bolivia ed è nota per la sua ricca tradizione culinaria e varietà. I piatti tipici sono „Pique Macho“ (una sorta di ricca zuppa di carne di manzo fritta, patate, cipolle e peperoni, serviti in una salsa piccante), „Salteñas“ (tortini ripieni), „Sopa de Mani“ (zuppa di arachidi con carne di manzo o pollo) o „Llajwa“ (una salsa piccante a base di pomodori e chili Rocoto).

Sfortunatamente, Nim aveva già mangiato qualcosa di strano nei giorni precedenti al mio arrivo e aveva gravi problemi di stomaco. Fortunatamente, io ero risparmiato da questo e ho potuto godere durante tutto il mio soggiorno in città dell'abbondante e conveniente offerta di prelibatezze locali.

Cos'altro è successo a Cochabamba? Non ci sono molte attrazioni in città, la piazza principale con i suoi edifici circostanti è piuttosto interessante, ma il sightseeing si limita quasi esclusivamente a questa zona. Durante il soggiorno, ovviamente mi sono interessato anche al calcio locale e ho assistito a una partita del club Jorge Wilstermann, piuttosto popolare in Bolivia, che era addirittura di buon umore per gli standard boliviani.

Ho anche visitato il Cristo de la Concordia, l'imponente statua di Cristo sulla collina di San Pedro, alta sopra la città. La statua è alta 34 m, più alta del Cristo Redentore a Rio, ed è attualmente la terza statue di Cristo più alta al mondo. Dalla collina di San Pedro si ha anche una vista impressionante sulla città e sulla cupola di smog che la circonda nella maggior parte dei giorni.

In totale, ho trascorso 4 giorni a Cochabamba, uno dei momenti salienti è stata sicuramente la festa nell'ostello, con 3 band dal vivo e davvero buona musica, vari locali si mescolavano agli ospiti dell'ostello e sono state scambiate storie interessanti.

Va detto: anche se Cochabamba non offre eccellenti punti salienti architettonici o culturali, la città è generalmente abbastanza rilassata. La gente è gentile, l'offerta di piatti locali è ampia ed è anche piuttosto conveniente. Si possono trascorrere alcuni giorni rilassati in città, senza sentirsi di perdere qualcosa. E questo è anche un piacevole cambiamento dopo un lungo viaggio.

Dopo una breve visita a Santa Cruz de la Sierra, ho deciso di fare una sosta da qualche parte nella natura sulla strada verso ovest, in Bolivia. Non riuscivo però a decidere a causa delle numerose possibilità e così passeggiavo nei terminal delle varie compagnie di autobus e trasporti, cercando una destinazione adatta a me. Dopo poco, l'offerta di un viaggio in Colectivo verso Samaipata ha catturato il mio interesse. In viaggio verso Cochabamba e La Paz, e non più di 5 euro per il tragitto di 3,5 ore, una sonnolenta cittadina in mezzo a parchi nazionali e rovine incaiche. Perfetto – affare fatto! Ho lasciato lo zaino nell'ufficio dell'azienda, ho mangiato qualcosa in fretta e poi dovevo partire. Accumulato con altri 8 passeggeri, il viaggio attraverso terreni collinari e paesaggi impressionanti con numerose formazioni rocciose è iniziato. Poco prima delle 18, siamo arrivati a Samaipata e sono andato verso l'alloggio prenotato in anticipo. Giunto a "Las Aventureros" (così il promettente titolo su una nota piattaforma di prenotazione), è apparso un uomo un po' più anziano e mi ha accolto in un tedesco senza accento: "Moin – sono Thomas. Entra, spero tu abbia avuto un viaggio rilassante." Brevemente sorpreso da un accoglienza insolita in questa regione, ho scoperto che Thomas vive in Bolivia da 35 anni ed è originario di Kiel. Da figlio di un diplomatico, ha trascorso quasi tutta la sua vita all'estero e infine ha deciso di stabilirsi in Bolivia. Il gentile signore mi ha guidato verso la mia capanna nel vasto terreno e mi ha dato alcune indicazioni sull'uso degli ambienti estremamente accoglienti. Dopo aver svolto le formalità, ho condiviso la riserva di birra che avevo portato da Santa Cruz e ci siamo messi a chiacchierare per un tempo che sembrava eterno. Il protagonista di questo dialogo era chiaramente il proprietario del terreno, le cui storie sul paese e sulla gente, ieri e oggi, mi hanno lasciato a bocca aperta. A me piacciono molto queste informazioni di prima mano, e così è stata una serata piuttosto piacevole. Thomas mi ha presentato più tardi a due giovani connazionali e poiché i due ragazzi di Monaco mi sembravano piuttosto simpatici, abbiamo deciso di andare insieme nel villaggio e cercare una guida. Poi a letto e in attesa del giorno successivo. La mattina molto presto siamo partiti e siamo stati prelevati da un Pick-Up direttamente alla proprietà di Thomas. Dopo 2 ore di viaggio e viste mozzafiato, il veicolo si è fermato e abbiamo iniziato a camminare. Il nome del percorso escursionistico "Codo de los Andes" significa tanto come "gomito delle Ande" e si riferisce alla curva marcata della catena montuosa in questa regione. Le prime ore sono state una continua salita attraverso un paesaggio roccioso e pendii verdi, in parte attraverso i campi e con panorami straordinari. Dopo una salita costante lungo le ripide colline, verso mattinata abbiamo raggiunto un punto panoramico, da cui si godeva di un sorriso panoramico a 360° sulla paesaggio circostante. Le colline circostanti con vegetazione lussureggiante sembravano non avere fine e l'occhio umano ha difficoltà a misurare la distanza e l'altezza delle elevate formazioni naturali a causa dell'ampiezza. In ogni modo, una vista straordinariamente spettacolare e un luogo adatto per uno spuntino. Insieme a Elias e Lennart abbiamo preparato un pasto abbondante a base di biscotti, banane e pane secco con Dulce de Leche. ;)

Totalmente sufficiente per il momento e dopo ulteriore meraviglia per la bellezza del paesaggio, abbiamo camminato ritornando su un'altra rotta verso il Jeep, per continuare a penetrare un po' più a fondo nella natura selvaggia di Samaipata. Dopo un breve viaggio, seguiamo la seconda parte dell'escursione. Si scende più in profondità nella vegetazione lussureggiante e il paesaggio cambia. Il sentiero si snoda lungo un fiume, accompagnato dal costante rumore dell'acqua, che nella quiete circostante ha quasi un effetto meditativo. Il fiume è circondato da vegetazione tropicale, e piante e alberi pendono nel sentiero, mentre piccole e grandi cascate incrociano il nostro cammino. Attraversiamo più volte l'acqua e l'escursione non segue più una pista fissa, ma piuttosto si sposta in diagonale. Durante tutta la giornata, abbiamo avuto conversazioni interessanti nel nostro piccolo gruppo di viaggio e i due ragazzi sono davvero delle persone fantastiche. Elias sta facendo un anno di volontariato a Santa Cruz e si prende cura in una struttura di bambini e adolescenti che sono stati abbandonati dai genitori e spesso hanno subito violenza domestica. Rispettabile il suo impegno e il coraggio di andare in un paese così esotico a vent'anni per apportare un valore aggiunto alla società. Lenni è in visita e i due sono sicuramente molto entusiasti del paese e della gente e probabilmente vivranno insieme molte altre avventure lontano da casa.

Con i piedi bagnati e completamente immersi nella natura circostante, raggiungiamo verso le 14 un altopiano roccioso e decidiamo di fare un breve sonnellino. Meraviglioso, gli occhi si chiudono e l'unica cosa che ti circonda è la bellezza della natura. Nessun pensiero sullo stress quotidiano, nessuna irritazione – solo la pace del paesaggio, il cinguettio degli uccelli e alcune farfalle – così si può resistere.

Dopo la pausa, l'escursione continua attraverso boschi sempre più fitti e lievi salite. Il sentiero inizia a salire nuovamente e lascia la valle e lentamente anche il rumore dell'acqua svanisce dalle orecchie. Occasionalmente, ora la vegetazione si apre e puoi nuovamente intravedere alcune belle viste sui colli circostanti. Il sentiero è vario e il terreno cambia dal morbido suolo forestale, passando accanto a rocce e radici che spesso fungono da scalini naturali. L'ulteriore corso dell'escursione è una continua salita e discesa, accompagnato da un piacevole silenzio. Nel tardo pomeriggio raggiungiamo di nuovo il veicolo e sulla piattaforma di carico ci rimettiamo in cammino verso il villaggio. Lungo la strada, veniamo scossi bene per il terreno accidentato, prima di raggiungere Samaipata poco prima del tramonto.

In tre ci uniamo la sera sulla terrazza di un piccolo bar accogliente e raccontiamo con qualche birra le impressioni di questa bella giornata.

Gran parte dell'escursione di oggi ci ha portati lungo la "Ruta del Che", seguendo le orme di un capitolo significativo della storia boliviana. La Ruta del Che è un sentiero storico che tratta dell'ultima fase di vita del combattivo rivoluzionario Che Guevara e porta attraverso le montagne e i villaggi che Che e il suo gruppo di guerriglia attraversarono nel loro viaggio in Bolivia nel 1967, prima di essere catturato e giustiziato a La Higuera. Ci siamo fermati più volte durante la giornata, mentre la nostra guida, un vero fan e specialista di Che, ci ha raccontato storie interessanti sulla vita del rivoluzionario. Si può percepire la connessione con il passato rivoluzionario mentre si cammina attraverso le stesse aree remote dove Che operava con le sue truppe.

La Ruta del Che è però più di un sentiero storico. Collega la storia politica della rivoluzione con la cultura e la vita quotidiana della popolazione boliviana. Molti dei residenti lungo il percorso hanno vissuto in prima persona gli eventi drammatici di quel periodo e, come estranei, si ottiene una visione intensa e molto interessante dei conflitti e degli ideali che continuano a plasmare il paese e la regione fino ad oggi.

Dopo una giornata ricca di eventi, è seguita una notte rilassante e ristoratrice. La mattina dopo, e dopo un piuttosto tardivo suono della sveglia, Thomas mi ha servito una ricca colazione e mi sono avviato dal margine del sonnolento paesino. L'obiettivo della giornata era l'El Fuerte de Samaipata, un sito di rovine della cultura inca e patrimonio dell'umanità UNESCO nelle montagne circostanti del villaggio. Per una somma modesta, un motociclista mi ha portato al margine delle rovine e, dopo aver dato un'occhiata dall'alto nelle valli circostanti il patrimonio dell'umanità, è iniziato il piccolo viaggio nel tempo nella cultura degli Inca. L'attrazione principale del sito è una piattaforma rocciosa impressionante, lunga circa 220 m e larga 85 m, che rappresenta una moltitudine di caratteristiche architettoniche e religiose della cultura inca. Gli Inca usavano la piattaforma come centro cerimoniale e il loro abile lavoro sulla roccia comprende incisioni e grafiche che rappresentano simboli e motivi religiosi. Le caratteristiche più evidenti includono una grande scala cerimoniale, un canale d'acqua (forse per purificazioni rituali) e vari motivi geometrici e figure, incluso un giaguaro.

Molti di questi simboli non sono ancora completamente decifrati e lasciano alla scienza un ampio margine di interpretazione di questa simbologia.

Le ricerche archeologiche hanno contribuito notevolmente a partire dagli anni '60 a decifrare il significato e l'uso del sito. Si sospetta che il luogo fosse di importanza non solo per i rituali, ma anche per osservazioni astronomiche, poiché l'allineamento di alcune incisioni e strutture indica credenze astronomiche e cosmologiche della cultura del tempo.

Un ulteriore elemento affascinante del sito è un ingegnoso sistema di approvvigionamento idrico. Il sistema comprende canali e bacini che probabilmente venivano utilizzati per lavaggi rituali e l'irrigazione.

El Fuerte è una delle più grandi pietre lavorate dall'uomo della Terra e senza dubbio una vista molto impressionante. Mentre si cammina sull'area, si può godere di una bella vista panoramica sulle valli circostanti, c'è una leggera brezza e si respira una piacevole tranquillità. Si è abbastanza soli nel vasto spazio, circondati solo da alcuni altri turisti interessati, il che ho trovato molto piacevole. Oltre alla piattaforma rocciosa, ci sono molte altre rovine da scoprire, dando una meravigliosa impressione della complessità delle tecniche costruttive e dell'integrazione degli edifici e dei luoghi nel contesto naturale circostante.

L'intero complesso si distingue per la sua grandezza e complessità, degli elementi scolpiti nella roccia e rendono questo luogo un esempio unico della cultura inca.

Ci sono però anche opinioni opposte su Samaipata, Erich von Däniken dopo aver visitato El Fuerte affermò inizialmente che si trattava di un UFO schiantatosi, poi ha rettificato ciò in una delle sue opere e definì la roccia solo come una pista di atterraggio per UFO. Interessante anche, ma qui rimango sicuramente con la scienza, la cui spiegazione e ricerca su questo sito mi sembrano di gran lunga più plausibili.

Dopo aver dedicato diverse ore a un'ispezione dettagliata dell'area, ho percorso i 10 km di ritorno nella valle e goduto dello splendido paesaggio. Poco prima della strada di collegamento per Samaipata, sono passato accanto a una casa su cui un grande cartello con "Kolibri-Refugee" attirava l'attenzione. Così ho suonato brevemente il campanello e ho guardato di che si trattasse. Una donna mi ha aperto il cancello e mi ha fatto entrare in un giardino bellissimo. Varie fiori e piante selvatiche formano qui un paradiso per i volatori e la signora ha fatto della sua missione nella vita creare condizioni ideali nel suo giardino per i colibrì. Diverse varietà di colibrì bianchi, blu, neri, verdi e gialli volavano incessantemente attraverso il giardino, uno spettacolo meraviglioso, soprattutto per quanto riguarda l'abilità di volo. Sono rimasto un po' e mi sono fatto raccontare un po' della storia del suo giardino e alcuni fatti interessanti sui colibrì in generale. La signora vive davvero in un luogo incantevole e anche i colorati uccelli sembrano trovarsi molto bene, in una popolazione così grande non li avevo mai visti prima.

Poiché ero troppo pigro per ripercorrere a piedi il resto del tragitto verso Samaipata, ho alzato la mano e dopo poco un veicolo con un cordiale equipaggio di un uomo e una donna più anziani si è fermato e mi ha riportato al villaggio, mentre la signora dal sedile posteriore mi sfamava con biscotti.

Per concludere, ho passeggiato un po' per Samaipata e mi sono goduto l'atmosfera coloniale affascinante e gli storici edifici ben conservati. Un breve scambio con Thomas – ogni bene e poi ho fatto i bagagli, poiché la mattina presto del giorno successivo dovevo continuare verso ovest.

Il viaggio è proseguito da Sucre verso la città più grande del paese – Santa Cruz de la Sierra.

Per coprire i quasi 480 km ci vogliono circa 13 ore in autobus, le condizioni stradali sono ancora un po' peggiori rispetto ai percorsi precedenti. Si passa attraverso paesaggi montuosi e strade non asfaltate – bisogna immaginare che si viaggia dalla capitale alla città più grande del paese e una parte dell'unica strada di collegamento diretta non sarebbe nemmeno considerata come una strada comunale in Germania. Questo spiega anche l'estremamente lunga durata del viaggio per un percorso relativamente “corto”.

A Santa Cruz ho trascorso in totale 3 giorni interi, che sono già un po' troppi, poiché non c'è molto da vedere qui. Santa Cruz è una città vibrante e moderna ed è il centro economico della Bolivia. Poiché la città è piuttosto benestante rispetto ad altre città in Bolivia, ci sono costantemente sforzi per ottenere maggiore autonomia dal governo centrale di La Paz. Queste aspirazioni di autonomia portano anche frequentemente a tensioni politiche e conflitti tra il governo regionale e quello centrale a La Paz. Come si concluderà tutta questa storia, lo si vedrà in futuro; fino ad ora, però, tutti i tentativi di una maggiore autogestione sono stati soffocati da La Paz.

A causa della sua posizione geografica e dell'importanza economica, Santa Cruz è diventata negli ultimi anni un centro sempre più importante per il traffico di cocaina. Situata in una posizione strategica vicino a varie aree di coltivazione di coca e con accesso a importanti rotte di trasporto, la città è considerata un nodo del traffico di droga. Come turista, ovviamente non se ne percepisce nulla a livello superficiale, ma conversando con le persone in città, si ottiene una visione generale dell'importanza di questo mercato. La maggior parte delle persone parla piuttosto positivamente dei cartelli e tollera le attività commerciali, soprattutto perché una grande parte del capitale generato rimane investito nel paese, e quindi anche in questa regione una parte del benessere si basa sugli affari dei cartelli. Come esterno, non è necessario gradirlo, ma le affermazioni e la logica possono essere comprese.

Interessante a Santa Cruz è anche il tipo di pianificazione urbana e del traffico. Ci sono 7 anelli stradali che circondano la città e formano una rete stradale destinata a facilitare sia il traffico urbano che i collegamenti con i sobborghi. Tuttavia, il traffico in città è comunque, soprattutto nelle ore di punta, disastroso e riesco solo a immaginare grossolanamente come il caos potrebbe aumentare senza questa particolare pianificazione del traffico.

Non c'è molto di più da riferire su Santa Cruz de la Sierra, la città mi è sembrata piuttosto monotona e poco interessante. Qui dovrebbe però temporaneamente separarsi il gruppo di viaggio amato. Colin è rimasto un po' più a lungo in città, Nim ha proseguito dopo 2 giorni verso il Parco Nazionale Toro Toro e io volevo fare una sosta lungo il percorso verso ovest a Samaipata. Ma di questo parlerò nel prossimo rapporto.