Coroico

One of the main attractions in Bolivia is to bike the world’s most dangerous road. It runs from La Paz to Coroico and until recently (~5 years ago), it was the only road between the two cities, weaving through the mountains, where buses regularly ran off the cliff or collided with oncoming traffic, sending many passengers and drivers to their death. Quite recently, they finally constructed a new road that also weaves through the mountains, but that is wider (allowing two lanes of traffic) and is also less steep as well. The world’s most dangerous road now is open only to bikers looking for a thrilling experience of careening down the mountain with stunning views. Less people die now but every so often, at least once per year if not more, a biker gets too distracted by the view or loses control of the bike and dies.

8 of the 14 people on our trip decided to go. They got a reputable mountain bike agency and all of them safely returned. If you ask around, you get mixed reviews. The people who go and remain alive rave about the trip, saying its one of the best experiences of their lives. Others, like a surgeon that 2 of the girls shadowed said that the one thing they shouldn’t do in Bolivia is the bike ride, citing an accident 6 months ago where 5 French tourists died. The two girls opted not to go, and 5 of us who didn’t wish to tempt fate decided to take the new road down to Coroico for the weekend and relax.

Everyone told us that we should not be outside at night the evening of El Gran Poder because everyone is drunk to a stupor. So, we decided that would be a perfect time to leave La Paz for a place in the jungle where it will be much warmer and we could sit by the pool and relax as the others did a 5 hour bike ride. We met a roundabout where traffic goes both ways and hailed down a micro (or trufi, I still haven’t figured out if there is a difference) that was going pass Villa Fatima, the place where buses leaving for Coroico depart from. For those who don’t know, micros are minivans that have a vague route that they drive but that pick people up and drop them off wherever on the route – there are no set stopping points. I’ve seen these in Russia and Peru as well, but never have I seen such aggressive advertising for them. From each micro, there is the driver’s helper that sits or stands next to an open window and continuously yells the route of the van. Whatever for? A person either needs to get to a destination or they don’t – how many will hear the loud screaming and think “Hmm…I should go to that plaza” and drop whatever they are doing and catch the micro? Another unexplainable thing of Bolivia.

We rarely get haggled here as tourists, so we were not expecting Villa Fatima. Villa Fatima is a corner where minivans and larger minivans congregate, waiting to take passengers to Coroico. When we got dropped off, for the first time in this country, we were immediately surrounded by vendors trying to sell us tickets on their minivans. The only thing that distinguishes them from one another is that some are larger, holding around 22 people, while the others are smaller, with only around 6 people in a van. Since there was 5 of us and we had not really decided what type we were going to take, we got flustered. Trying to decide what all 5 of us wanted to do is difficult enough, but when you’re being shouted at from all sides, it makes it that much more difficult. Don’t they realize it makes us NOT want to take their minivan or whatever? Eventually, we spread out, each talked to a different person and decided on a 6 person minivan for 25B that Sophie got us a discount for. There were five of us, an old Bolivian man who leaned forward everytime the driver was about to do something risky and a Bolivian woman in the front who chatted with the driver part of the way. Off we went.

If the new road is safer than the old one, that it is terrifying to think what the old road looked like. People who do the bike ride can testify though, because after they finish the ride, they are taken up by bus on the same road, all the while the guide tells horrifying stories of how people died there. If you want details, ask one of them how it felt to ride a bus on the world’s most dangerous road. Our road was better but has eroded in some of the areas due to avalanches and rain. In order to avoid the potholes on the road, the driver swerved around them, edging close to the side of the mountain. At first, it was rocky mountains but soon we saw some frozen waterfalls on the walls of the mountain by the road. People would park cars and go over to touch them because they looked surreal. Then, at one point about 1 hour into the drive, the mountains suddenly became green, full of flora. Soon, mist ensued and then darkness fell. Yup, we were driving on a curvatious road on the side of a mountain in darkness and in mist where you couldn’t see a few feet in front of you. That said, the driver was careful and we only almost hit an oncoming car once. I’ve had a much more terrifying driving experience on the flat pan-american highway in Peru.

The last 30 minutes of the drive, we wove on the graveled roads of the Yungas, which was a strange mixture between lots of greenery and lots of dust which usually don’t go together in my mind. The bumpiness almost made me sick and making continous turns right and left did not help at all. Finally, around 8pm, we were dropped off at the plaza in the center of Coroico, or more accurately is Coroico, and hailed a taxi to our hotel, which was outside of the city up on a hill in the forested mountains. We decided to splurge on a nice hotel and got $20 rooms that had private bathrooms and hot showers. When we got the rooms, everything smelt and felt damp. Ahhh, the rainforest. (Coroico isn’t in the true rainforest, but it is definitely subtropical and the middle ground between the harsh altiplano of La Paz and the real Amazonian rainforest more east of Coroico). We were hungry and wanted to go back to the city (or village?) to eat, but we were apprehensive of walking down a desolate pitch black hill alone on our first night. So we got a taxi down to the plaza. This was a 20 minute debate for us but when you start to think about it, the taxi cost $1.30 overall, meaning about 30 cents for each of us. I am going to have such reverse culture shock on prices in the United States when I get back..

We get to the plaza, find a nice pizza place, relax, talk, and eat. Then, we try to find a taxi back. But this time, there is none. Finally, we hail one down. One of us goes into the front seat while the rest of us pile in the backseat. The driver starts up the hill to our hotel and his car stalls halfway up. He tries again, but no luck. He slowly backs up down the hill and tells one of us to get in the front to balance out the weight. Jenna gets in front and sits on Mary’s lap. We try again – but no such luck. “No lo puedo” says the driver and drives away after we get out. After all that, we have to climb that hill in pitch blackness anyways. At least Coroico is only 1700m above ground and for the first time since we arrived in Bolivia, we aren’t panting out of breath from a 5 minute walk uphill. I feel fit. It’s all an illusion.

Coroico reminded me on Florida. There was warmth, humidity, crickets, and plenty of birds chirping by sunrise –and this on their coldest night of the year. It was a MUCH needed break from the harsh weather in La Paz, where it may not snow, but is still bitterly cold at night. The showers were hot and spacious – and you can tell how luxurious that feels when the bugs on the sides of the shower and leaves that haves streamed in from the outside over time did not bother me one bit. What’s dirt when there is hot water? This begs the question: would you rather be warm but dirty or clean but cold?

The next morning, we wake up to chirping birds. We have a balcony and a would-be a nice view if it wasn’t obscured by humongous banana leaves and their bananas. Breakfast was included in the price and it was marvelous. Hot tea, non-instant coffee, milk, hot chocolate, fresh papaya and watermelon juice, oatmeal, eggs, toast, watermelon, clementines, and whole wheat chocolate cake. What luxury! Stray dogs lounged around the terrace as we breakfasted and enjoyed the gorgeous view of mountains and green coca farms in t-shirts and shorts. We were soon warned that you should not leave any part of your skin uncovered if you don’t want to be eaten alive by bugs. We had the whole day to do what we wanted so we decided to hike up to the waterfalls which were only a couple hours away before going to the center for lunch. As we left the hotel, we noticed that the stray dogs from breakfast followed us. We didn’t think anything of it at first but as we started up the path, they continued with us. Mary is terrified of dogs and none of us were too happy about being in close proximity to stray dogs, so we decided to stop and let them pass us by. But when we stopped, they stopped – as if waiting for us before continuing. We had no choice but to go along with them. At first they led the way. As we continued to climb and it became hotter, the oldest dog fell to the back and the youngest led the way. By the time we reached the 1st waterfall 1.5 hours later, the dogs were very tired. Mary and Jenna decided to go back and sit by the pool for an hour while Sophie, Jolene, and I continued onto the 2nd waterfalls. They were nothing spectacular but to get there, we followed a trail that went curved around the mountains, so we could see all the coca farms below us. I wondered if this was the sort of coca farm Sonia worked in before.

In the end, the dogs followed us the entire way and we even got to understand a little of the personalities. They helped us find the right way back when we got too distracted and followed the wrong path on the way back, and they were a fun distraction during the hike back when the sun was at its highest. Unfortunately, Mary and Jenna didn’t have a better time at the pool because 10 minutes into sitting out in the sun, they were bitten relentlessly by some sort of insect. But no worries, I think its still too high for malaria. My headache was gone completely in Coroico and Jolene said her stomach felt a lot better the minute we descended in altitude. Everyone seemed to breathe better. I wonder what it will feel like to actually descend to sea level in 4 weeks…

Afterwards, we got our stuff and went into the city. We treated ourselves to a real nice lunch with ice cream as dessert in a German restaurant before taking the harrowing bus ride back to La Paz. When we got to the station, they weren’t selling any tickets since apparently they only sell them when a bus comes back so we spread out and took up spots in line at every company available and eventually got tickets on a large minivan back to La Paz for an hour later. So much for not driving in the dark this time… I closed my eyes for most of the ride to keep myself from getting nauseous from the bumpy and curvy road but the others said it was more terrifying than the ride there since this time it started raining and the windshield wipers barely worked. All the Bolivian women on the bus were apparently crossing themselves. Leave it to South America to turn a quiet relaxing weekend into an adventure.