Glamping in Bolivia
It’s been a while since my last Throwback Thursday post, so I felt like one was in order.
February 2014
We took the new road, not the Death Road, to get down to Coroico. The way was smooth, though riddled with twists and turns. My legs were smashed against the seat in front of me, where an older woman wearing traditional clothing sat with a toddler on her lap. She wore a brown bowler hat, a red silk skirt, and a lacy top concealed by a black shall she had draped over her shoulders. Every possible space on the minibus was occupied. Diego, Erica and I had claim over the back seat. Flaco, Diego’s friend was squished into the middle seat.
When we reached the bottom of the canyon I believed we had arrived at our destination. However, the bus turned on a dirt road heading back up the fragrant green mountainside. Higher and higher we climbed. Until finally the road met with a simple town perched on the mountain.
By the time we reached Coroico we were all sore and ready to be rid of the narrow seats. It was mid afternoon and the sun hid shyly behind a veil of clouds. After purchasing some last minute groceries we snagged a cab and took the winding dirt road up to Flaco’s house.
The white gate was tinged with rust and bordered on either side by lush overgrowth. The driveway displayed signs of disuse and a meadow of moss and weeds had begun to take over. At the top of the incline the remnants of a basketball court came into view; stately trees dotted the yard, which was defined by a distinct border of rainforest. An empty water stained pool occupied part of the yard. Flaco had tried to fill it before our arrival but something had gone awry.
There were two houses on the main portion of the property, the main house and guest house. Both were undergoing renovations. When Flaco and his siblings left for college no one really went to the house anymore which meant nature took over.
The kitchen sink was fed by spring water, which flowed through it constantly. However, as there was no running water in the bathroom we flushed the toilet by pouring buckets into the bowl. Flaco had recently rewired the house so there was electricity, which we used to play music and cook over a portable burner. Above the fireplace the roof leaked due to the constant rains. The only thing I wasn’t a big fan of were the giant spiders scurrying rampant throughout the house.
All in all it was awesome! We were camping in the middle of the jungle…well glamping as we had several modern conveniences. Although Flaco was fixing things and planning on using the property as an Eco lodge, I kind of liked it the way it was – rustic, on the verge of being reclaimed by nature. I think it will be fantastic once it is finished, but I was glad I got to see it before that.
Since it was late we made burgers for dinner, built a campfire, and talked. Our discussions were very political, philosophical, in depth, and lasted well into the night. When Diego and Erica grew tired they went to bed; Flaco and I, on the other hand, went night-hiking, well kind of. We walked down the dirt road outside his property until we came to a rushing waterfall. Instead of turning back we decided to continue until we came to several gravesites. By the time we finally went to sleep the first fingers of sunlight were creeping over the horizon.
After breakfast, we went hiking through the jungle. Flaco’s property was huge and completely covered in forest. He used his machete to clear a path through the thick foliage. As we walked he pointed out different kinds of plants, including one we needed to avoid. It causes a similar reaction to poison oak only more severe. I nicknamed it the “death plant.” After having an allergic reaction to a non-poisonous plant in Peru, I could only imagine what the death plant might do to me.
When we got back to the house we changed into swimming suits and trekked to the waterfall Flaco and I had passed the night before. My pace was a deal faster than the others so I walked alone for most of the way.
Two black and orange butterflies rested in the middle of the road. Upon closer inspection I realized that one of them was dead. Not wanting to abandon the live one, I scooped it up and carried it with me. The little bug sat on my finger for more than fifteen minutes before flying off. I named it Solo since it had been all alone when I discovered it.
The water was like ice but oh so nice and we took turns standing directly under the main stream. It felt like a super powdered massage hammering down my back, so I didn’t stay for too long. Instead, I found a place lower down where the pressure wasn’t as fierce and there was a decent sitting rock. The water flowed over my shoulders and down my chest, enveloping my entire body.
We lazed about for the rest of the day and discussed going hiking again, but none of us were very keen on the idea. Erica and I went to explore one of the other buildings on the property where a family of bats had taken up residence. I swear I can’t get anywhere near a wild animal without freaking out with excitement. The bats flew over my head, curved around my body, and up into the rafters. Each time I would squeal and giggle like a child opening a new toy.
That night involved more campfires and staying up until around the same time as the night before…dawn. A thick fog rolled in part way through the evening and continuously threatened to extinguish the fire; every two minutes one of us had to coerce the flames back to life. Eventually we ended up carrying the embers into the house and starting a fire in there.
Catching a bus back to Coroico the next morning proved nigh impossible. After waiting around outside the gates for an hour and seeing several buses pass by completely full, we decided our best bet was to start walking. Eventually a cab picked us up and took us to town. Our weekend in the jungle was finally at a close.
