Another Year in the Books
Two weeks ago, I celebrated my birthday and by celebrate, I mean that I was sick with the flu and pretty much stayed on the couch watching Disney movies all day. It’s the first birthday that I can remember being sick for, but it was still wonderful. My housemates were super understanding and accommodating. Even though I encouraged them to go out and do fun stuff they insisted all they wanted to do was whatever I wanted to do. You’re supposed to feel special on your birthday, and despite my illness I couldn’t have felt more special.
This was the third birthday I had abroad: the first being in South Korea, the second in South American and the third even farther south in the great Down Under. This Throwback Thursday post is about when I was traveling with two friends in South America.
February 2014
In celebration of my birthday we took a three-day group tour of Torotoro National Park. One important thing to note about Bolivia it is that very few tourist sites are accessible by paved roads. Our journey started off on a main highway and took us into the country along a bumpy cobblestone road. The way was narrow and winding but maintained. After passing through a few modest towns the cobblestones gave way to dirt and mud.
It was the rainy season, causing the road to be overrun with ruts, rivers, and fallen rocks. During one crossing the back bumper was knocked off by a sudden drop. Parts of the way were carved into mountain faces and so narrow that I thought for sure we were about to go over the edge and drop fifty feet into the rushing river below. Boulders ranged in size from basketballs to mini coopers. Fortunately, the larger ones were far enough to the side that they did not mar our way.
Torotoro was a slow town nestled in a smooth valley, crowned on either side by dinosaur spike hills, Fitting, since the town was known for fossils. Long ago a giant had taken crayons of varying colors and trailed them across the hills.
Our guide was a tiny 62-year-old man. Although he spoke of difficult times in his past, the deep wrinkles in his tan skin told a story of happiness and joy. For the life of me I can’t remember his name, so let’s just call him Pat. Pat led us out into the barren fields surrounding the town and down into the heart of a canyon where the water was tinted with silt and runoff. Once we were at the base of the crevasse the trail melted away and our guide forged his own way. Occasionally, it was obvious that we were indeed following a path, however most of the time we were “off-roading.”
The rocks bordering the river were worn smooth as glass, whereas higher up they were jagged and burdened with plants. Pat pulled us away from the edge of the water to the mouth of a cave, that was guarded by a jumble of fallen rocks. Just beyond the chaos was the reverse imprint of a dinosaur foot; the first of many fossils we would encounter. Pat told us that the cave led on several meters before dropping down to an underground stream that fed into the river we had been following. Sometimes he would take groups that way, but that was a different route for a different day.
As our path continued upstream, the water level forced us to continually cross the river. Although, if you ask me, there were times where we could have managed on the same side, but I think Pat was trying to add adventure and excitement to the journey. He did this a lot over the three days we were there.
A tiger-striped dog no larger than a woman’s purse had followed us from the town and down into the canyon. He pranced about, ran ahead, came back, spun in circles, hopped on his hind legs, and wore a constant smile. At first, I assumed his intention was to be fed, but as we continued onward, I realized he simply enjoyed the company. Over the years I would encounter this phenomenon countless times with other stay dogs in other South American cities.
Then we arrived at a rock face that was simply too steep for the pup to summit. There were seven of us, not including Pat, and we all had developed a soft spot for the dog. So rather than leave him behind, I gave him a little boost. I came up over the ledge behind him and he ran over smiling and spun in a little circle as if to say thank you.
We had gone in a circle of sorts and returned to the barren field. Pat pointed out rock plateaus where the brush gave way. Scattered along them were dinosaur tracks. Pat scooped dirt out of the impressions as he described the types of dinosaurs that had created them. Most were the markings of herbivores, though there were a couple belonging to their fiercer cousins, and even one that was the ancestor of modern-day chickens. The most remarkable part was a fossilized talon, which Pat and the other guides in the area kept hidden with a rock.
My birthday and day two of the tour took us out over the spike mountains to hills covered in stunted greenery with the occasional tree standing out like a stray hair on a shaven face. A valley of dusty green filled the landscape on either side of the range. Dark rain clouds collected on the northern horizon.
We trekked through the mountains exploring caves and rock formations and enjoying the untouched landscape. Pat took us through narrow passageways, over bogs where one girl accidentally sank in, and up rock faces.
On the drive back towards town we stopped at a fold in the mountains, donned helmets, head torches, and followed our fearless leader down into a water-carved ravine to the mouth of a gigantic cavern. In we went, climbing over broken rocks and slippery surfaces. A fine dust made even the dry stones a hazard. Pat tied off a rope and we descended deeper into the bowels of the mountain. As the light of day became a memory, stalactites and stalagmites filled the space. The path was wet and narrow, forcing us to squat. Then, another rope downward.
The only light came from our headlamps. Pat’s was a flame of fire to warn us of poisonous gas being released from the bowels of the earth and into the cave. We passed a few subterranean ponds before the way opened into a huge room. Black writing covered the ceiling, most of it worn with time. It was here that Pat’s headlamp stopped working.
My heartbeat quickened despite myself. What if gas enters the chamber while his lamp is out? We will have no way of knowing. The darkness seemed to press in around us. Pat had to take the lamp apart to get it working again, and then disappeared into a hidden tunnel.
I was the last in line as one by one everyone followed Pat through the passage on their elbows and hips. Before entering the tunnel, I glanced behind me. The light of my lamp barely touched the distant wall. Sméagol from Lord of the Rings haunted my thoughts, so each time I glanced back I half expected to see a pair of shimmering eyes glaring at me.
Laying my body against the ground I shimmied through the gap, damp earth soaked through my clothes. Suddenly the tunnel dropped a couple meters. Sliding my body around, I carefully lowered my feet and slid down. After that point the tunnel was even smaller causing the bag on my back to scrape lightly against the ceiling. In the distance I could hear the faint music of falling water.
Then just as suddenly as the tunnel had appeared, it was gone. We had arrived in another large room where a waterfall emptied into a dark pool. Blind fish swam through the frigid waters. They were born there in the darkness, and would die there, never having seen the light of day. My breath froze on the air as steam rose from my body, hot from all the climbing. Pat said it was only six degrees Celsius (42 ˚F).
From then on it was all uphill. We began with bouldering, hopping from one rock to another and passing a section that reminded me of where Aron Ralston lost his arm in 127 Hours. There was a narrow alley leading upwards and a solitary round stone wedged between the walls. It had probably been then since before I was born but I intentionally placed my weight on the back side of the rock to prevent it from becoming dislodged.
We pulled ourselves up several sets of ropes and with each one the cavern began to lighten. Until suddenly the mouth of the cave came into view.
Despite our exhaustion, that night after dinner we went to a bar and played card games to celebrate my birthday. It was an outdoor bar with a clay roof. Not long after we arrived, the dark clouds we had glimpse on the horizon that dawn overtook the town.
Explosions of lighting and thunder drew closer to the village. Then the power cut out. Pulling out our head torches, we would not be deterred from our revelry. The barman brought out candles for some men playing pool in another part of the bar. A boom of thunder hit the town so loudly that you could feel the air vibrating as it died away. I felt like a soldier lost in the middle of a war, huddled around the table with my mates, as shells fell around the barracks.
Of all my birthdays so far, I must say that night was one of my favorites.
The final day involved more hiking, dinosaur footprints, and loyal dogs. We were supposed to go swimming in Vergel Falls, but rain had flooded the road to get there. Instead we gazed upon the falls from a lookout high above.
Though the drive to Torotoro was intense the journey back was even more so. Trickling streams had transformed into rushing rivers. We forded most with crossed fingers but there was one that was simply too treacherous. The driver considered having us walk across and meet the bus on the other side as it would be easier to cross with less weight. I made it halfway when the rushing water reached mid-thigh and threatened to plow me over. So, we sat and waited.
A little under an hour later we were back on our way. Though we had originally planned on going out with some friends, by the time we reached the hotel in Cochabamba we were utterly exhausted.
