Day 42: Falling off the face of the earth
Last Friday, the 24th, I fell off the face of the earth... and landed right into a big pile of it. I of course mean I fell off the civilized earth of internet and restaurants, and ended up in a mess of nature and a really long, tiring trail. Two other gringo travellers, a guide, a porter, and myself set off on Friday for a 5 day hike called the "Yunga Cruz" trail, a maddening journey of bliss and exhilaration and cursing and frustration. It was worth the pain, but oh what pain it was.
Two interesting things happened on the first day days: a soccer match, and arsonry.
The first day we arrived in the town of Chunawi, where the locals, upon finding that I spoke Spanish, asked if me and my two fellow trekkers wanted to engage in a game of soccer. I suck royal at soccer, haven't played it since I was about 8 years old. But the British fellow, Richard, of course plays twice a week and jumped at the chance, meaning I had to play. Let me just say that playing 3 on 3 soccer at 12,000 feet is enough to make your lungs jump out of your throat in anguish. Thin air is bad enough while hiking, but while running around a plaza trying to chase down three Bolivian guys who were well suited to the mountains - ouch. This all being said, it was incredible being in a tiny town that never sees tourists, playing soccer with three locals in their tiny plaza (no paved anything here, all dirt paths and the plaza was essentially a nice green grass field).
The second day we set off with a friend of the guide, who lived in Chunawi. His name was Don Angel (who we later found out was 63 years old), and this man loved fire. Probably a pyromaniac according to psychological definition. Upon camping on the second night, our friend Don Angel decided he would start setting fires for fun. So up above our campsite on the hill went our friend, lighting the brush on fire and standing there with a big smile on his wizened old face as the grass crackled and burned a bright orange. Keeping in mind that this week was the week of San Juan (Saint John), and to the Latin and Spanish world San Juan week means fireworks and bonfires and pyres (basically San Juan equals fire), it does make a bit of sense that Mr. Angel was so interested in lighting the landscape ablaze. Our porter, Juan, decided to join in with Don Angel, and after awhile of bemusement on my part I just had to join in.
Being from California, the last thing I would consider doing is going into wild brush and grass and go lighting fires. In my state, that's a great way to start something catastrophic and have your picture end up on the local news. In short, it was a trippy experience as I grabbed some dry brush, lit it up, and proceeded to set afire several tufts of brush around us. Liberating almost. Honestly it was safe enough, as far as arson goes, given the moistness in the air. Down below us, below the mountain range we were hiking through, was the yungas, or the cloud forest. During the day the humid air from the steamy jungle-ish valleys would meet the cool air up in the mountains and produce a hell of a lot of mist around us. Thus we weren't likely to start any sort of dangerous fire, but it was great in that primeval, primitive way to stand back and watch your fires light up the hillside above you.
During the second night as I laid in my sleeping bag my stomach turned from a normal stomach to one of acid and fire. Or, I got a bad stomach ache, one which lasted into the third day. Hiking four hours the next day in a very weakened position (couldn't eat) was not the most pleasurable of experiences, especially with a 25 pound backpack on my back. The scenery, however, was great as we hiked through the Andes to the southeast of La Paz. My stomach rounded into shape by that night, and I finally got some sleep.
For the rest of the story, man versus jungle, tune in tomorrow.
