Biking the Altiplano with Colonia
To see pictures from the trip click here.
On the 13th of January I started what was supposed to be a 10-14 day bike trip. We intended on biking from the incredibly high altitude of El Alto, next to La Paz, to the sweltering jungle valleys of Las Yungas.
Friday night, the 13th of January, a large group of Colonia Ecologica kids and a few of their family members crowded around a large pile of luggage in the overcrowded bus terminal of Cochabamba. Kiko, myself, and 4 boys and 4 girls aged between 13 and 17 were being wished a safe farewell on our two week journey, mouths full of Carlye's now famous chocolate chip cookies. Or simply "Carlye's galletas famosas" as they are referred to in Spanish. Together we loaded our gear and boarded the night bus to El Alto and departed Cochabamba full of energy and anxiety.
At about 5 am we arrived in El Alto half asleep and trying to stay dry as we waited for 3 hours for some friends to pick us up. They dropped us off at a run-down “hotel” with a large open area to reassemble the bikes. Most of that Saturday was spent putting bikes together and tuning them up. Kiko's good friends took us to lunch at Las Cabeza's, a very popular restaurant known for heaping servings of goats heads split length wise and served on a plate. Being rather weak stomached, I opted for the fricasse (pork with skin, hair, and joint still intact . . . mmmm). And since I got hardly any sleep the night before on a cramped bus with Bolivian sized seats, not made for an oversized gringo, I went to bed at about 6:30 pm with a full and somewhat anxious stomach.
At 3 am Monica came knocking on the door. It was time to pack up our bikes and ride out of town. We deliberately started early to avoid the rush of cars and people that inevitably pack the streets of El Alto. So, hardly awake, we pedaled out into the dark, wet streets to begin our adventure.
One hour into the trip Bernadino, one of the younger boys, caught his tire on the edge of the road’s shoulder and went down hard on the pavement. Fortunately, he was alright and suffered nothing more than a slightly bent tire rim. But that was to be the only excitement or close calls for the day. After 96 kms, almost 13 hours of travel, and braving wind, rain, and cold we arrived in Achacachi, a decent sized town near Lake Titicaca. We spent the night on the floor of a room at the local church. The priest there was probably in his early thirties and spoke Spanish, Quechua, Aymara, English, Italian, Romanian, and understood French.
I really don't know how people survive on the Altiplano. During the best time of year, which it was on the trip, cold wind whips across the flat desolate landscape bringing alternating rain and blue skies. There were times when we were forced to pedal downhill. During the worst times of year the wind blows ice and snow. The people of the altiplano may be the hardiest and hard working people on the earth. They eek their existence’s out of harsh conditions.
The second day of actual biking we left Achacachi heading to the town of Escoma, some 90 + kms away. About 65 kms into the day, on the first really good downhill ride we’d encountered, the first real accident occurred. I call it a real accident because it drew blood and bent a bicycle rim beyond repair. The road offered incredible views of Titicaca. Near the bottom of the hill the road turned from dirt to asphalt. Rosa had miscalculated the change and crashed pretty hard. Painful road rash was visible through the holes in her clothes on her right elbow and knee. We spent a few hours getting her patched up and waiting for a truffi to stop and pick up her, Carla (to accompany her), and their bikes. That night we spent in the Carabuco school house after 80 + kms and 10 hours on the road.
The third day was spent mostly waiting for a new rim for Rosa’s bike and getting reorganized. Around 2 pm we mounted our bikes and road the last 17 kms or so to Escoma, where we found lodging in the town’s church. The church had a small concrete soccer field inside the courtyard. Each evening a group of men would play 5 on 5 soccer with a few Bolivianos going to the winning team. The second night four of the boys and Monica decided to play. These were 14-17 year olds playing against grown 20-25 year old men. The team they were playing made twos fatal mistakes. They underestimated their opponents because of age and the fact that they had a girl on the team and allowed them an extra player. Monica is one of the best players from Colonia and she consistently stole the ball from unsuspecting opponents. The kids from Colonia were quickly up 2-0. Then there was a moment of doubt as the other team scored its second goal making it a 3-2 game. Then the carnage ensued and the kids went on a scoring spree, beating the other team 8-2, and sending them shamefully to the sidelines where friends heckled and laughed at them and one big red bearded gringo celebrated loudly.
While in Escoma, the kids and I settled into the large room with bunk beds and Kiko went out to find information. We had neared the end of the Altiplano portion of our journey and from Escoma we would cross the cordillera and drop into the Yungas, or valleys. The news that Kiko found was not good. There was strong rain, snow, and wind on the mountain pass. And on the other side in the valley the rain had been consistently wearing down the roads turning them into muddy messes. There was, in fact, no transportation to bring us back if we continued to our original destination. To top it off, all spare bike tubes had been used already, Rosa had some pretty good road rash, and Kiko and I both had knees that were painful and aggravating with each turn of the pedal. A group meeting was called and a vote was made to cancel the rest of the biking trip. We would return to La Paz, stay with some relatives of Kiko’s, and make trips to Copacabana and the ruins of Tihuanaco. So after staying another day in Escoma to wash clothes, break down the bikes and relax, we loaded up a truffi and made the three hour return trip to La Paz. That’s right. It took us three hours to make the trip that had just taken us three days and caused almost unbearable pain in my butt, literally.
Unfortunately, there had been a death in Carlye’s family and I returned to Cochabamba the next day, one week after leaving. In that time I had gotten to know and become friends with just about all of the kids and Kiko. Not that I wasn’t friends with them beforehand. But it was a deeper friendship that comes from spending whole days together, bearing pains together, helping each other, teasing each other, and generally just caring for one another. The kids seemed to love the time they spent in Copacabana, Tihuanco, and La Paz. For many of us it was the first time experiencing different parts of Bolivia. It was a trip I will not soon forget.
Posted by Wendell Krohn
On the 13th of January I started what was supposed to be a 10-14 day bike trip. We intended on biking from the incredibly high altitude of El Alto, next to La Paz, to the sweltering jungle valleys of Las Yungas.
Friday night, the 13th of January, a large group of Colonia Ecologica kids and a few of their family members crowded around a large pile of luggage in the overcrowded bus terminal of Cochabamba. Kiko, myself, and 4 boys and 4 girls aged between 13 and 17 were being wished a safe farewell on our two week journey, mouths full of Carlye's now famous chocolate chip cookies. Or simply "Carlye's galletas famosas" as they are referred to in Spanish. Together we loaded our gear and boarded the night bus to El Alto and departed Cochabamba full of energy and anxiety.
At about 5 am we arrived in El Alto half asleep and trying to stay dry as we waited for 3 hours for some friends to pick us up. They dropped us off at a run-down “hotel” with a large open area to reassemble the bikes. Most of that Saturday was spent putting bikes together and tuning them up. Kiko's good friends took us to lunch at Las Cabeza's, a very popular restaurant known for heaping servings of goats heads split length wise and served on a plate. Being rather weak stomached, I opted for the fricasse (pork with skin, hair, and joint still intact . . . mmmm). And since I got hardly any sleep the night before on a cramped bus with Bolivian sized seats, not made for an oversized gringo, I went to bed at about 6:30 pm with a full and somewhat anxious stomach.
At 3 am Monica came knocking on the door. It was time to pack up our bikes and ride out of town. We deliberately started early to avoid the rush of cars and people that inevitably pack the streets of El Alto. So, hardly awake, we pedaled out into the dark, wet streets to begin our adventure.
One hour into the trip Bernadino, one of the younger boys, caught his tire on the edge of the road’s shoulder and went down hard on the pavement. Fortunately, he was alright and suffered nothing more than a slightly bent tire rim. But that was to be the only excitement or close calls for the day. After 96 kms, almost 13 hours of travel, and braving wind, rain, and cold we arrived in Achacachi, a decent sized town near Lake Titicaca. We spent the night on the floor of a room at the local church. The priest there was probably in his early thirties and spoke Spanish, Quechua, Aymara, English, Italian, Romanian, and understood French.
I really don't know how people survive on the Altiplano. During the best time of year, which it was on the trip, cold wind whips across the flat desolate landscape bringing alternating rain and blue skies. There were times when we were forced to pedal downhill. During the worst times of year the wind blows ice and snow. The people of the altiplano may be the hardiest and hard working people on the earth. They eek their existence’s out of harsh conditions.
The second day of actual biking we left Achacachi heading to the town of Escoma, some 90 + kms away. About 65 kms into the day, on the first really good downhill ride we’d encountered, the first real accident occurred. I call it a real accident because it drew blood and bent a bicycle rim beyond repair. The road offered incredible views of Titicaca. Near the bottom of the hill the road turned from dirt to asphalt. Rosa had miscalculated the change and crashed pretty hard. Painful road rash was visible through the holes in her clothes on her right elbow and knee. We spent a few hours getting her patched up and waiting for a truffi to stop and pick up her, Carla (to accompany her), and their bikes. That night we spent in the Carabuco school house after 80 + kms and 10 hours on the road.
The third day was spent mostly waiting for a new rim for Rosa’s bike and getting reorganized. Around 2 pm we mounted our bikes and road the last 17 kms or so to Escoma, where we found lodging in the town’s church. The church had a small concrete soccer field inside the courtyard. Each evening a group of men would play 5 on 5 soccer with a few Bolivianos going to the winning team. The second night four of the boys and Monica decided to play. These were 14-17 year olds playing against grown 20-25 year old men. The team they were playing made twos fatal mistakes. They underestimated their opponents because of age and the fact that they had a girl on the team and allowed them an extra player. Monica is one of the best players from Colonia and she consistently stole the ball from unsuspecting opponents. The kids from Colonia were quickly up 2-0. Then there was a moment of doubt as the other team scored its second goal making it a 3-2 game. Then the carnage ensued and the kids went on a scoring spree, beating the other team 8-2, and sending them shamefully to the sidelines where friends heckled and laughed at them and one big red bearded gringo celebrated loudly.
While in Escoma, the kids and I settled into the large room with bunk beds and Kiko went out to find information. We had neared the end of the Altiplano portion of our journey and from Escoma we would cross the cordillera and drop into the Yungas, or valleys. The news that Kiko found was not good. There was strong rain, snow, and wind on the mountain pass. And on the other side in the valley the rain had been consistently wearing down the roads turning them into muddy messes. There was, in fact, no transportation to bring us back if we continued to our original destination. To top it off, all spare bike tubes had been used already, Rosa had some pretty good road rash, and Kiko and I both had knees that were painful and aggravating with each turn of the pedal. A group meeting was called and a vote was made to cancel the rest of the biking trip. We would return to La Paz, stay with some relatives of Kiko’s, and make trips to Copacabana and the ruins of Tihuanaco. So after staying another day in Escoma to wash clothes, break down the bikes and relax, we loaded up a truffi and made the three hour return trip to La Paz. That’s right. It took us three hours to make the trip that had just taken us three days and caused almost unbearable pain in my butt, literally.
Unfortunately, there had been a death in Carlye’s family and I returned to Cochabamba the next day, one week after leaving. In that time I had gotten to know and become friends with just about all of the kids and Kiko. Not that I wasn’t friends with them beforehand. But it was a deeper friendship that comes from spending whole days together, bearing pains together, helping each other, teasing each other, and generally just caring for one another. The kids seemed to love the time they spent in Copacabana, Tihuanco, and La Paz. For many of us it was the first time experiencing different parts of Bolivia. It was a trip I will not soon forget.
Posted by Wendell Krohn
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