A Port In Any Storm?

A Port In Any Storm?

For carnival I decided to head out of town, skip the drunks, and go hiking. I headed towards Huayana Potosi, hoping to find a spot at a refugio. After asking tons of questions at my hotel's travel agency, I left without being able to confirm a room or anything as they knew nothing of the refugio. Sure enough, upon arrival at the base of Huayana Potosi, the refugio was closed. No problem, I was only at 15,000 ft, rain and snow was falling, I was alone, and I had two backpacks. I had thought this might happen so I came prepared with extra trashbags so that I could slip off and cache my daypack. However, the driver knew of another refugio! This one was essentially unlisted and presumably was only borderline legal.

Was I interested? You bet. So I wound up in a tiny Bolivian house about 1/2 mile from the regular refugio. The folks in this house were friendly, the place was cheap, and I think I got some weird kind of food poisoning from their cooking. As I write this I have lots of fatigue, the big D_(iarrhea), and intermittent nausea. The first night I had the tiny living room to myself. The sleeping arrangments consisted of sacking out on the floor. The next day there were six more tourists there, this made the house slightly warmer than the constantly lit electric hob could manage on its own. These tourists had arrived to climb the nearby 6,088 meter mountain, Huayana Potosi.

The mom in this photo (hint, she's about 4 feet tall and is the non-european looking person) was pretty proud of her three kids; all of whom are Bolivian mountaineering guides. Apparently at least one of them had a Bolivian accrediation. Oh wow, is that a license to kill? I thought. I am still not sure, but it sure did not appear to guarantee any resembalence of a western level of professionalism.

The three people in this shot are about to set off from 15,000 ft to the 18,000 ft high camp. Their ascent was to be through rain and snow. Additionally, their outer gear was not entirely waterproof, the tall one is wearing jeans under his shell pants, one had just ridden out a night of rough altitude sickness, two of the three had poor gloves (which were also rather damp), and none of them had been given a pack check; the guide really did not know what they were carrying. For the next 24+ hours, which would include a climb to 6,088m (19,976 ft), all three had less than two liters of water each. It is my view that Bolivian guides do not kill more people than one would initially assume only because of the inherent tenacity of life.

Bolivian Vignettes

Bolivia life, as seen through the eyes of a a time, goal, and efficiency oriented gringo, is full of vignettes. The closed refugio that I had tried to so hard to book room at? Its sign out front listed my hotel's travel agency as the in town point of contact. Upon inquiry when I returned, the travel agency naturally had no idea they were listed or how to contact the refugio. My transport? After agreeing on a price and driving me most all the way to the refugio, the driver reopened negotations. The price was going up unless I did not want a ride back. We agreed to split the difference. Then, on the return ride the driver refused to give me correct change; thus avoiding splitting the difference after all. I wound up paying about two days wages extra (for an unskilled laborer). I would have liked to have punched him, but that is not exactly my nature and I was also struggling heavily with the effects of a bad dinner two nights prior. Besides, I could end up like Mike. So I just prayed for him. I doubt he realizes how much dishonesty actually costs.