Arequipa, Peru

I can safely say that Arequipa is among the most beautiful, atmospheric cities in Latin America. With a mild climate, stunning colonial architecture, exciting artisinal craft shopping, innovative restaurants, and a sunny, palm-lined plaza that offers world class people watching, if you´re coming to Peru, I definitely wouldn´t miss a visit to its second-largest city.

I am staying in a beautiful hostal called Los Andes B&B, just one block off the main plaza. One of the nicest rooms I have been in on my entire trip, it has enough space to hold a yoga class in, with hardwood floors and a private bathroom! All this for a little over 10 USD, including breakfast.

I have also found a number of lovely places to eat: Fez, with cheap and excellent Middle Eastern food; Las Empanaditas, with delicious spinach, egg, and cheese empanadas; Los Turkos, with authentic Turkish hummus and fresh Arequipan olives; Zig Zag Creperie with over 100 sweet and savory melt-in-your-mouth crepes; and Cusco Coffee, with Amazon-grown beans. It´s hard to miss here as long as you don´t eat on the main plaza--the views are phenomenal but the food is second-rate.

The people here are very warm...I have spent a lot of time conversing with shopkeepers and talking to waitstaff, all of whom seem genuinely interested in talking with travelers. Do not miss a visit to the store on the 2nd or 3rd block of Calle Jerusalen that sells handmade, one-of-a-kind alpaca items. The very nice owners have the most beautiful ponchos and hats that I have seen on my trip, and at a lower price than the upmarket stores that sell machine-made items. Ask about their sister store on Calle San Francisco (it´s harder to find, but it´s walking distance and they can give you directions).

Arequipa even has one of the nicest internet spots I have been to, with your own enclosed glass cabin, and Skype access. What does this city not have? When can I move here and start a yoga school?

Cerro de la Mina, Potosi, Bolivia

Potosi this time of year is a freezing cold city at over 4,000 meters above sea level. Winds whip through the narrow colonial streets, and the thick stone walls of the centuries-old buildings act as reverse insulation, making it often colder inside of them than out. In this climate, your hands are cold for days on end, and it´s too frigid to brave the lukewarm hostel showers--at least you don´t really sweat at this altitude.

As is generally the case with cities located in such inhospitable climates, there is a reason why so many people decided to settle here. Once sparsely populated by indigenous Bolivians, when the Spanish discovered the existence of a silver in the surrounding hills during the 16th century, Potosi quickly became home to over 200,000 inhabitants attracted by the promise of wealth in the surrounding silver mines. How convenient for the Spaniards that the indigenous population provided a ready legion of slaves. Once many of the native people had died in the grueling work of the mines, additional slaves were imported from Africa as reinforcements. In all, between 6 and 8 million people died in the silver mines during the colonial era.

Shockingly, working conditions in the mines have changed relatively little since then, and the miners themselves have frequently been the subject of government oppression. Several times in the 20th century, their efforts at labor organization were met with violent rebuttals in which hundreds of miners were killed. One of the more infamous massacres occured in 1967, just before Che Guevara´s attempted revolution in Bolivia. Although today the miners are not openly persecuted, their working conditions are still sub-human and the Bolivian government, which is heavily dependent on the sale of precious metals extracted from the mines, does little to regulate the situation.

I had an opportunity to take a tour down into the working mines themselves which, while not a pleasant experience, is one that I would highly recommend if you ever find yourself within a few hours by bus from Potosi. Koala Tours is the best (and safest) operator in town; it costs 20 bolivianos (3 USD) more than the competition, but you go in smaller groups and are given a better safety helmet and headlamp which, believe me, you will be grateful for when you are hundreds of meters below the earth with nothing but rock above your head, listening to the faint sounds of hammers coming from the remote tunnels snaking out in every direction, and trying not to think about the fatal cave-in that occurred the week before.

My group made it down to the fourth level, although we lost one member who had a justifiable panic attack on the third and had to be taken back above ground. At first the mines are freezing cold but the lower down you go, the hotter it gets--and the less oxygen you have. Temperatures on the lower levels are well over 100 degrees, and at times you are choking on dust while crawling on your stomach through passageways that are less than one meter high. There are tubes throughout many of the tunnels that bring in oxygen from above ground, and their hissing sound as they release small quantities of fresh air becomes very comforting. Although I wore a bandana over my nose and mouth, once I got down to the lower levels there was so little oxygen that I had to remove it and just make peace with breathing in silica dust and other noxious chemicals. On more than one occasion, my yogic breathing came in handy: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale--and whatever you do, don´t panic.

Whereas I was exposed to these conditions for a mere two hours, there are people for whom this is a daily reality--at least until they die somewhere between the ages of 40 and 50, which is the life expectancy of the miners who aren´t killed by dynamite explosions or cave-ins and who instead perish from silicosis or exposure to other toxic chemicals. Legally, there are 8-hour workdays in the mines. Effectively, however, because the workers sell the raw minerals directly to companies that refine and export them, many of them ¨choose¨ to work much longer hours in the hopes of making more money. And while the minimum legal employment age in the mines is 18, children often start much younger, particularly if they are orphans with no other means of supporting themselves. One man I met started at the age of 14, but we were told that on the lower levels of the mines that non-miners never reach there are children working who are even younger.

One of the most memorable things I saw down there was four men pushing a two-ton cart full of rock. They had to first stoop down and sweep the dust off the wooden tracks so that the cart could pass. Two of the men then pushed the cart from behind. The other two in front used ropes and leaned their entire body weight into it, grunting and sweating to slowly pull the cart forward. This is not the kind of thing that you can bring yourself to take a picture of; it´s not human work.

Seeing daylight again was a definite relief, as was taking the helmet off and wiping the sweat and dust off of my face. In the colonial era, slaves went into the mines in 4 month shifts, sleeping below ground and not seeing daylight during the entire shift; they worked 12 hour days until they died. In our supposely modern times, conditions are not much different, except that the miners live above ground and some manage to eek out a decent living--one claimed to make approximately $2000 USD per month, which is a comparatively excellent salary here.

I was down there for two hours, and although I am very glad I did it, I would not voluntarily do it again. It makes you think twice about buying silver--although were worldwide silver prices to fall, it wouldn´t be the large companies that would feel the brunt of it, but rather the miners themselves, who would be paid less for their load.


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Potosi, Bolivia

Potosi is more of a modern city than I expected it to be, with over 150,000 inhabitants. On a Saturday night, there are hundreds of young people out on the streets looking for something to do, and the streets are teaming with tailors´shops and lawyers´offices. But scratch the facade of this somewhat inviting exterior, and a tragic past quickly rises to the surface.

The silver mines at Cerro de la Mina are the most blatant example of human exploitation in Bolivia. But I also visited two other places that give a broader context to the tragedies of the colonial era--Casa de la Moneda (the National Mint), and the Convento de Santa Teresa (the convent of Carmelite nuns).

The Casa de la Moneda is one of the four places where the Spanish Empire minted its reales, or silver coins. The facilities were run on slave labor--both indigenous and African--and countless thousands died in the rough conditions of working with molten metal and heavy machinery. Still on display is the equipment where workers lost fingers and entire hands in the process of stamping out the coins that made the Spanish Empire the most powerful of its era.

The Convento de Santa Teresa is tragic in a less immediately obvious way. During the colonial era and, in fact, until the Vatican reforms of the mid-20th century, this Carmelite convent was a cloistered home to daughters of elite Spaniards. Commonly a ¨privilege¨ reserved for the second daughter of the family, at the age of fifteen these girls were obligated into service of the Lord at the convent--and were never allowed to leave its walls or to have contact with another human being again (other than their fellow nuns)--the meaning of the term ¨cloistered¨. Their families paid a minimum of 100,000 USD to the convent, often in the form of priceless works of art; the more money they paid, the nicer their daughter´s quarters would be. The girls were allowed family visits through elaborate systems of screens, so they were never even able to see their parents faces. All of these nuns came from incredibly wealthy Spanish families, many of whom had made their fortunates on the blood of the miners in Potosi, and who saw their daughter´s service as bestowing honor and spiritual blessings upon the family.

Potosi was not a cheery place to be--and the frigid weather certainly didn´t help matters. But unlike anywhere else I´ve been, it demonstrates the tragedies of the colonial era--and puts perspective on the drastic inequalities still present in modern times. And I highly recommend a visit if you are coming to Bolivia.


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Purmamarca, Argentina

From the moment the bus pulled into the village of Purmamarca, I knew I was going to like it despite the immediately obvious tourist presence. It is located in the stunning Quebrada de Humahuaca, a region in the Argentine northwest that is known for its colorful mountains. A pastel version of each of the primary colors is represented in the beautiful Cerro de Siete Colores (Hill of the Seven Colors), which towers over the village of Purmamarca. The narrow streets are lined with shops displaying local crafts, and the pleasant, shady local plaza is full of vendors and young hippie kids playing music and juggling. Especially in Argentina, there is a large culture of young travelers, many of whom finance their adventures by selling jewelery or playing music.I stayed in a dorm room at the Hosteria Bebo Vilte, which is a perfectly acceptable place (criteria: hot shower, beds not too concave, warm enough that I don´t see my breath in bed at night) except for the fact that the owners genuinely seem to hate their guests and you have to slink around hiding from them so as not to be snapped at for simply being there. Bizarre.

Also staying in the dorm was a really cool Argentine named Matias, who lives in Buenos Aires but is on a life-changing spiritual quest to Machupicchu and back. He and I clicked almost instantly; he´s one of those people that I felt as if I had known forever after the first fifteen minutes. After night fell, we made a precarious climb up a nearly sheer mountainside made of crumbling rocks and cacti (not the easiest climb to say the least) so that he could take photographs of the village from above. With the long exposures of nighttime photography, he quickly ran out of battery power in his camera. In one of those beautiful moments of synchronicity, we discovered that my camera takes the same kind of rare battery, and he was able to continue with the project. He took some stunning photos which I will post when he sends them to me, including one of the best photos that´s ever been taken with me in it--a long exposure of the two of us dimly lit by the distant city lights, with the mountains rising up in the background and the sky punctuated by brilliant stars.

The next day I awoke to an incredible sandstorm. The wind was so strong that at times I couldn´t see more than a few feet in front of me on the street, and the power went out in the entire village. I wandered off the dusty streets and into the home of a local artisan named Gonzalo Rafael Alvarez, who specializes in carving wood slabs into stamps and then making prints with them. He lives in his house with his daughter and partner, surrounded by his artwork and his broad collection of books. We had a fascinating conversation in which he pulled down a number of the books from their shelves to illustrate different points--everything from the iconography of traditional Argentinian graphic art to the art collection of the Museo del Prado in Spain. Perhaps the wind howling outside contributed heavily to the otherworldy atmosphere, but it was one of those pivotal conversations in life that has the power to forever alter one´s perception--in this case, my perception of art itself. Not only did I end up buying several prints, but I also purchased several of the original stamps he had carved. It would not surprise me to see his work in a museum someday and, aside from my ATM card, these carvings are now my most closely guarded possessions.

Around sunset the heaviest of the winds had abated, and Matias and I got a bottle of Argentine red wine and climbed up to a vista point at the edge of town to watch the sunset and see what the night sky would be like with no lights coming from the village. There is only one other time in my life that I have seen a sky more bliss-inducing than the one over Purmamarca last night, and that was when I stayed in a mud hut on the cliffs over the Indian Ocean in South Africa. There is something about the sky above the Southern Hemisphere that is absolutely magical to me. I think that maybe because I only recognize two of the constellations (as opposed to the Northern Hemisphere, where most of them are at least familiar), my brain is blown wide open by the sheer immensity of it all. After lying on our backs staring upwards for a good long time, we walked down to enjoy a delicious dinner in the plaza.

Despite its many charms, one thing that Purmamarca lacks is an outdoor patio where you can enjoy a coffee or a glass of wine al fresco. Another thing it lacks is an ice cream store. And there´s not one bookstore in town, either. If I ever have to flee the States, I am heading straight to Purmamarca to open a sidewalk cafe that makes its own ice cream and sells books.

How to Make a Proper Mate

I knew there was a reason I stopped over in Salta for a night on the way from Cafayate to Purmamarca. While eating a delicious meal of humitas (like a tamal, but with only cheese and mashed corn wrapped in the corn husk) on a bench in the main plaza, I decided to ask an Argentine couple seated nearby where a good place to buy a mate would be. Instead of answering my question (they were from out of town and didn´t know the answer), the man proceeded to give me an incredibly useful lecture on how to select a proper mate (recipient for preparing the tea), bombilla (straw to drink it through), and the yerba mate (plant from which the tea is made) itself.

First of all, mate is pronounced ¨mah-tay¨, and refers not to the drink but to its container. Mates can be made of glass, metal, wood, or gourds. In the opinion of my teacher on the subject, those made of palo santo (wood) or calabaza (gourd) are the best types because they don´t interfere with the taste of the yerba mate. To prevent ruining the flavor, you should have a specific mate for preparing the drink bitter (as is), and a separate mate for the times when you want to add sugar.

Whatever type of mate you choose, it is important that it have a fluted shape at the top. This is because when you pour the yerba mate in, you then cover the mate with your hand, tilt it slightly, and shake. The dustiest bits of the yerba mate mix rise to the top, and catch on the lip of the fluted top, thus preventing them from settling to the bottom where they might be sipped up into your straw. You also want your mate to be thick-walled, so that when you pour the hot water in doesn´t burn your hand to hold it.

The bombilla is the biggest investment. The finest are made of silver (and can cost well over 100 US Dollars), but my teacher felt that alpaca (which will set you back around 30 US Dollars) is just as good. Either way, you want to choose a thick straw, so that you don´t burn your lips with it. He also advised finding a bombilla with a round bulb in the middle--when the hot water passes through it, the air in it serves to cool it down.

As for the yerba mate, he advised me to always choose a mix that has larger slivers of the plant itself in it. When you get a mix that is all dust, it is harder to keep some of it from passing through the bombilla and into your mouth.

Once you have all the right accessories, you´re ready to make your beverage. You pour the yerba mate into your mate according to how much flavor you want, and then add water until it´s just below the lip of the fluted top. You then carefully put your bombilla in so as not to disturb the yerba mate, and resist the temptation to mix the beverage with your bombilla, which would make some of the dust fall to the bottom and come up through the bombilla and into your mouth.

All over Argentina, you see people carrying thermoses of hot water around with them, which they periodically pour into their mate to refresh their beverage. If you stop to talk to someone who is drinking yerba mate, they are very likely to offer you a sip. It took me awhile to get used to so casually sharing straws with a complete stranger, but it´s an integral form of social bonding here.

The Northwest Territory

It´s difficult to imagine a more perfect day. I caught the 9am bus to Garganta del Diablo (Devil´s Throat), 50 kilometers north on the stunning road running through the Quebrada de las Conchas (Shell Canyon), so named because it contains scattered fossil remains of ancient marine life. Some 60 million years ago, before the Andes were born, this gorge was a seabed. It now contains gravity-defying rock formations, colorful mountain ranges, and narrow desert trails heading out into the middle of nowhere.

I wandered through Garganta del Diablo and the nearby Anfiteatro (Natural Ampitheatre), both impressive gorges. Anfiteatro has a lively artisan scene. I had a fresh quesadilla roasted on an oil-drum grill as a tasty morning snack, followed by a sampling of local goat cheese and llama salami (yes, you read that right; and it´s delicious). I then spent some time hanging out with a woodworker who makes beautiful jewelry and other souvenirs out of materials that he finds in the area. He gave me a demonstration of the traditional carving techniques of the region´s craftspeople, and I bought a pair of earrings from him made from a striking green wood called palo santo (check them out in the photo).

The Northwest Territory is truly a place where it´s not so much about the photo opps along the road as it is the journey to get there. Bearing that in mind, I had decided to walk the 5 kilometers along the desert highway to Tres Cruces, another beautiful viewpoint. After hanging out with some flute-makers to soak up the views and pick out a good ride back to Cafayate, I hitched along with a really nice Argentine family. They were traveling in two cars as they had relatives from out of town with them, and they stopped to see all the sites along the way back. We also made an impromptu visit to the Las Bandas winery and sampled a local cabernet and torrontes, the white wine varietal for which this region is best known. They dropped me off right in the plaza, where I had amazing empanadas for lunch, followed by a handmade flan con dulce de leche ice cream.

Lee and Aaron were back at the hostel with a bottle of rose, so I sat down and cut some chunks of llama salami for them to try--it was a hit! We met another fun British couple (Rachel and Andrew), and brought them along for delectable appetizers and a jug of local red at Casa de la Empanada -- yes, this is the same place I ate lunch, but why mess with a good thing? We then went to an unnamed grill that one of the hostel managers had told us about. As Aaron noted, it felt like being served a meal in someone´s garage. You sat down at the table to order your jug of wine, and then walked over to the grill to choose your own cuts of smoked meat. A group of well-fed stray dogs lay underfoot, waiting for the inevitable scrap. The steak and the chicken were both amazing, the conversation was entertaining, and we all went to bed sated from the food and red wine.

Cafayate, Argentina

I have completely fallen in love with Argentina.

Cafayate is a beautiful town three hours south of Salta. The drive down is a stunning display of colorful canyonlands, very similar to landscapes I have seen in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, or parts of Colorado.

I am staying at a very welcoming place called Rusty-K, highly recommended for their very kind and attentive staff. Last night, they cooked an amazing meal for all the guests on the outdoor fireplace--they even roasted a bunch of veggies for me! The meat in Argentina is truly mouthwatering, and communal jugs of delicious local wine only cost a few dollars (I think the wine is actually cheaper than the water here).

Today I hiked with my new British friends Lee and Aaron out into the desert landscape. We walked down a dusty road lined with vineyards then followed a beautiful river up stunning, steep canyons punctuated by gigantic cacti. Despite some hazardous crossings we all managed not to fall in! There were a number of pools that would be ideal places for a dip in the summertime. As it is, the highs this time of year (at noon, and in the sunshine) only make it into the 60s, and we actually saw some icy streams in the shadier parts of the canyons.

After our 15 kilometer hike--much of it over challenging, rocky stream bed--we definitely deserved the liter of wine we enjoyed at a sunny table on the central plaza. And for only $1 each, it was delicious local cabernet! Tonight we are dining at the delectable Casa de la Empanada, where twelve handmade empanadas and a jar of vino are only $8. Argentina is definitely the most expensive country I have visited on this trip, but if you eat local food you can still dine very affordably.

After much more challenging travel in Bolivia and Peru, arriving in Argentina is like taking a shower after a week-long camping trip in the desert. It is a beautiful, orderly place with enough backpackers that you can quickly hook up with other travelers and enjoy the sites together. Things just seem so smooth here--I could easily kick back and hitchhike around this country for the next three months. If I werent looking forward to the second year of the yoga institute this fall, I wouldnt come home until Christmas!

Salta, Argentina

As soon as I set foot in Argentina, it felt like I was in Europe. Everything here is twice as expensive, but you don´t have to work so hard just to get from point A to point B. It´s a breath of fresh air.

Perhaps it´s the fact that I just finished reading Don Quixote, or maybe I am just giddy from the comfortable surroundings, but I decided the best way to express my immediate appreciation of Argentina is in sonnet form:

Oh Salta, most sparkling of cities
You model of cleanliness and order
A slice of Europe transplanted
299 kilometers from Bolivia´s border


Warm kettle corn on every corner
Fresh fruit in every cart
Toilet paper in every bathroom
No wonder you´ve stolen my heart




Ride the gondolas above the city
Then walk back down the hill
Visit the pink cathedral
Or just sit in the plaza and chill




Taxis that have seat belts
Clear street signs that point the way
Buses that don´t spew black smoke
Drop you off at a sidewalk cafe




Whether drinking a juice at the market
Or yerba mate in the park
You can enjoy the afternoon sunshine
Or walk safely alone after dark



White arches and bright green eyes
Belie your colonial past
Smiling and talkative people
This visit won´t be my last

The Lowlands

Tearing myself away from the beautiful surroundings and relaxing pace of La Vispera in Samaipata took two weeks. It was a treat to get to know a place--and some of its residents--more than I do at my usual breakneck pace. I´ll miss my friends Eva, Rio, Pieter, and Marga--the self-declared baby boomer ¨dropouts¨.

Next stop was Santa Cruz de la Sierra, a bustling town with a distinctly different feel from the rest of Bolivia--its atmosphere has more in common with Central America than it does the Andean regions of Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. It is fascinating how much altitude affects attitude here--both that of the traveler and that of the residents. The culture is much warmer than in the highlands, where the locals are more isolated and tend to be distrustful of outsiders. Santa Cruz is the most affluent part of the country, and it prides itself on its cosmopolitan nature; there is a strong movement here to secede from the rest of Bolivia.

For the tourist, there´s not much to do but enjoy a pleasant central plaza, very walkable streets, and good international cuisine. If you´re looking for cheap flights into Bolivia, however, it´s often more affordable than La Paz--so many travelers end up passing through here on the way to somewhere else. I met up with a cool British guy named Jon, and we spent the day drinking non-instant coffee (hard to find in the rest of the country) and delicious market juices, and wolfing down tasty thin-crust pizzas on the plaza. I am noticing that a good bit of my trip is revolving around searching out the tastiest food! So far, nowhere can hold a candle to Peru in that regard.


Thanks to a connection I made in Samaipata, I had the opportunity to meet with Dr. Osvaldo Peredo, a man whose two brothers fought alongside Che Guevara. He himself trained in the Soviet Union and returned to Bolivia to help support the guerrilla efforts and to funnel information to Che´s troops about what was going on in the urban areas. Three years after Che´s assasination, Dr. Peredo launched a second guerrilla war in the Teoponte region of Bolivia, leading a group of over 70 men. Unlike in Che´s troops, all of the soldiers supervising various columns of the guerrilla army were of indiginous descent. He attributes his success in working with the native population to the legwork that Che had done in the region; his death brought social consciousness to many rural communities, who became more interested in evening out the great discrepancies between their own standard of living and that of the urban elite.

Unfortunately, Dr. Peredo´s rebellion was ultimately squelched by the Bolivian army, who were well-trained from having fought Che´s troops several years earlier. He left the country and returned in the 90s, when democracy finally made it to Bolivia. He now works as a doctor in Santa Cruz, and is head of the Che Guevara Foundation, which raises funds to support related museums and monuments around the country. Meeting him was one of the highlights of my trip to Bolivia; he was incredibly gracious and willing to answer my questions. What an amazing opportunity to sit down to a coversation with one of the great guerrilla fighters and socialist intellectuals of our time.


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On the Che Trail

After over a decade of interest in and study of the complex figure that is Ernesto Guevara de la Serna (aka. ¨El Che¨), I finally had the opportunity to make the pilgrimage to the place where, on October 8, 1967, he was assassinated by a Bolivian soldier on orders from the CIA.

Eva and I left at the crack of dawn on Wednesday morning, accompanied by her friend Miguel (who conveniently is a taxi driver) and Miguel´s young son, Daniel. The six-hour ride from Samaipata to La Higuera is unpaved--dusty, bumpy, and full of gorgeous mountain views. Along the route, the terrain changes quickly from the lush green of the Samaipata area, to gigantic high altitude desert cacti, to scrub brush and scraggly trees in the higher mountain areas.

Driving into La Higuera, I was struck by a couple of differences between the place I´ve imagined for so long, and the reality of the place itself. First of all, it is literally at the end of the road in the middle of nowhere. Secondly, the mountains surrounding it are not just rolling hills where being a guerrilla soldier would be as simple as pitching a tent every night--this is a real cordillera, with high altitudes, daily extremes of temperature, and highly inhospitable terrain. If our car had broken down, I can imagine the difficulties of surviving a few days there, let alone almost a year--and with the army and CIA hot on our trail.

Che´s final battle was fought in an area called the Quebrada del Churo (also spelled Yuro), which means ¨circular ravine¨. We did not have a chance to hike into this area because we had to get back to Vallegrande before dark, but looking down into the ravine from the road, one gets a sense of the desperation of those last days. With the army closing in from all sides, Che´s troops became trapped in the canyon. Its circular shape meant that there was no way to escape undetected, and those that weren´t massacred were taken prisoner and executed shortly thereafter (except for the few members of the vanguard that managed to hide in a cave and escape over the mountains once the Bolivian soliders stopped combing the area for survivors).

Che was captured, along with several of his men, and transported to the schoolhouse at La Higuera, where he was held captive until the next day. The CIA, learning of his capture, ordered the Bolivian army to execute him immediately. According to witnesses, none of the soliders wanted to be the one to shoot him. Eventually, a young soldier who had been drinking earlier that morning stepped forward to volunteer. And thus the legendary man, who not only liberated Cuba from the oppressive Bautista dictatorship, but also went on to be an internationally esteemed intellectual who, among other honors, was invited to address the United Nations, was shot dead on the dirt floor of a one-room schoolhouse in the backwaters of Bolivia without so much as a trial.

The schoolhouse itself has been extensively renovated since, which is perhaps why it doesn´t seem to have any energy at all from the events that took place there. The posters on the walls tell the story of Che´s campaign in Bolivia, and there are a handful photographs on the walls and cheaply printed t-shirts for sale. It is a rather pathetic monument to one of the greatest political thinkers of the 20th century, and one of the most inspirational human beings of our time. The Bolivian government forbade even the mention of Che´s name for almost 30 years after his death, and still doesn´t provide any monetary support for the upkeep of the various Che monuments--most of them are paid for by private Cuban funds.

After visiting La Higuera, we drove halfway back to Samaipata and stayed overnight in Vallegrande. On the way there, we saw one of the most epic sunsets I have ever seen. It´s hard to describe, but the setting sun reflected across the valley on to some clouds that were hanging below the tops of the surrounding mountains, so the result was otherworldly--floating pink and purple clouds.

The next morning, we visited the Che sites in Vallegrande. Several hours after his assassination, Che was transported to Vallegrande and his body was laid on the concrete washing platform of the hospital laundry room. This is where the famous (some say Christ-like) photograph of his body was taken that announced his death. Perhaps it was the grey skies, or maybe the light drizzle, but the laundry room was much more somber than the schoolhouse--more than one of us shed a few tears. As Eva put it, ¨this is where you get the sense that something died.¨ And indeed, although the man was murdered in the La Higuera schoolhouse, the legend died when the flashbulbs went off and the image of the felled guerrilla soldier was transmitted around the world by the Associated Press.

Shielding ourselves from the rain under a scraggly tree, the four of us stood there in front of the concrete structure in silence, reading the scrawled messages written on its walls by pilgrims to the site. A small patch of grass has been planted in front that spells out ¨Che Vive¨ (Che lives). Miguel broke the silence by commenting, almost wistfully, ¨People say that if he had lived, life would be very different for us Bolivians now. They say that he wanted everyone to be equal.¨ The sad fact of life for two-thirds of Bolivians is that they still live in conditions that are just as deplorable as those they suffered in the 1960s, when Che Guevara decided to take up their cause. Classism and racism are rampant against the indigenous population, many of whom do not even have running water or electricity in their homes.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_Bolivia

After visiting the hospital laundry room, we went to the small cultural center in the main plaza of Vallegrande, which has a slightly more impressive exhibition than that of La Higuera. We then hired a local guide named Carlos to take us to the airport area, where the remains of 19 of the guerrilla fighters were unearthed between 1997 and 1999--12 in one location, and 7 in another. Carlos was an excellent guide, and if you ever come to Vallegrande, I would highly recommend asking for him. He was knowledgeable and enthusiastic and gave a lot of correct information--which is quite unusual in a place where tourism is undeveloped and there are a fair amount of unscrupulous guides who simply make the information up.

After Che was executed, his hands were cut off and sent to Fidel Castro in Cuba, to prove that he had been killed. Because the CIA and the Bolivian government didn´t want his burial site to become a place of pilgrimage, his body was taken, along with those of six of his comrades, and hidden in an undisclosed location. In 1997, a group of Cuban scientists finally uncovered his remains in a desolate spot between the cemetery and the airport on the outskirts of Vallegrande. His body was taken to Cuba to be reburied, and a group of Cubans that fought alongside Che in the Cuban Revolution then donated the funds to build a nice mausoleum in the spot where his body was discovered in Vallegrande. The highlight of the mausoleum is the collection of photographs on display that chronicle Che´s life. A number of these are less popular images that I had never seen before.

Leaving the site and heading back to the plaza, Carlos told us that his parents had lived in the highland village of Alto Seco (literally translated: ¨high and dry¨) during the guerrilla war, and that Che, who had a medical degree from Argentina and visited patients in the rural areas of Bolivia, helped his mother´s friend who was having complications with her pregnancy. It seems that everyone here has their family Che story, and he is still held in reverence by many people. Miguel´s brother Rolando has a large collection of Che paraphrenalia that he proudly showed me, including an original photograph and pirated copies of the two recent Benicio del Toro movies that I did the translation for (you can´t even get a copy of the second one in the States yet!).

Che is a complicated figure. There are people who consider him to be a bloodthirsty ego-maniac, and there are those who literally worship him as a liberator and make offerings to his image on an altar in their home (a common practice in the Vallegrande area, for example). Having studied the man extensively, my opinion is that he genuinely believed the ideals he espoused. He was a remarkable human being but, ultimately, only human. And so often when our heroes turn out to be mere mortals, we crucify them for their human foibles.

For more information on him, I recommend Jon Anderson´s biography, as well as a reading of Che´s own Bolivian Diary, which has been published in English as well as in Spanish.

Still in Samaipata....

This is one of those small towns that travelers either pass right through, or can´t seem to leave. I´ve been here 6 days...longer at a stretch than anywhere on my trip thus far. I have become friends with the owners of the farm I´m staying on, and today they gave me a free upgrade to a beautiful cottage with a loft bedroom. I think they are trying to get me to stay in this lush, green valley forever; and I have to say, it´s almost tempting...

I almost wish I had thrilling adventure tales to relate, but I´m pleased to report that the most eventful happening of the day here is the twice-daily flocking of the parakeets (they are incredibly noisy)--once in the morning to make sure I´m awake, and once in the afternoon as they´re looking for a good set of trees to bed down in on the edge of the maize fields. There is a cliff overlooking the farm where they have built a big stone chair they call ¨The Throne.¨ At sunset, there is a glorious view of the valley and the lime-green flocks of birds flying around.

Since I have been here, I have done a few things besides contemplate my navel, eat fresh yogurt, and hit up internet cafes. I visited El Fuerte, an ususual pre-Inca site with lots of UFO lore, and walked the beautiful 12 kilometers back to Samaipata. I also went with my friends Rio (Mexican-American), Paola (American-Mexican) and Keith (Idaho-Texan) to a beautiful hiking spot today where we traipsed through the shallow river and visited some scenic waterfalls.

Eva, Rio, Miguel and I had a chance to take an afternoon hike into the wilderness around the Parque Nacional Amboro. On the two hour hike up to the summit of Cerro de la Mina, we passed through several distinctly different ecosystems. The first one was the domain of the gigantic ferns, which look a lot more like trees with ferns coming out of the top.

We then passed through cloud forest, where the temperature dropped significantly and although it does not rain frequently, the area was saturated with moisture from the almost constant cloud cover. Arriving at the summit, we were somewhat disappointed to find that it was completely clouded over and we were unable to see the valley below. We made a picnic lunch down in the cloud forest, and then Eva and I decided to climb back up to the top to see if the cloud cover had blown off. As we walked out to the edge of the foggy mountainside the dense clouds magically parted, treating us to a brief but gorgeous view of the rolling green valleys below.

The weather seems to vacillate between 75 degrees and sunny, and 55 degrees and misty. Pretty much perfect. Did I mention that land prices are incredibly cheap? The only downside is the slow internet connection...I´ll have to wait and post pictures when I get to a bigger city. Which will be, ohhhh, maybe sometime next month...