Cochabamba was about to be forever a part of my lexicon (though I have to admit I was unfamiliar with this city in Bolivia) but also how lightly she begins and rolls off the tongue. Leaving La Paz and Sucre, I had admittedly tucked an entire country away into a box. For shame.There was no love like my love of Peru until a couple days following the warm night I rolled into Cochabamba’s main bus station. Even getting to that terminal sparked my senses. Instantly I felt incredibly underdressed. After roughing my way a bit between the cities, there was a notable difference between me and the passersby. Though I had gained a real knack for cleaning up quite nicely in between physically demanding volunteer life, this area shouted modern city life and it didn’t hurt that the timing wasn’t all that far from Carnaval.
Cochabamba was another one of those completely unexpected circumstances in my South American plans. I can’t forget falling into a daily routine there (that could have continued so effortlessly for so much longer) and it’s almost a little scary to think I entertained the thought even for just a moment of not being able to stop there. Roads not taken and what not. I would have allowed a very important chapter to pass me by.
I promise as soon as my girl, Margaret knew I had reached this magical Bolivian city, she asked just why I couldn’t stay with her and her current roommate rather than anywhere else. Made sense. After all I was finally there and not quite there – at her place yet. Her “can’t you just stay here” in that genuinely hospitable British accent took me back to a myriad of sentiments, never to be erased.
What I had done was not taken for granted the ease with which I might be able to get to their part of the city from the bus station at night – planning mixed with a lack of planning on my part. I was left corresponding with her from the quaint hostel I had reserved just prior to arrival. Thankfully, I saw very little of it – save for a short night, followed by a brief stop back to retrieve my barely unpacked things). I would spend the rest of her subleasing time with her before we moved on. Leaving the hostel like hotel, I could see the remnants of the staff’s peculiar looks about me and/or my fleeting situation. Certain curious looks are just now something I’ve really come to appreciate😊. It probably means I’m on the right path.
My timing came together. I made it to the spacious apartment for Margaret’s birthday celebration, and it could have been my own😊. Reconnecting in Cochabamba also meant reconnecting with Juan de España/Spain and our American friend, Friedrich (all of us: PSF throwbacks). We were easily prepared to be as thick as thieves with mostly good and some daring intentions. Margaret and her roomie’s temporary subleased space was that of a Brazilian couple currently on holiday. Her birthday night was easy: Catching up. Cracking up. Dinner followed by dancing before our days would fall into the lovely routine of responsibilities laced with paradise.
By winter of 2011, my 183-day volunteer visa in Peru was about to be a wrap and Bolivia was already on my radar as my means to stay longer. (I revisit then with promises of returning to South America soon). I had preplanned my Bolivian journey to some extent. I would need to reset my time in Peru and knew I could do so by visiting this neighboring country. At the same time, my visit would also fulfil some curiosities. My ex (not boyfriend but in the sense of dating someone/trying to make it work) is from there and like Peru, it has the intriguing precolonial history that merges with the modern and remains beautifully present today in the people and the landscape. It’s defiantly brilliant, almost feigning to be coopted by tourism.
Back then, my reasons became more personal after my South American life began. Three of my former co-volunteers from Pisco were now already in Cochabamba, Bolivia and I would find myself gingerly, happily making my way there following my start in the capital of La Paz and adventuring through Sucre. The intent was to get to Cochabamba by one of their up and coming birthdays. I would make it just in time, though with a major blood clot in my leg. It was a condition I had mistakenly deemed a charley horse, aka cramp that didn’t know when to stop. A kind Cochabamban doctor eventually resolved this mystery for me.
I went from Pisco to Arequipa to Cusco. Getting the best in-country tips (before leaving one country) for the best bus companies, I thought I was ready. I was on my way and for a minor moment I thought I wouldn’t have to pay the customary fee for US citizens to enter Bolivia. (The practice was mutual). I wasn’t sure exactly how they were going to charge me. Taking the buses between cities and now countries (instead of flying) seemed so casual to the point I thought I might just roll into La Paz sans the fee. However, when I walked down the bus aisle, continuing all the way to the back, slowly realizing my seat number did not exist, I knew something had to be up. Perhaps this was not something being up in a bad way but rather a reminder to them I was a US citizen. Random to write, I ended up sitting in the passenger side next to the bus driver. The sun was better than any seat warmer I’ve ever enjoyed and I had the added bonus of getting the panoramic scenery of Peru behind me and Bolivia ahead of me – this was more than I could have taken in from the peripheral of a regular seat. This was an effortless picture painting itself out in front of me. I was doing the least (versus the popular expression of “doing the most”). The only other person with this view had to focus on the road. Joke was on them.
We made it to the immigration area, and I was becoming quite
jealous of the other travelers having less to do but knew this was more about international
government relations rather than personal reasons. I just wanted to be done already
and back en route. I had opted for a cute hotel in La Paz and my bed was
waiting to be rested in so I could later explore. I remember walking up a steep
incline from the bus to the customs offices and feeling my duffel bag beginning
to grind into my shoulder. It was also getting to weigh about a ton. I
exaggerate though I did start to question my fortitude. Ultimately, I was reminded
how adaptable and capable us humans can be.
Unfortunately, I had made the mistake of leaving my Andean migrations card in Pisco, Peru. I had my passport – I needed both. I really thought I lost the card. I would end up finding it much later as I had purposely left my large suitcase at PSF headquarterswhile I continued backpacking and volunteering around the two countries. Some of my former co-volunteers had graciously made a space for the unneeded items until my return. They were still working on earthquake recovery in the small city. Yet, in all that gear lurked the Andean card I needed to present at customs.
I immediately discovered my mistake would fit in just one category. This would be immigration fraud, according to one officer and a couple of nearby signs. The signs warned anybody attempting immigration fraud would be fined. Consequently, I had a very awkward though fluent conversation (in Spanish) with the security officer who continually asked me what I wanted to do. What did I plan to do?
Well, I had taken the signs to heart and thinking I had no other choice, I planned to settle for the “immigration fraud route” and pay my fine in addition to the US citizen entry fee. As noted earlier, I wanted to be on my way. I responded there were no other options to his repetitive questions. I would have to pay. His last notable reply: “Well, there are other options”. Suddenly, I had the image of myself throwing bolivianos (money) his way as I headed in the opposite direction. (Bolivianos = the Bolivian currency, and interestingly denotes the citizens as well). I had very little interest in “other options” and less and less desire to be hanging out at this border crossing. I fortunately was able to move forward with paying just the fine referenced on the signs and the US entry fee. It wasn’t so important to prove I had done nothing intentionally fraudulent as it was for me to get to the other side. I would never be so intentional…until years later when I’d agreed to go to Cuba😊.
My “riskysafe” more so speaks to daring myself to be light and adventurous. Reflecting back to the moment at Bolivian customs is surreal. I had faith I would be okay though it was still unsettling. There have been a few situations as recent as previewing a beach in Old San Juan without my new companions with whom I later ventured back. It was another fleeting yet too extended moment where an individual had preluded to some not-so-safe outcomes for me. I know others who can relate. Notably, my life in the States, as a native has not come without some unexpected risks as well. We have to be vigilant for ourselves and each other.
Fortunately, while traveling, these moments have been minimal and more often materialized when the sun is shining down around me in virtual paradise while I’m surrounded by good spirits, both local and foreign. It helps me to be brave yet cognizant of ways to practice safety. I’m also reminded there are so many more random positive situations. The smallest and grandest gestures are undeniable. A quick question like which number bus goes to Loiza Street in Puerto Rico and I found locals looking out for my new friends and me.
I see people look out for you not to be lost in their various cultures and traditions. They look out for you to share the space and enjoy your time. There’s suddenly an extra setting for you whenever it’s dinner time. People thank you for coming all this way to help when you feel like you have done just a little. People find a place for you to lay your head when it’s gotten too late or expertly get you back to your dwelling. People smile deeply from ear to ear – just glad you came – just glad you’re there. It’s a reflection of you – grinning back. Turns out, corruption ain’t got much of anything on moments like these.
I quickly realized it was time to get back to just depending on me as I was preparing to travel from the Peruvian city of Arequipa to Cusco, Peru.
Although I was going to miss having a temporary travel partner, this was going to be a good change. Self-reliance had been my typical method to and from my South American destinations, though my clear intentions were to consistently meet up with people.
It
was especially important that I get back to solo traveling – because that
allowed me the freedom to diligently follow the paths that I found dear. This synced
with my call to community and volunteering. It has also added to the solo
travel tips I have to share with you (can’t forget those along with my random thoughts
and experiences).
There
was more that made me realize how important it was for me to get back to solo
destination travel. I realized it was also rather easy to develop codependency
(both lightweight and not so lightweight). I took note when my travel friend had
asked another adventurer if she was traveling alone. His question held the awe
of already sensing the answer, and I quickly needed to remind myself that, hey,
I too, had begun like her. (Naturally, like us, she was making friends along
the way). I reminded myself that this is also how I would continue to the next
spot and much later to the Bolivian cities of La Paz, Sucre and Cochabamba. It’s
sometimes too easy to dismiss your own journey. (literally and figuratively). Don’t
let others help you do it either, even when it’s not their intention.
Naturally (biologically),
we do depend on others to survive and participate properly in life, but a good
amount of self-reliance is important as well. An international travel partner
can provide a good buddy system. You can look out for one another’s safety, and
literally share the load of convenient travel gear you need like insect
repellent and sunscreen. You can provide each other with moral support and
crafty suggestions.
It was
simply that I needed to rediscover my own gumption. I needed a reminder of how self-assured,
friendly, outgoing and diligent I could be in a foreign country and so, although
I had enjoyed his company, I found that my preference was much more in line
with the comradery that came with forming bonds in the local and volunteering
community. This would be followed by challenging myself to do more. (Of course,
this is not to say that socializing and appreciating my surroundings was ever
overlooked. Additionally, this mostly just describes my persona during those South
American traveling days. I like to think of the modern me as a better more
well-rounded travel companion).
As
far as volunteer goals went in Cusco, I was planning to connect to a specific
organization that had captured my heart, one that I had already imagined assisting
with in some way. Unfortunately, once I did get to this point, I didn’t have
the benefit of connecting with its very long-time volunteers. This was the
complete opposite of the group I consider to be pretty much kinfolk – my fellow Pisco Sin
Fronteras volunteers. I found this to be a complete change to the
grittiness and beauty that mutually linked me to them, but due to that very bond,
however, I could easily understand how this group had underwent a similar
experience in Cusco.
Their
clique was really just about six people, but it was intriguingly tight. I respected
that. I became a lot closer to the newly arrived volunteers and this is not to
say that the several of us, newbies, did not connect on some level with the veterans.
We just laughingly noticed that there was a barrier we would not be crossing. Only
certain circumstances showcased their concern such as a physical attraction to
one of us or noting that we were about to traverse into some physically
dangerous situations. Never mind our group fundraising activities, nights out
dancing, laughing or chatting. Bonding was fleeting and I’m actually glad nothing can compare to what
I experienced in Pisco.
I purposely
don’t mention the name of the organization in Cusco, though its mission is equally
as outstanding as the ones held by PSF and Proyecto Horizonte.
(I can include special details if you are especially interested and inbox me here. I’m certain a lot
has changed since my time there. I can share what I know.)
Pausing for a moment, before I go deeper into my volunteer stint in Cusco, I will throw out an overview of my initial days in this breezy, coldish part of Peru (I was there during rainy season). My main plans included Machu Picchu, sites like Sacred Valley, cathedrals, museums, ruins and more. I would need to strategically structure my time before traveling into the more, not so safe area of Cusco where I would be volunteering as a teacher to underserved children. I think I did a pretty decent job of managing the time I had. Still I wished for more and I’ve thought about living there for a few months each year.
Mapping
out a decent bus ride from Arequipa was the first step. I was set with a nice
bus company (word-of-mouth reviews are gold), and having found a properly
reviewed hostel on hostel.com, I was even more set. I must include, however,
that while I was happy with the overall hostel amenities that included
cleanliness and hot water, I was a bit put off by its risky location. There was
a significant stretch from the Plaza de Armas (the main square) to my dwelling
and this also just happened to mean it was in a less safe area. I was always
reassured to see the tall guard standing stoic at the end of my street (and it didn’t
hurt that he was also handsome) but it would have been even more comforting if there
was another guard or two located along the way.
This
brings to mind some suggestions that I feel were beneficial to me and as I plan
to put together a more comprehensive list, I will share them here. My initial advice,
to an especially solo person, would be to always move with a purpose – even
when you are just a little bit acclimated to your surroundings. I think doing
that to the best of my ability while remaining cordial and open was key. Even
if my purpose was leisurely and given to the spontaneous track, I think it served
me well to walk steadily, not too slow, and as if I had a clear place to be. A
genuine friendliness with local people, exhibiting respect and having humility
seemed to create good vibes as well.
You find there are a considerable number of people who freely offer information and advice. You can compare notes from your encounters and unpack the lot of it for yourself. Amicable relationships with people from the area sometimes even translate into them looking after you in a familial way, but like anywhere in the world, being alone and a novice can also open you up to individuals that would never have your best interest in mind. Overall, politeness and greetings go a long way in the right circumstances. After all, you are in a place in which you most likely want to be immersed. The rule remains however to always be alert and don’t ever talk yourself out of your instincts.
My unease
with my hostel location did eventually settle my decision to find another place
within a few days. The local owner of the hostel, that I was leaving, was very
engaging. He had daily inquired about my travel and was taken with my previous
and future plans. (He was surprised that I had been staying in Pisco and not
the capital of Lima, prior to this). I just did not have the heart to tell him
that I was going to stay in another location for a few days, before my next
volunteer gig. He assumed I was going there straight away. As a host, he was great,
and his place was great, and I couldn’t offend him with just that one amenity
he could not offer. That would be feeling more secure.
I
found a really nice place near La Plaza de las Armas and it was more like a
hotel than a hostel. I was easily comfortable venturing out on nearby city
tours, visiting historic sites and viewing everyday tourist attractions. The
biggest trip I would take was my mini trek to Machu Picchu.
Upcoming: Adventures and Misadventures reaching my first Wonder
of the World
