As
the sun was setting behind the Cordillera
Real, we were descending upon Arani (a pueblo
famous for their bread, its super deli!) in our gray Toyota Hilux; already
traveling at lower speeds due to transmission problems. The truck began to make
some unhealthy noises every time Edgar shifted. Eventually he wasn’t able to
accelerate or shift, so we ended up sleeping 2 km above Arani, fortunately we
were almost in the valley, avoiding the high altitude chill. There isn’t such a
thing as “AAA” in Bolivia; at least we were not able to contact anybody that
evening.
Fast forward four weeks, Jaime,
Angel, and I are on our way to Quillacollo, a city connected to Cochabamba, in
search of transportation (the Toyota is still in the shop). After 30 minutes of
waiting with our cargo, Jamie and Angel returned with news of a bus heading to
Linku’pata. There are not very many white people in the transportation district
of Quillacollo, meaning I was the recipient of many awkward glances. Some of
the glances were accompanied by smiles others were paired with suspicion. A
Gringo in the mainly campesino
inhabited streets, not a daily or even monthly occurrence. I met the stares
with a forced smile; I am intruding on their space.
A view from high above Cochabamba, you can see Cristo de la Concordia if you look real hard.
Jaime and I hopped on the bus headed
to Link’upata with our cargo. The mission for the next few days was to
distribute Maca seeds to four communities in the mountainous region of the
province of Ayopaya in the municipality of Cocapata: Linku’pata, Machacayma,
Huaripucara, and Kumara. The bus only had two people on it when we climbed
aboard, but in 30 minutes the bus was at full capacity; carrying more than just
people. 46 kilogram bags of rice and sugar, multiple kilos of salt, and several
packages of desayuno escolar made the
bus slightly less comfortable, as if the worn down seats and leg room only
sufficient for people with small stature (not me).
Our cargo, semilla de maca (maca seed).
Maca seeds are relatively small compared to other seeds, about the size of of chia seed. There is a little bit of dirt mixed in with seed because it is very hard to separate without the correct machinery.
After the driver broke the fuel cap,
filled the tank, replaced the fuel cap with a plastic bag; we began our trip up
the mountain, starting at 8 pm. Just before we left, I noticed a giant bag of
coca and two small bottles of whiskey in the front window seal by the driver. I
thought to myself, this is going to be
an interesting trip.
It seemed like a party in the front of
the bus, 5 guys plus the driver surrounded the exit, I think they knew the
uncomfortable seats all too well.
At 1 AM and 3 AM we had to get out and
push the bus up the mountain because the roads were very muddy. I barely slept
because the bus was very uncomfortable, and I resorted to chewing coca out of
boredom. We arrived at Link’upata at 5:30 in the morning; we slept in the bus
until 8.
Coca from Los Yungas.
We spent the rest of the day
distributing maca seeds to the local farmers. OBADES bought the seeds and then
gave the seeds to the agriculture association in each community. The amount of
seeds distributed depended upon the amount each associate wanted. Each farmer
that bought seeds needed to pay their debt off from the previous year’s seeds
before retrieving this year’s seeds. Since OBADES gifted the seeds to the
agriculture associations, the associations can generate revenue for future
projects.
We slept in Link’upata in one of the
school buildings. We were fed by some members of the community, a delicious
plate of lentils, potatoes, and chuno. Although we kept warm for a bit before
bed with a small electric stovetop, nothing could keep the cold from coming
through the hole in the cardboard box that covers the window. We eventually
fell asleep; it was very easy after not sleeping the two previous nights (I
returned to Cochabamba the previous night from La Paz, I didn’t sleep).
The unexpected dreariness of a normally sunny September day in Link'upata.
The people of Link'upata mostly plant potatoes as a cash crop, you can see the richness of the soil that provides the delicious taste of la papa Waych'a. Unfortunately they are losing there soil due to few soil conservation activities.
We visited Huaripucara the next day,
since we didn’t have the truck, we road on the back of motorcycles to reach the
community. Along the way I had to get off the motorcycle and walk because the
incline was too steep for us both to ride of the motorcycle. It started raining
a couple minutes after we arrived. Huaripucara is famous for having herds of
vicuna, a relative to the llama and alpaca. In Bolivia, it is illegal to kill
vicunas, and they are only used for their fur. Their fur is very fine, soft,
and warm; resulting in its expensive products.
After distributing more maca seed to the
agricultural association of Huaripucara and waiting out the cold rain; we made
our way to Machacayma by motorcycle. We almost fell twice because of the muddy
roads. I wasn’t able to sit comfortably or securely on the motorcycle because
the foot holds were broken. The motorcycle probably isn’t road safe; well I
know it isn’t road safe.
We arrived in Machacayma, but couldn’t
distribute seed because the leadership wasn’t present. We ended up waiting 4
hours for leadership to show up, but eventually left for Kumara in taxi (yes,
there are taxis in the high Andes) because the leadership never showed up.
The air was very humid in Kumara and a
slight wind made my bones shiver. We waited in a small one room house owned by
the church until the church service started, so we could take advantage of
having a crowd to inform them of the seed distribution. The service was
conducted in Quechua. The coldness had everybody saying chiri (cold) under their breath.
We slept with several blankets on
top of our sleeping bags, but my feet were still cold if I wasn’t fetal
position. The next day we took a taxi to Totorani, it cost 100Bs, normally
taxis are a max of 20Bs for a trip to anywhere in the city. The taxi ride was
also about an hour long.
The bed that Jaime and I shared in Kumara, thanks to the some of the church members we had blankets to put on top of our sleeping bags.
We were welcomed by the warm weather of
Totorani and a plate of food provided by German’s family. Within the hour a
potato truck arrived to take us to Quillacollo. This is when the adventure of the blue potato truck started. The good thing about riding in a potato truck is the opportunity to see the environment all around you, 360 degrees, but the unfortunate part is the rate at which the potato truck travels compared to our pickup truck and the bumpiness of the ride. There is also rain, and the rain is cold.
The lowlying clouds and steep cliffs made you want to stand up the whole trip, but I sat for the first half of the trip.
This is a picture of the Misicuni Dam, the project started in 1987, and has yet to be completely finished. The dam is planned to be used to generate hydroelectric power, 80MW of electricity!
We took a bathroom break at one of the high points in the trek. The women walk about 6 meters away from the truck to use the bathroom, while men walk about 30 meters or more. Who is more shy? The people of the campo are generally very nice and reserved; I enjoy every ball of coca and minute I get to spend with them!
I stood on this gas tank for the last 2 hours of the trip; it was out of choice because I wanted to see and take pictures of our surroundings. The air was fresh the entire trip!
I was glad to return to the "Corazon de Bolivia" or "Ciudad Jardin de Bolivia" after and exhausting three days of travel. I don't think I could live in Link'upata, Kumara, Machacayma, or Huaripucara because its too cold. Totorani is just right, and Cochabamba even better if we are talking about the weather.
The Cochabamba Valley was very clear on the day of our descent. The wind had swept all of the smog away from the city. One of things I like about our trips up to Cocapata is the fresh air; I think of it every time a bus drives down the street spreading its toxic emissions.
