Wednesday, April 20, 2005
The Chulumani Story Part One
I seemed to have lost my diary markings for this episode but I'll try my best to remember the events of my visit to Chulumani with Guy Powell, and English guy who I met on a mountain bike ride from La Cumbre to Coroico, often dubbed as the "World's Most Dangerous Road".
As I wrote before, I finished a previous GAP tour in La Paz and embarked then on this wild downhill ride into the Bolivian Yungas. After the trip, most of the cyclists decided to take the bus back to La Paz, leaving me, Guy and a german business student called Stefan sitting on a bench waiting for a promised transport to Coroico.
After a while, a girl from the shack-pretending-to-be-a-shop next to us waived us to get on a pick-up that had just arrived. We lugged our backpacks into the back and climbed after them, and soon found ourselves squeezed, standing in-between the village-going locals. The ride was fun: I enjoyed the breeze remembering the days back in East Africa where being squashed between commoners and their animals in a back of a truck without any cover from the rain nor the sun was a norm.
Just as we arrived in Coroico it started raining. Of the few possible options for a hostal we chose the closest one, Hostal Kory just right off the plaza. After checking our stuff in we headed for a burger and a beer in a nearby restaurant.
I'm not particularly a fan of Bolivian ale, the most popular one's - Paceña and Huari - having way too yeasty after-flavor for me. But Bock, the strongest beer available, is as good as any Finnish IV B lager.
The night was spent having few more beers and looking for a working internet. Local nightlife was found to be non-existent.
Next morning we got up reasonably early in order to hike to the nearby waterfalls. On breakfast by the plaza we could spot several afro-bolivian women sitting by the church wearing their bowler hats and polleras (the skirt of the Andean attire). A striking combination, result of the African slaves, who were brought to work in the Bolivian mines by the Spanish, intermixing with the local Quechuas and Aymaras. The Africans were later relocated to the Yungas to work in the plantations. Although most of the Afro-Bolivians are quite oblivious of their background, their music - the Saya - remains as a strong symbol of their unique culture.
The hike up to the waterfall started from the Calvario, a chapel overlooking the town and took around an hour and a half, on a narrow footpath snaking on the hillside through plantations and forest. Chuckling, we dubbed it 'The World's Most Dangerous Footpath' after a few dodgy parts where a slip might cost some broken bones.
To our disappointment, the waterfall was made ugly by a complex of concrete and tubing that provided the surrounding area with fresh water from the creek. So we turned back.
Arriving back in Coroico we left Stefan to catch his bus to La Paz and checked in in a french-owned hostal a notch away from town. There, looking at a map on the wall we realized that there were two more impressive waterfalls to be found, if we just had kept on going. Well, it was too late now, so we settled for a beer by the swimming pool with a beautiful view over Coroico.
There, browsing through the pages of Guy's Lonely Planet, we decided on the next destination: Chulumani. Well, my choice was either to head back to Lima, or to visit this place I'd never been before, so what the heck, I went for the latter. I could just as well spend a couple more days to explore the area when I've come this far.
to be continued soon.. (bedtime now)
As I wrote before, I finished a previous GAP tour in La Paz and embarked then on this wild downhill ride into the Bolivian Yungas. After the trip, most of the cyclists decided to take the bus back to La Paz, leaving me, Guy and a german business student called Stefan sitting on a bench waiting for a promised transport to Coroico.
After a while, a girl from the shack-pretending-to-be-a-shop next to us waived us to get on a pick-up that had just arrived. We lugged our backpacks into the back and climbed after them, and soon found ourselves squeezed, standing in-between the village-going locals. The ride was fun: I enjoyed the breeze remembering the days back in East Africa where being squashed between commoners and their animals in a back of a truck without any cover from the rain nor the sun was a norm.
Just as we arrived in Coroico it started raining. Of the few possible options for a hostal we chose the closest one, Hostal Kory just right off the plaza. After checking our stuff in we headed for a burger and a beer in a nearby restaurant.
I'm not particularly a fan of Bolivian ale, the most popular one's - Paceña and Huari - having way too yeasty after-flavor for me. But Bock, the strongest beer available, is as good as any Finnish IV B lager.
The night was spent having few more beers and looking for a working internet. Local nightlife was found to be non-existent.
Next morning we got up reasonably early in order to hike to the nearby waterfalls. On breakfast by the plaza we could spot several afro-bolivian women sitting by the church wearing their bowler hats and polleras (the skirt of the Andean attire). A striking combination, result of the African slaves, who were brought to work in the Bolivian mines by the Spanish, intermixing with the local Quechuas and Aymaras. The Africans were later relocated to the Yungas to work in the plantations. Although most of the Afro-Bolivians are quite oblivious of their background, their music - the Saya - remains as a strong symbol of their unique culture.
The hike up to the waterfall started from the Calvario, a chapel overlooking the town and took around an hour and a half, on a narrow footpath snaking on the hillside through plantations and forest. Chuckling, we dubbed it 'The World's Most Dangerous Footpath' after a few dodgy parts where a slip might cost some broken bones.
To our disappointment, the waterfall was made ugly by a complex of concrete and tubing that provided the surrounding area with fresh water from the creek. So we turned back.
Arriving back in Coroico we left Stefan to catch his bus to La Paz and checked in in a french-owned hostal a notch away from town. There, looking at a map on the wall we realized that there were two more impressive waterfalls to be found, if we just had kept on going. Well, it was too late now, so we settled for a beer by the swimming pool with a beautiful view over Coroico.
There, browsing through the pages of Guy's Lonely Planet, we decided on the next destination: Chulumani. Well, my choice was either to head back to Lima, or to visit this place I'd never been before, so what the heck, I went for the latter. I could just as well spend a couple more days to explore the area when I've come this far.
to be continued soon.. (bedtime now)
# posted by Jussi Soini @ 11:05 PM 
