A Day in the Life: Clinics in Cochabamba

Our team wakes up every morning around 7 am. I lie in my bed, half-awake, wondering what the day will bring. We throw on our dirty scrubs and walk downstairs for breakfast. We greet our lovely hosts, Carmen and Richard with a kiss on the cheek and a "buenos dias," and their two young children run and jump into our arms for a warm good morning hug.

After breakfast we load our plastic drawers of medications and vitamins into the bus waiting outside the gate. We stack the boxes of supplies then hop aboard. While we are watching the world whirling by through the window, our coordinator, Kristy, is giving us a run-down for the day. She's telling us about the place we are going to visit and the story about how it started. 

Eventually we arrive outside the doors of our destination and take a deep breath. The preacher or director of the ministry greets us with a warm and grateful smile as we walk around to shake the hands of those who have already started to gather; girls with popsicles, bashful little boys and elderly women with pleaded skirts and wide-brimmed hats. 

As we begin our daily task of setting up the clinic, curious eyes watch our actions and we pause every once in a while to take a picture of the cheerful families. We have developed a system by now and are busy setting up our farmacy and organizing our consultation rooms.

Eventually we are ready to begin and the first patient comes to sit between Melissa and I. We say hello, introduce ourselves, and begin the sequence of questions. I watch Melissa listen to their heart and lungs then she smiles and tells them how good everything sounds. We write down their "diagnistico" on a piece of paper and I explain to them in Spanish the medications we are going to give them and how to take them. They smile and say thank you and walk out the door to the farmacy, where Kristy is waiting to give out the medications in a little bag with handwritten directions. She is our team leader and runs the show alongside the Bolivian doctors, Claudia and Maria. 

Some patients come in crying after Kim, our team member who pokes the finger of every child, strategically takes a drop of their blood. We can hear her re-assuring the sobbing kids in the other room. Repeatedly saying "Los siento," a touch of her southern accent and motherly tone subtly seeps into her Spanish. 

Throughout the day we will see a variety of medical ailments but several are very common and reoccurring. We see severe cavities and tooth decay in many of the children. I politely ask if they brush their teeth and they take their lollipop out of their mouth as a smile stretches across their faces, "cinco veces cada día" they say. 

Some of the things we see sadden our hearts. Mel and I talk with one young child who has gone five days without eating. We give her a banana and watch her slowly eat it- little by little. It's hard for us to wrap our brains around the idea of this and once she walks away our emotions take over and we look at each other with the same face; a mutual feeling of devastation and helplessness.

We continue our day, helping treat the lice, scabies, parasites, ear infections and everything else that walks through the door. I watch Mel do the physical exams and smile as she tickles the children after feeling their stomach for pains. 

Most of the children we see are incredibly kind and polite. The majority of them walked themselves to our clinic and are there all alone. Some have never seen a doctor before in their lives. 

Sometimes my job as a translator includes talking to worried parents about their children. One day we had a child come in with a broken arm in a cloth sling and most of our consult consisted of coaxing the mother into letting us see his arm. Other times, there are no parents and we watch the older siblings gently taking care of their younger brothers or sisters. In many cases, these older kids have raised their younger siblings more than their parents have. 

We make a good team and by the end of our first day we have already figured out our system. By now we're tired and sit down for lunch. We load our boxes of medicines and vitamins back into the bus and shake hands and give hugs. As we are pulling away, they wave to us from the gate with a big smile on their faces and a baggie of medicine in their hands.

Undeniably most of their vitamin supply will eventually run out and their parasites will return. Although we will not be coming back soon and the children may go for weeks, months or even years before seeing the next doctor, we are giving them hope, hope that someone somewhere out there cares about their well being. 

In the bus ride home, we listen to Kristy's fascinating stories from the places she has travelled. We are inspired by what she has accomplished and grateful to be working on her team. I talk with her about how to truly make a difference and she explains to me the idea of positive deviance.

We eat a delicious home cooked Bolivian dinner and play cards before bed. Our hearts are happy and we are tired so we drift into a peaceful night of rest, all the while preparing ourselves for another day.

Throughout our week in Cochabamba we will help roughly 200 children. We will visit the ministry for disabled children, for children living in the red light district, for children living in poverty in the city and for children in the outskirts of town. We will work in a variety of different places and meet a wonderful group of people who have dedicated their lives to helping these kids. We will be inspired by the stories we hear and will fall in love with the kind-hearted people we meet. 

http://www.positivedeviance.org/

La Paz, Bolivia

The city of Peace.
I spent several days in La Paz just wandering around and taking in the city and the mountains surrounding. I took a walking city tour from my hostel and learned so many things about the history and the people of the city.  For example, there is a river that flows under the main road of the city and it used to be the dividing line between where the indigenous people and where the Spanish people lived.  

For our first stop, we walked to the city prison, written about in the book Marching Powder. It is the only prison that is fully run by the prisoners. The guards stand on the outside but the prison functions on its own on the other side of the wall. The government does not own the prison and once the prisoners enter, they have to pay an entrance fee and buy their cell. The more money they have, the nicer of a cell they can buy. In addition to this, the prisoner's wives and children live inside the prison with them. Most of the prisoners are serving time for drug trafficking but the strange thing is that many of them have cocaine laboratories inside the prison and it is said to be "one of the best sources of Cocaine in the country." I could talk for an hour about the prison but I would recommend reading the book if you are interested, it's absolutely fascinating!

The next city site we visited was the Mercado de las Brujas (the witches market). Here, the witches sell llama fetuses to give as offerings to Pacha Mama (mother earth God) when people build new houses, asking for her blessing to disrupt the tierra (earth). They also sell idols and potions and ceremonial things to burn asking blessing for anything and everything you could possibly imagine. The witches are specially selected to be a witch and they have a story of their own. In order to be a witch, one must be struck by lightening and survive. Their "powers" can be passed down to their oldest daughter and all the shops sell the exact same thing so one must "listen to their heart" to feel the pull of the most powerful witch.

Another wonderful thing about the city is the teleférico system. Basically, it is a system of cable cars used as public transport to efficiently and cheaply travel from one end of the city to the other. It's essentially a big gondola car that runs through the stations and the different lines run to different areas. In such a poverty affected country, it is so neat to see such modern and technologically advanced innovations that we don't even really have in the United States.

During one of my days in the city, I took a bus to Chalcataya, famously the world's highest altitude ski resort. I rode the bus up a steep and winding road to the small mountain refuge at 17,000ft. From there we walked up to the top of the mountain and enjoyed the view of the beautiful snow covered Andes all around us.

That afternoon, I visited La Valle de la Luna, a desert-like valley with crazy rock formations and bright red rocks. It was such a stark contrast to the mountains surrounding. 

In summary, La Paz was a very interesting visit. From the disparity in wealth to the wild landscapes, I really enjoyed exploring a new urban scape. 

Adrenaline in the Andes

After Brad and I finished our trek through the Cordilleras, we went to the beach for New Years then returned to Cusco. We spent a few days wandering the streets of the city and visting coffee shops, preparing for our next adventure: downhill mountain biking.
We took a colectivo to the beautiful Sacred Valley and stayed at a hostal in the town of Ollantaytambo. From our room, we had a view of the Incan military fort perched on the hillside. Our timing also proved to be very lucky because we happened to be in the town during the time of their four-day festival that happens once a year. During all times of the day, every day, for four days, people were singing and dancing, blowing on horns, banging on drums or lighting off fireworks. The cultural aspect was beautiful to see. One day we watched what appeared to be a dance battle from a balcony in the main square and on another afternoon we sat on an Incan terrace to watch a bullfight.
While we weren´t busy with the festivities, we were with Jose, our local downhill guide. We were driven up to 14,000 ft mountain passes then mounted our bikes and dropped down into some of the craziest trails. This far surpassed any biking I had previously done, We rode through small villages, past running baby llamas and down incredible valleys and on roads where cows sat, munching on grass.

Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 5

Surprisingly, we woke up in the rain. We were wet. The tent was wet. The ground was wet. Everything was wet.

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When you hike through the Peruvian Andes during the wet season, you make oatmeal and ramen in the rain, you splash into your shoes and you take a big gulp of that lemonade because it tastes damn good.
It was the last day of our trek and though it seemed like the rain would never end, we knew that the trail would so we marched on with our hoods synched tight and smiles on our faces. As we made our way down the vally, time and time again we encountered rivers washing out the trail. At this point, we had abandoned the hope of finding a dry alternative route on rocks. At each crossing we paused to admire the quantity of water cascading down the canyon walls, listen to the birds singing and once again, embrace the magnitude of our surroundings. We took a deep breath and walked across.
The landscape continued to change as we found ourselves in a lush, green forest which soon opened up to a sheep pasture, where a young girl tended to her sheep. There, we noticed the first signs of the small village below.
When you spend time amongst big mountains in the backcountry, the return to civilization can sometimes shock your system. Luckily, our choice to end in the town of Vaqueria softened our re-entry. For the next few hours, we meandered through a small, mountainside village, where farmers leisurely worked in their fields and children played freely- running up to greet us as we passed. As we crossed the creek one last time, we said goodbye to the small village and were assured by a kind woman that Vaqueria was "Just up the hill." As if willed by her warm smile, the rains stopped and the sun found its way through the clouds, instantaneously warming our soaked bodies.
Feeling our trek coming to an end, we slowed our pace as the trail steepened and we felt the gravity of the past four days. We shrugged our shoulders and laughed as the final ascent proved to be the most challenging. As we ascended higher and higher, the trail became a dirt road. We imagined that this place, Vaqueria, the one we had been walking towards for four day, would be a small Peruvian village. We began day dreaming of lunch in a quaint little cafe, in the Plaza de Armas. To our surprise, just as we felt we couldn´t walk any further or higher, the real Vaqueria appeared before our eyes. Little more than a road-side stop and a small, closed hostel, it still appeared a shangri-la to us.
We happily sat out in the sunny lawn and spread our things out to let the sun dry our bones. Despite the risk of being deserted at this closed, road-side attraction. We let the first colectivos roll by. For the moment, we savored the end of our trek.
Even though our journey was still to include wild mountain drives down hair-raising switch backs, hotsprings, beaches, fireworks, deserts, Incan ruins and even more mountains; for that moment, on that small patch of grass on the hillside in the sunshine, it was all enough.

Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 4

Morning found us more or less warm, and pretty dry so we took our time. Stacking calories, stretching our legs and loading our packs, we were mentally preparing ourselves for the days climb. If yesterday was far, today we would walk high.

At the head of the Santa Cruz valley lies Punta Union Pass. At 15,600 feet, we had our work cut out for us. About 2,500 feet above camp, switch-backing up a steep and rocky mountainside, we resolved to take our time and enjoy the climb. 

Vertical climbs and huge mountains, venturing further and further away from home, and yet somehow it seems the smaller the world gets. As we watched a guided group descend from above, we first passed a team of mules carrying everything we had decided to put on our own backs. A few switchbacks later, I was elated to literally run into an Austrian friend who I had worked with on a farm in a tiny town in Ecuador. We hugged and exchanged some travel stories from the previous weeks then said our goodbyes. Even though the trail continued tosteepen  towards the pass, the excitement from coincidentally having encountered a friend in such a remote locale kept my spirits high.

With calm and measured steps, we reached Punta Union at high noon and sat to enjoy the view. It was some sort of raining but not quite snowing. We smiled, looking back down the valley, with fond memories of passing each specific landmark below. Nibbling on our snickers, we turned to look down the other side, the Harishampa Valley. The descent seemed more gradual than the ascent that we had just made, causing us to realize the reason why most people do it the other way. However, it was more than just the grade of the trail that caught our attention. While the Santa Cruz Valley held the characteristics of a high-alpine, wind-swept landscape, this new valley seemed more lush, with more trees and more lakes. With this realization, we couldn't help but wonder if this was the reason French momma seemed so overwhelmed by the rain.

One thing was for sure, we were soon to find out.
We made our way down the pass and were not yet an hour into our descent when the rain started to fall. We quickly realized this was a different type of rain too. This was a constant rain. This was a soaking rain. This was the Andean wet season rain.

Just as in the other valley, the trail was well marked, however there was one marked difference. In the Harishampa Valley, there was no trail. There was only a creek. The rain fell and the water flowed down the valley on all sides. Enormous waterfalls cascaded over the thousand-foot cliff walls and collided with raging rivers.

So this is what French momma was talking about. This is exactly what she was talking about. It was the kind of wet that made you even question the possibility of drought. The kind of wet that made you wonder if you would ever be dry again. We marched on towards camp. 

Squish, squish, squish.
We found high grounds to set up camp where we thought we would be protected from any rising waters. As luck would have it, while we pitched our tent it was only raining, as opposed to the deluge we had experienced previously.Once again, it would be a tent-bound dinner of ramen, and while the day had been wet, it hadn´t been all together too challenging. With still a bit of light left to the day, we played some cards and listened to the pattering symphony of rain overhead. 

Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 3

There is a beautiful paradox, walking into the mountains. The higher you go with your heavy pack, the steeper the trail is yet the lighter you become, despite the rations of food and warm layers you carry on your shoulders - the weight of the world lifts from them and you begin to connect with the natural beauty of your surroundings. You catch your stride and you embrace the freedom that is adventure.

We opened our tent to find blue skies above and we smiled, thinking that all this talk about the Andean rain season was nothing more than myth. We ate a hearty breakfast, packed up our bags and carried on. 

There's an old saying about weather in the mountains, "If you don't like it, just wait five minutes and it will change."

We weren't even a mile into our day when we had to drop our heavy packs to dig out our rain gear, preparing for the dark clouds that were racing down the valley- straight for us. We sinched our hoods and agreed that we might be in for a soaker but barely twenty minutes later we pulled down our hoods laughing, barely damp from the storm. 

We stopped in awe as the first of the 20,000 ft peaks humbly revealed its grandeur. The realization of the magnitude of our surroundings charged our spirits. We smiled and continued down the valley.

At this point in our journey, we had seen more tarantulas than trekkers so we were a bit surprised when we encountered three people splayed out across the trail ahead. With smiles and a quick hello, we quickly realized that this older French couple and their daughter had seen more than their fair share of rain and were making their way down the valley as quickly as possible. While their spirits only seemed dampened, French momma in particular, it was downright done with their journey. We carried on and discussed that it was either mountain karma or some kind of dumb luck, but to this point our feet still remained dry and our spirits high. 

In the Santa Cruz valley, the landscape changes as quickly as the weather. Ascending a small bench, we were greeted by a brilliant, emerald green, alpine lake. We walked along up the wind-swept valley, through a mixture of sun and rain, as the gigantic mountains above played a game of hide and seek.

The lake soon gave way to another dry valley with litte vegetation. With plenty of warm rocks to sit on, we decided this was a good place for lunch and gazed up the valley, realizing the fork in the trail and the decision we would soon have to make. The side track would lead us up to the beautiful Alpamayo valley, with huge glaciated peaks and an alpine lake. Even though it meant carrying our packs up an additional 1,200 ft of zig zagging trail, we silently agreed that there's no better time than the present.

Seventeen switchbacks later, we found a spot to stash our packs under our tarp. Drawing us further into the mountains, the clouds lifted to reveal the grandeur of the peaks; and without the weight of our gear, it was almost as if we floated our way to a brilliant alpine lake wedged at the base of tremendous peaks. The large glaciers, almost close enough to touch, perfectly reflected the glowing orange of the late daylight. There were no words needed as we sat there, taking in our surroundings and realizing that we were in the heart of the Cordillera Blancas.

Any time you sit down to write about an experience in the mountains, you encounter that wonderful and beautiful irony. You attempt to put your words to the moment when you found yourself without a single thought. You try to describe a place and a time when you yourself didn't even recognize the existence of time and space. There truly is freedom in adventure and when you find that, there really is nothing to say. 

The glow of the glacier shifted from bronze to amber and onto a deeper purple so we decided it best to make our way back towards our bags. As we retreated down the valley, the rain came and went and when we reached our bags and shouldered our packs, we turned one last time and were granted with the clearest, most beautiful view of Alpamayo. The mountain gods smiling down on us and wishing us safe travels. 

By the time we got to camp it was dark. It was raining. It was windy. It was cold. Our nine hours on the trail had us worn out to say the least. With some team work, we pitched the tent and boiled some water, eating our dinner of Ramen and tea nestled inside the warmth of our sleeping bags.

Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 2

In order to trek through some of the biggest mountains in the world, one must first hike into the mountains. After the first mile and 1,000 ft of elevation, we quickly realized this reality. Our destination for the first night was to be Llama Coral and according to Messi, our native Peruvian hostal owner, it should be "just a short three hour walk." His weathered skin and knowing smile suggested he had spent his lifetime amongst these monstrous peaks. We estimated that we had at least six hours of daylight left and decided it would be sufficient for us.
The trail climbed steeply up a narrow canyon with huge granite walls. The vastness and enormity attempted to overwhelm us although just as it did, we came across a Peruvain family bathing in the river and enjoying the Christmas holiday. Their warm smiles and well wishes set our minds at ease and temporarily allowed us to forget about the steep climb. We smiled as they took pictures with us and they giggled as they mentioned that we were the first people they had seen to hike up in this direction. We walked on in silence, settling in to our new routine. Afterall, this would be our reality for the next few days.
After we hiked for what we decided was enough time, we found some grassy corrals to call home for the night. The sun was shining, the crystal clear creek was flowing nearby and our only company was a few high-alpine cattle grazing on the abundant grasses. We laid in the sun for a bit and leisurely set up our tent. Afterall, it was Christmas so we decided on a feast fit for the occasion. We sat atop a mossy boulder eating our tuna-quinoa-curry creation and watched as the sun dipped down the valley. The days heat pushed its way up the mountains, causing the clouds to dance and twirl, eventually enveloping us and motivating us into our tent. Towards our warm sleeping bags and a peaceful night of sleep we went.

Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 1

Like any good adventure, as you unpack your bag, not only does the warn equipment from the days pass splay out on the floor; so too do the memories.

Handing Brad a moist five-pound bag of uneaten food, I can't help but recall watching him at the market as he piled heaps into our basket saying, "Let's just bring it. We might need it."

But let's be honest, our adventure started well before that day in a market in Huaraz, Peru. In fact, it started in the comfy environs of Bozeman, Montana as I began to plan my adventure in South America. Brad was tossing around the idea of joining. "Sure," he said "I'll do the Santa Cruz Trek with you." A quick google search revealed some beautiful pictures and that's where we left it, trusting the rest would fall into place.

Come September, I packed my bags and left. From the rainforest in Ecuador to an island in Bolivia, I practiced my Spanish and adjusted to my new reality: a life of travel, adventure, and at times, just waiting. Those three months have been packed with stories that are bound to be told eventually but for the moment, let's get back to the trek.

Our plan had been to meet in Lima, the largest city in Peru. We walked by the ocean, visited some museums, ate ceviche and set our alarms for 4:00 the next morning to make our flight to Huaraz (though we probably should have set them for earlier).

Still half asleep and finally deciding to look at our tickets, we realized departure time was way earlier than we thought and ran into the airport with our heavy bags. We pulled the "gringo card" and raced to the front of the line, simultaneously realizing that we were in Peru and nothing happens too quickly here. 

As the first light of the day cast upon the city of Lima, we were ushered to our seats and settled in for the cloudy ride north. Once our small propeller plane began to drop below the clouds, we first laid our eyes on the legendary Cordillera Blanca. Not only the highest tropical mountain range in the world, but the largest concentration of peaks over 20,000 ft behind the Himalayas. We looked at each other, smiled, and agreed "Yup. Those are some big montañas."

Our plan was to spend the day in Huaraz, the jumping-off point for outdoor enthusiasts. We wanted to do some last minute shopping and preparations for our excursion. As we made our way through the city, there were festivities abound; after all, it was Christmas Eve. People danced in the street. It rained. We found the food and the fuel we needed. It rained. We sat down for coffee, double checking our gear. And still, if rained. 

The Peruvian Andes are marked by two very distinct seasons: the dry season and the wet season. Whether it was ease of coordinating schedules or personal preferences, this was the time we had chosen and the rainy season had just begun. 

Despite the fact that we had decided to go without a guide, we stopped in several adventure shops and agencies for some local beta. Each time we described our route from Cashapampa to Vaqueria, we received the same quizzical look, "why you do it like that?" With no real reason, we just shrugged, smiled, and carried on our way. 

Although we planned a restful night of sleep before embarking on our trek, Peruvian tradition proved otherwise. As the clock struck twelve and Christmas officially began, the locals put on a firework show that light up the whole sky. 

The next morning, as most people we know ran to find gifts beneath their Christmas tree, we hired a moto-taxi, went to the terminal and crammed ourselves and our oversized packs into a miniature bus filled with Peruvians who couldn't help but giggle and point at the sight of us. After two hours in the colectivo, we arrived at Caral. Transferring from a crowded colectivo to an even more intimate station wagon of seven people, including grandma crouched in the back, we climbed up a winding dirt road for an hour until we arrived at the town of Cashapampa. With a smile and a "Felíz Navidad!" we were at the trailhead and set loose into the Peruvian backcountry.

Sufficiently Soaked

A short story written by Brad Van Wert and I (mostly Brad :) about our recent adventure trekking through the Cordillera Blanca. I'll post it chapter by chapter throughout the week. Enjoy!!

5,000 Years Old

According to Wikipedia...

     "Caral was inhabited between roughly 2600 BCE and 2000 BCE, enclosing an area of more than 60 hectares. Caral was described by its excavators as the oldest urban center in the Americas. Accommodating more than 3,000 inhabitants, it is the best studied and one of the largest Norte Chico sites known."

Brad and I so happened to stumble upon this 5,000 year old site in the middle of the Peruvian dessert...

We went to the town of Huacho to spend New Years on the beach and enjoy the sun because we were chilled by the rain in the mountains during our Christmas trek (story soon to come). We spent the New Year's Eve eating fresh ceviche by the port, sitting on the shore while the waves crashed and watching the fireworks simultaneously explode as the clock struck midnight.  

The next day we hired a taxi to drive us out into the desert to this so-called Caral place and walked through the pyramids and ruins of a civilization that lived there almost 5,000 years prior. The history was incredible but even more intriguing was the location; in the middle of a hot, dry, sandy desert. We couldn't help but wonder the reason behind the location and how a society functioned in such harsh conditions. This was one of the first societies in America and its inhabitants established a societal structure and way of urban planning that was followed by many civilizations to come. By far the richest history either of us had ever experienced, we were shocked that this was the first time we had ever even heard of the site. Not only were the pyramids an impressive historical feat, but the entire society was operating around the same time as the pyramids of Egypt. It was absolutely fascinating, to say the least.

Familiar Faces in Foreign Places

Meeting Brad in Lima was such a wonderful feeling. To see a familiar face in a foreign country is a wonderful slice of home when traveling abroad.

We spend two days wondering around Lima and exploring the huge, chaotic, diverse, and bustling city. According to some critics, the food of Lima has "surpassed the cuisine of Paris." 

We had fun trying some different restaurants in the city and stumbled upon very delicious ceviche and gourmet creations. We walked to the beach and watched the surfers in the break. The smooth black stones rolled and made a wonderful sound every time the water crashed on the shore, stumbling and rolling when the water receded.

Exploring the urban area was neat but in the end we decided it was very similar to any other metropolis and we had had our fill. 

We were ready to surround ourselves in some of the world's largest and most beautiful mountains, the Andes.

Isla Del Sol

For a few days, I was lucky to have the opportunity to hike around and explore La Isla Del Sol- and island in Lake Titicaca with three small indigenous communities, jaw-dropping views, dozens of trails and remnants of Incan Ruins. To say the least, I had a wonderful time on the island. 

On the first day, we took the local ferry from Copacabana to the northern community. After meeting a big group of travelers, we found a hostel on the beach for about three dollars and went on a hike to the top of a volcano on the island. We sat on a beach and watched as the children played in the sand. They all had little sticks with plastic bottles tied to the ends and dragged them through the water like boats. Pigs and sheep roamed along the shore, nibbling on bits of grass and napping in the sunshine.

We came back and had a lovely night with new friends from all over the world. At first, it seemed as though there wasn't electricity but when we were at the store buying some things, the lights flickered on at about 8:00 and the old woman in the store looked up at us with a big smile on her face, "La luz!" she exclaimed and started chuckling to herself. We sat at the end of a dock in the moonlight, drinking  cheap Bolivian wine and watching the bright stars overhead. In the distance a storm was approaching and we "oohed" and "ahhed" as the lightening illuminated the dark clouds.

The next day we packed our bags and hiked the trail across the island. We followed an elderly sheep herder for part of the trail and made friends with a dog who lead us the entire 9km to the southern community of Yumani. Once there we found another small, family-run hostel and walked around the small town. While crossing over farms and walking up Incan terraces, we gathered an entire pack of dogs and we named each one individually.

For our third day on the island, we ventured off the main trail and went to find some hidden beaches. We got off the trail and found a beautiful rocky beach on the shore of Lake Titicaca. It was absolutely stunning and we decided it was necessary to swim in the lake's clear blue water. Across the beach we spotted a boat coming and watched as a family disembarked and began to collect driftwood. We approached them and asked if they might be going back to Yumani. After they realized we actually had no money to contribute, we decided to help them collect firewood and eventually began the slow journey back, trolling in the crystal-clear water near the rocky shore. 

That night we met some other traveler friends and hiked to the top of a hill for a delicious dinner and sunset. We sat, played cards and talked as we waited two hours for the woman who owned the restaurant to cook us the most delicious meal. 

Our final day we sadly said goodbye to the magical paradise and took the ferry back to mainland Bolivia in the rain.

Going to the island felt like going back in time. The electricity was sparse, there were no roads, no internet, no cars and a very simple and pure lifestyle. In contrast to the very invasive tourism of the Floating Islands, La Isla Del Sol felt genuine; We were simply observing the islander's way of life from a distance.