For most travellers who visit, Bolivia is not a place to sit still. The country offers a variety of must-see and must-do attractions that are spread out across far-reaching distances. Many backpackers here grow accustomed to the 12-hour overnight bus ride. The Salar de Uyuni, the jungle rivers outside of Rurrenabaque, the shores of Lake Titicaca, the colonial architecture of Sucre – any of the most visited destinations in Bolivia are found in all corners of its tremendous geography.
One cannot stay put in one city or location and come close to understanding what Bolivia is. To truly learn about Bolivia is to travel across it, to experience the variety of wonders it has to offer the adventurous visitor. It is in this process of travelling to other destinations that, along the way, you see the true Bolivia – the sleep-deprived bus driver; the friendly kiosk owner at the crossroads; the passenger next to you finally making the trip home after a semester at school. Sometimes the seemingly endless bus rides here feel like a blessing, given the opportunities to meet new people and to take in a variety of landscapes. For certain, these travels are central to the Bolivian experience.
In this issue of Bolivian Express, we looked at various journeys, both physical and metaphorical, to understand the variety of paths people in Bolivia have taken. We traveled by train across the altiplano, from the mining city of Oruro to the salt flats at Uyuni. We heard legends of great explorers who came to Bolivia in search of riches, and sent our writers out to find their own treasures along the Choro Trial and among La Paz’s culinary hotspots. We danced with our neighbors through the barrios of La Paz to celebrate the cultural history and tradition of Gran Poder. We explored the everyday-life journeys unique to Bolivia, from the process of becoming an adult to the taking of the streets by underrepresented corners of society desperate to have their voices heard. We even traveled outside this country to experience the culinary and cultural hotspots of other places to better understand the wonders found here.
In all our journeys taken to create this issue, we returned home with a better understanding of Bolivia, and hope to share our findings with you here. Most importantly, we understood that this is a large country, and it is important that those who come here give themselves the opportunity to see wide swaths of it, to not just stay in one place and call that Bolivia. Hopefully, this issue of Bolivian Express will be a reminder that the joy is in the traversing. The journey isn’t just arriving from Point A to Point B; it is everything in between.
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An Exploration of the Various Cultural Identities Showcased at Gran Poder
Photos: Sareena Kamath, William Wroblewski and Valeria Wilde
La Fiesta de Señor Jesús de Gran Poder, often called Gran Poder for short, is the largest citywide festival in La Paz, taking place on the six-kilometer route where the historical neighborhood of Ch’ijini once stood. Through colorful and highly ornate costumes, lively music and choreographed dances, this parade works to blend Christian themes and beliefs with the folkloric Aymara traditions of the city’s indigenous past.
I was able to enjoy all the festivities from the elevated vantage point of the Gran Palco Turístico Municipal, sponsored by La Paz Maravillosa, the tourism department responsible for La Paz’s being named one of the top seven cities in the world by the New 7 Wonders Foundation. So, with the added advantage of comfortable plush seating, bilingual guides and authentic Bolivian cuisine, I watched as nearly 35,000 dancers belonging to over 60 fraternities marched along the crowded streets of La Paz.
Some of the dances, such as the Tinku, are inspired by specific traditions that transpire within the various indigenous populations of Bolivia. The Tinku pays homage to an Aymara ritualistic combat of the same name which takes place in Potosí each year. During this time, members of neighboring communities come together to dance and symbolically sacrifice one another as offerings to Pachamama in the hopes of increasing their crops’ yield for the coming season.
Others utilize their dances and costumes to comment directly on the current state of cultural mestizaje in Bolivia. An example of this is seen in the large congregations of marching cholitas, who collectively represent the coming together of both indigenous and European colonial influences.
The dance of the cholitas is especially important not only because it celebrates a common cultural identity shared by many Bolivians, but also because it shines light on the cultural marginalization and racism of Bolivia’s past and explores the progress that has been made since.
Gran Poder attracts people from all walks of life: families with young children covered in sticky confections, boisterous and considerably intoxicated partiers, wide-eyed tourists and of course the ever-stoic security officers struggling to rein in everyone’s antics. Yet perhaps the born-and-raised paceños and newly arrived gringos alike have something to learn from this festive exploration of history, culture and social difference.
Illustration: Mauricio Wilde
The Curious Case of Colonel Fawcett and His Search for Z
Often referred to as a real-life Indiana Jones, Percy Harrison Fawcett was no stranger to mystery and adventure. Born in Torquay, England, Fawcett spent his early life and career serving in the British Army as a surveyor, cartographer and spy. As word of his skill as an explorer spread, he was commissioned in 1906 by the Royal Geographical Society to map and establish the boundaries of the previously uncharted regions of Bolivia and Brazil. Thus began his nearly twenty-year-long tempestuous love affair with the wilds of South America.
During his time in South America, Fawcett was quickly drawn into the world of spiritualism and the occult. Especially after learning of Machu Pichu and other Inca sites in Peru, he became increasingly convinced of the existence of a mythical city, which he termed “Z”, hidden deep within the Brazilian Matto Grosso. In 1925, despite having failed twice due to the highly unfavorable conditions of the area, Percy Fawcett set out to find Z once more, this time with his son Jack and his friend, Raleigh. After his final dispatch, sent on May 29, 1925, nothing more was ever heard from Fawcett or his team. Eventually, in 1927, he was officially declared missing.
In the years that followed Fawcett’s disappearance, a total of thirteen rescue missions were launched in an attempt to decipher his fate. Much to the dismay of those embarking on the search, however, nearly all his notes, maps and coordinates were written in code. Also, it was later thought that perhaps Fawcett’s own family purposely concealed pertinent information in an effort to preserve his reputation and image. It is not surprising, then, that all efforts to uncover the truth have been mostly inconclusive.
Yet the search for Fawcett began to attract a wide range of theories and speculation as to his fate. Distraught by the loss of her husband, Fawcett’s wife conducted a telepathic search to find him. During the time following his disappearance, she enlisted in the help of several mediums, including Geraldine Cummins, who went on to publish her exposé, The Fate of Colonel Fawcett. Though never officially supported by the family, Fawcett’s story was quickly picked up by many spiritualists and occultists who believed that he had in fact discovered the lost city of Z and was living there comfortably. Some even went so far as to say that he had stumbled upon a portal to an alternate dimension. Others claimed that, having been celebrated for his ability to form peaceful relationships with indigenous people, Fawcett had no intention of ever returning to Britain and instead assimilated into their society. A few individuals believed he was lured into a cult by some sort of spirit guide and joined a secret community in the jungle. Some fervently maintained that Fawcett simply succumbed to the hostile terrain and its many unique dangers during his search for Z.
Though the fate of the legendary Percy Harrison Fawcett is uncertain, it is clear that his story has inspired a number of literary explorations, real expeditions and creative projects. Some of these include Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, and W. E. John’s The Cruise of the Condor. Most recently, American author and journalist David Grann attempted to analyze Fawcett’s records and retrace his infamous last journey. He eventually added his own account, The Lost City of Z, to the ever-growing pile of spin offs. Each of these works has unveiled a small clue into the mystery of Colonel Fawcett and his quest for Z.
While it is unlikely that anyone will be able to follow his exact footsteps through the Matto Grosso, there is a way to satiate the thirst for a Percy Fawcett-esque adventure. The Mapiri Trail, which was used by Fawcett in 1906 as he trekked his way to the Amazon, follows a strenuous and demanding path from Sorata to Mapiri. It usually takes at least seven or eight days to complete. Starting in the Andean grasslands, the trek is relatively easier in the beginning as there is a partially cleared path and access to clean drinking water. But don’t be fooled, the trail soon takes a turn towards the Yungas cloud forest: a dense, dark thicket of vastly overgrown vegetation that can only be penetrated with the help of a machete.
According to Alexander Von Ungern, a seasoned veteran of the Mapiri Trail and trekking guide from travel company Andes 2 Amazonas, ‘You can plan all you want. You can come with the best boots you have – they will get wet. Your clothes will get soaked. You will get scratched in the face. You will get bruises. Only a small percentage of the time you’ll be walking on two legs, the rest of the time you’ll almost always be using your hands as well.’ Only 20 to 50 people attempt the trail each year. As Von Ungern explains, this trek is not for fair-weather hikers, but the feeling of accomplishment after having mastered it is truly worth it. And who knows? You might just get lucky and spot a little something glinting through the vegetation along the way.
Interested in seeing the Mapiri Trail for yourself? Contact Alexander Von Ungern at info@andes2amazonas.com for more information.
A Culinary Adventure
Photo: Anna Grace
'What was the food like?' is a common question posited by friends and family to those who return from a trip abroad because many countries have a cuisine that is recognised worldwide. Italy has its thin-crusted pizzas, India has its spicy curries, and the list can go on. Bolivia, however, has two western neighbours and, between the two, Peru far outweighs Chile in terms of culinary prestige. I decided to venture out of Bolivia to sample firsthand a handful of national favourites from each.
In going to Chile, to be honest, my expectations were not all that high, but my Chilean culinary journey showed me one thing: Chileans like their food, and with passion comes good results.
Donde Kery, a food stall located in a lively santiaguino market, was a place of high spirits, large characters and even larger portions. After much debate, I chose a chupe de mariscos: a salty assortment of sea-dwelling creatures, cream, pleasantly soggy breadcrumbs and cheese. Slightly too rich and not very subtly flavoured, the chupe was not mind-blowing, but it was satisfying.
My next lunch was in a rather different setting. The ‘Patio’, an upscale food court in Santiago’s plush tourist-filled Bellavista district, would not look out of place on the streets of London. Many of the eateries offer international dishes, but several other serve an array of Chilean favourites. I decided to sample the famous pastel de choclo, which had been described to me as 'a sweeter, Chilean Shepherd's Pie'. I was intrigued.
The topping of the pie is made from choclo, or corn, rather than potato. The mixture inside consisted of tender strips of beef swimming in a meaty sauce. Juicy black olives appeared from time to time, adding a bitter twist to the sweetness. If Shepherd’s Pie were this good, I wouldn’t have complained about its weekly appearance on my mum’s dinner repertoire.
I was told the filling of the pastel is the same as that in Chile’s empanadas de pino, the best of which can be found in the Chilean countryside. Grassy slopes, blue skies, olive groves and cacti, greeted us an hour after leaving the urban tangle of people, traffic and buildings. As we approached the town of Til Til, a row of stalls stood close to the country lane, a small table outside each.
The baked parcel came filled with a mild, salty cheese and copious green olives. Since olives are a specialty of Til Til, the quality was evident. Surrounded by the thick, savoury, almost bread-like pastry, it was one of the best empanadas I have ever had.
My companions, not yet satisfied by my Chilean experience, insisted I sample the local liquid specialty, the infamous Terremoto. Plagued by terremotos, or earthquakes, Santiago’s high-rise buildings are built to sway to the movement of quakes that have formerly brought the city to the ground. The unsuspecting human visitor to Santiago, however, has no such built-in mechanisms against the national drink of the same name.
The Terremotos arrived in tall glasses. A dash of red grenadine, rising into the brownish mixture of fernet and cheap wine, was topped off with a dollop of pineapple ice-cream. An inventive concoction, I must admit. I proudly finished the whole thing and left only slightly unsteady on my feet. A tremor at most. I was unconquered by the Terremoto’s lethal effects.
Moving north towards Peru, we found ourselves in the Chilean seaside town of Arica, which is located just 8 hours by bus from La Paz. This is a town for seafood, and plenty of it. A line of strong-smelling harbourside stalls were packing up for the day. A seller took a break from gutting various heaps of slimy seafood and handed us two small plastic tubs of ceviche. Raw fish, presumably caught that day, marinated in citrus juice with some onions thrown in. It was a small taste of the ocean.
Then we crossed the border into Peru, the country in which ceviche is said to have originated. I was excited for my, albeit shorter, sojourn in Peru, which is famed for its archeological sights, geographical wonders and culinary excellence. My only stop was in Arequipa, a place known as “The White City”.
When I arrived to the city, a neat courtyard dotted with white-clothed tables offered a wealth of typical food. I went for the doble arequipeño, a dish which – despite the name – consists of three regional favourites. A chicharrón de chancho, ubiquitous in various South American countries and basically a glorified chunk of pork scratching; a pastel de papa, made of layers of thinly sliced potato topped with cheese; and a rocoto relleno, which was the star of the show, an ever-so-slightly spicy pepper stuffed with minced meat.
After such a meaty affair, the following day I went in search for the famous papa a la huancaína. My empty-stomached wanderings came to an end in a sunny passageway directly behind Arequipa’s cathedral. Consisting of fluffy potatoes smothered in a bright yellow peanut sauce and topped with a sole black olive, papa a la huancaína is not the most aesthetically pleasing dish, but the spicy sauce was certainly tasty.
Chile and Peru may share a border, a coastline and variations of the same dishes, but there is one national treasure Peruvians refuse to share: pisco. Drugs, firearms and any foreign product bearing the name pisco are among the items that cannot be brought into Peru from Chile. Both countries produce the alcoholic spirit but, for the Peruvians, theirs is the only true variety.
My last night in Arequipa saw me in a city-centre bar. The distracting flashing lights and loud reggaeton tunes did not endear me to the place, but there was something I was yet to do: sample a Pisco Sour. The cocktail is made from Peruvian pisco, lemon juice and egg whites. The unusual final addition creates a fluffy, white layer which sits atop the other ingredients. Small yet strong, the drink certainly packs a bitter punch. After slurping the unique, sour concoction, I was ready to go home.
During the long journey back to La Paz, I reflected on my the week-and-a-half I spent sampling national dishes. Granted, I had steered clear of a couple of specialties that didn't tickle my fancy. The Chilean completo, for example, made my stomach turn rather than my mouth water. The highly processed mayonnaise- and-avocado-smothered hotdog is named by many as the country's best invention, but simply seemed unappealing. And, call me unadventurous, but the cuy, a Peruvian favourite, placed far too low on my list to have been sampled during my time there.
I returned to Bolivia content in mind and in stomach. I had enjoyed trying a new assortment of food and drink. But, after arriving to my destination, I was ready for a hearty portion of sizzling anticuchos bolivianos and a tall, refreshing chuflay.
