Nearly two weeks so far in Bolivia.
Spent a few days in lovely Sucre coming down from the altitude, grim history and obliterated landscape of Potosí.
Convalesced in La Paz: three days spent watching American sitcoms with Spanish subtitles while waiting for a fever to break in the highest captial city in the world.
Traveled to Chulumani in the Yungas through dusty roads cut out of impossibly-steep mountainsides.
Spent four days hiking in and out of spectral towns, smelling coca leaves dry on the sides of roads, following grass-overgrown streets to perfectly-preserved churches and stumbling into dream-like plazas populated by 95-year old señores discussing the festivals of September while resting upon the highest park bench in the world.
Returned to La Paz, getting winded on the narrow cobblestone streets, feeling dizzy and resigned to our remaining two weeks.
Traveled to Sorata by collectivo, winding through the high, windswept plains of the Altiplano back to the green tranquility and old colonial splendor of the Yungas.
And here we are, writing from a crowded Internet café in Sorata, preparing ourselves for our return home (sending out resumés in advance). In two weeks, Bolivia might seem like a dream.
But, for now, it is all too real and calling our names (in Spanish) and promising a hundred moments to remember it by and even more as a reason to return.
More later.
Con cariño,
Ashlie y Derek
