Unless you’ve followed the horrifying story of the serial rapists who wrecked havoc in the community in 2009, you might not know that the small South American country of Bolivia is home to a large community of Mennonites. Photographer Lisa Wiltse traveled to the isolated colony of Manitoba to capture the conservative community, who shun cars, electricity, and other modern conveniences, and live by a strict religious code. Many of the Mennonites do not speak Spanish, and women typically only speak low German, as the founders of the religion did in the 16th century.
Wiltse’s photographs are a rare glimpse into an insular culture. If you are in New York City tonight, you can attend a reception and slideshow of Wiltse’s work, moderated by the co-curator of The Half King’s photography series. The art exhibition will be on display in the bar until July, and some of the photos can be viewed on the artist’s website.
Photo courtesy The Half King. “Bolivian Mennonites” will be on display May 15 – July 9 in New York.
“This is the most dangerous road in the world. Don’t become part of the landscape,” advised Oscar, a biking guide from Vertigo Biking Co. Bolivia.
On a sunny Wednesday right outside of La Paz in Bolivia, I found myself adorned from head to toe in cycling gear, standing at the summit of a 40-mile downhill road. While technically called Old Road, the path is more commonly known as Death Road, even by locals. While I’ve written about numerous travel destinations with menacing names, such as Devil’s Tooth in Bolivia, Death Valley in Chile and Hell’s Gate in New Zealand, the name Death Road should be taken very literally.
The road was originally built by prisoners of war from Paraguay in 1932. Before 2006, Death Road was the only connection between La Paz and the jungle. According to Oscar, before this time there were about 25 cars per year and about 2 bikes per year that would fall over the edge. The terrain is rough and the road is narrow, so there isn’t very much space to move over. Along the trail you can even see memorials dedicated to lost lives, like an area called “The Balcony,” where several politicians were killed. If you climb down the steep valleys – which I don’t advise – you can still see some buses that fell over the edge. Even knowing these facts, I knew it was something I had to experience for myself. It’s kind of like flying; yes, people die on airplanes, but a majority of fliers survive the journey. I knew if I kept a positive attitude and focused, I too could survive Death Road.Before going, I made the mistake of reading other travelers’ accounts of the journey. After reading stories of almost toppling over steep cliff faces, skidding out of control on narrow paths and being so terrified needing to quit and ride in the van, I felt nauseous and anxious the day of the ride. However, my nervousness was overcome by curiosity at seeing just how dangerous this road was. While the road is safer now, accidents still happen. For example, in January there was a landslide that caused a bus to go over the edge. Furthermore, last year a Japanese tourist, who booked the tour through a cheap and unreliable company, lost control of her bike due to a brake failure and fell 200 feet to her death.
For this reason, my first piece of advice when undertaking a bike ride down Death Road is to choose a good tour operator. There are plenty of companies out there willing to give anybody a bike without caring if it really works or not. I highly recommend Vertigo Biking Co. Bolivia. The bikes are high quality, and they make sure to test them before each run. Moreover, there is a guide in front and a guide in back of the group the entire time. A van is also following nearby, in case anybody gets altitude sickness or can’t make the full journey. And if you’re extremely slow like me, it helped that the guides stopped the group for pictures every 10 to 20 minutes. The company also does a lot to help make the area safer. In 2009, a man taking a Vertigo tour fainted on the trail, and passed away from a punctured lung on the way home. The company has a good relationship with the family of this man, who has helped donate an ambulance and worked with Vertigo to build fences and memorials on the road.
The first part of the ride entails driving on the highway to get to the entry point at Unduavi. Don’t get too comfortable though, as this is just to help you get used to the bike. From there, the road gets extremely rocky. I don’t just mean gravel, but a mixture of large stones, pebbles and jagged rock. Because of this, it’s quite easy to lose control of the bike, and there are basically no guardrails to save you.
This leads me to my next piece of advice, which is to take your time. I was 20 minutes behind the group the whole ride, and didn’t feel the least bit bad. I wanted to feel safe and enjoy the scenery, not feel unstable and scared. Additionally, sharp turns, dangerous corners and downhill sections can make the journey precarious. Oscar was great about it, joking with the group “this section will take us 10 minutes. Well, 30 minutes if you’re Jessica.” No matter how slow I went, the back guide stayed with me, as well. Going at a slow pace, I never felt like I was going to fly over the edge. Don’t get me wrong, looking down the endless cliff will definitely bring butterflies to your stomach, but stay away from the edge and keep control and your biggest concern will be a busted kneecap – still not fun, but better than dying. Our guide actually told us that about once or twice a month, he gets riders who panic and cry because of the heights. However, being afraid of heights myself, I never felt scared, as long as I cycled away from the edge.
Along the way, you’ll pass villages, waterfalls and beautiful mountain landscapes. The last 20 minutes of the journey are on a mix of mud, dirt and rock. Once you finish, you will be greatly rewarded. The tour ends at a tropical-themed hotel in the Coroico area with a delicious buffet lunch of soup, salad, rice, pasta, fried chicken, plantains, French fries and sauces. You can also swim in the pool and tan in a tropical setting. Shampoo and towels are provided if you’d like to shower.
For me, a great tour means feeling safe, getting a worthwhile experience and having a guide who feels more like a friend than an instructor. This tour provided just that, as Oscar told us funny stories and dedicated silly songs to us on the way home, even inviting the group to dinner and to play soccer with him the next day. The tour cost me 450 Bolivianos (about $65), but I was told they were having a sale for people purchasing in person, and the price is usually 540$BOB (about $78). Along with the tour, you will also get photos, a video and a free T-shirt to show everyone that you lived to tell the tale of conquering Death Road.
When loud, traffic-heavy, protest-passionate La Paz gets to be too much, one way to escape while not even leaving the city is to visit the Devil’s Tooth, or Muela del Diablo. While this may sound scarier than ingesting smog and crazy drivers, seeing the site on horseback is actually quite serene.
Devil’s Tooth is an inactive volcano that is approximately 492 feet high. According to our guide, it got its name because indigenous people believed it looked like the tooth of Satan. The journey also allowed us to take in sweeping city views and Moon Valley, or Valle de la Luna. The valley gets its name from its unusual rock formations.
What I really loved about the area was how much culture there was. Along with stunning landscapes, there are indigenous women wearing traditional bowler hats working outside, children herding sheep and playing soccer, and small schools and homes residing on the hills. The trip really allowed for a glimpse into local life in Bolivia.
In the middle of the tour – once you get to the best lookout point of the trip – the group stops for an included lunch of fruit, a ham and cheese sandwich, and chocolate and flavored milk. The guides are Spanish speaking, but usually speak a little bit of English, too. Either way, talking isn’t necessary to enjoy this trip. You can book through most travel agencies in La Paz. Expect to pay about $50.
For a more visual idea of the experience, check out the gallery below.
With the possible exception of Argentina, most people don’t associate Central or South America with cheese. Like all of Latin America, these countries are a mix of indigenous cultures, colonizing forces, immigrant influences, and varied terroir, climatic extremes, and levels of industrialization. They possess some of the most biologically and geographically diverse habitats on earth. As a result, the cuisine and agricultural practices of each country have developed accordingly.
The use of dairy may not be particularly diverse in this part of the world, especially when it comes to styles of cheese, but it’s an important source of nutrition and income in rural areas, and a part of nearly every meal.
While writing a book on cheese during the course of this past year, I tapped into my rather obsessive love of both street food and South America for inspiration. As I learned during my research, the sheer variety of cheesey street snacks from Mexico to Tierra del Fuego are as varied as the ethnic influences responsible for their creation. Read on for a tasty tribute to queso.
Arepas: These flat little corn or flour cakes from Colombia, Venezuela and Panama may be grilled, baked, boiled, or fried. They’re usually stuffed or topped with a melting cheese, but may also feature meat, chicken, seafood, egg, or vegetables.
Anafres: Essentially Honduran nachos, composed of giant tortilla chips, refried beans and melted cheese. Named for an anafre, the coal-fired clay pot the dish is served in.
Pupusas: This Salvadorean staple is similar to an arepa: a thick, griddled corn cake stuffed with meat, cheese–usually a mild melting variety known as quesillo–chicarrones (pork cracklings), or queso con loroco (cheese with the buds or flowers of a vine native to Central America).Choclo con queso: Boiled corn with slices or a chunk of mild, milky, fresh white cheese may not sound like much, but this roadside and market staple of Peru and Ecuador is irresistible. The secret is the corn, which is an indigenous Andean variety with large, white, nutty, starchy kernels. It’s satisfying as a snack all by itself, but it’s even better between bites of slightly salty queso.
Empanadas (empadinhas in Brazil): Perhaps the most ubiquitous Latin American street food, riffs on these baked or fried, stuffed pastries can be found from Argentina (where they’re practically a religion) and Chile to Costa Rica and El Salvador. The dough, which is usually lard-based, may be made from wheat, corn or plantain, with fillings ranging from melted, mild white cheese to meat, seafood, corn, or vegetables. In Ecuador, empanadas de viento (“wind”) are everywhere; they’re fried until airy,filled with sweetened queso fresco and dusted with powdered sugar.
Quesadillas: Nearly everyone loves these crisp little tortilla and cheese “sandwiches.” Traditionally cooked on a comal (a flat, cast-iron pan used as a griddle), they’re a popular street food and equally beloved Stateside.
Provoleta: This Argentinean and Uruguayan favorite is made from a domestic provolone cheese. It’s often seasoned with oregano or crushed chile, and grilled or placed on hot stones until caramelized and crispy on the exterior, and melted on the inside. It’s often served at asados (barbecues) as an appetizer, and accompanied by chimmichuri (an oil, herb, and spice sauce).
Queijo coaljo: A firm, white, salty, squeaky cheese from Brazil; it’s most commonly sold on the beach on a stick, after being cooked over coals or in handheld charcoal ovens; also known as queijo assado.
Croquettes de Queijo: Cheese croquettes, a favorite appetizer or street food in Brazil.
Coxinhas: A type of Brazilian salgado (snack), these are popular late-night fare. Typically, coxinhas are shredded chicken coated in wheat or manioc flour that have been shaped into a drumstick, and fried. A variation is stuffed with catupiry, a gooey white melting cheese reminiscent of Laughing Cow. Like crack. Crack.
Queijadinhas: These irresistable little cheese custards are a popular snack in Brazil. Like Pringles, stopping at just one is nearly impossible.
Pão de queijo: Made with tapioca or wheat flour, these light, cheesy rolls are among the most popular breads in Brazil.
Right now, as you read this, there are pink flamingos and wild llamas running amok on the shores of a red lake in Bolivia. In a land far, far away, people are watching the sunrise amidst steaming geysers while dodging puddles of boiling mud. There are hot springs where you can bathe nude at 15,000 ft, hotels made entirely of salt, and rocks that look exactly like trees.
No, this isn’t peyote week in the Vagabond Tales office. I’m speaking of a real place, a place where I’ve been. It’s a place I’m officially labeling as the weirdest place on Earth. In addition to all of the other oddities this is also the world’s largest salt desert, and, as you might expect, this is a terrible place for your car to break down.
At 4,633 square miles Bolivia’s Salar de Uyuni is a vast sea of salt larger than Delaware and Rhode Island combined. Traffic is minimal and the roads are always shifting. If you get lost out here or lose your way you don’t simply call AAA or check your GPS. These don’t exist here in the southwestern hinterlands of Bolivia. If you get lost in the Salar de Uyuni, you start hoping that you aren’t going to die.
%Gallery-153780%Having booked a three-day crossing of the Salar with an adventure company out of the town of Uyuni it only took one hour before Juan Carlos, our driver, had donned a pair of faded blue coveralls to replace a flat tire on our trusty white land cruiser.
“Diez minutos” he reassured us with with a slightly embarrassed mumble. “No te preocupes“.
Don’t worry.
Standing just over 5′ 5” and sporting a thin black mustache, Juan Carlos, like so many other men in the Bolivian town of Uyuni, has a job which involves shuttling travelers across this mountainous netherworld.
Even before the flat tire incident our troupe of six travelers had already made a pit stop at a place known only as the “Train Cemetery”. Located only minutes from the outskirts of Uyuni-a windy, dusty, 12,000 ft. outpost where lips chap and heads ache-many of the locomotives which once dominated the Bolivian rail lines now appear as metal phalluses left to rust in the salty mountain air.
Now, with our lone spare tire firmly affixed to a rusty axle we saddled up the mechanical horse and headed straight for the great white unknown.
After bouncing around the back of the Land Cruiser for a couple of hours Juan Carlos eventually brought us to Isla Incahuasi, a cactus-covered dollop of an island floating all alone in the endless sea of salt. Literally, as far as you can see in every direction is a white horizon of nothingness. Here, strangely enough, it’s possible to amble among cacti which have thrived for over 1,000 years in one of the most inhospitable terrains on the planet.
Already awash in an alternate reality, Isla Incahuasi is also a place to tinker with the unique elements of perspective. Utilizing the endless horizon and deft usage of a digital camera it’s suddenly possible to take pictures where you appear to actually surf on a water bottle, sit in the palm of your girlfriend’s hand, or take a casual stroll down the handle of a guitar. The only thing missing is a smoking caterpillar and a smiling Cheshire cat.
As if the day hadn’t been strange enough already, that evening I somehow found myself licking the walls of my hotel room. In an empty basin where building materials are hard to come by, even the buildings are made from blocks of salt. So too are the beds, the windowsills, and the tables and chairs. Unfurling my sleeping bag onto a year’s worth of sodium I silently questioned if this place could get any stranger.
Never could I imagine, however, how strange it was about to get.
Not three hours after waking on a bed made of salt did I find myself chasing flamingos around a lake resembling an oversized peppermint. Fittingly known as “Laguna Colorada” (Colored Lake), the lake has a certain type of sediment which turns the water a blood shade of red. Blended with white islands made of borax deposits, the red and white color wheel almost seems to spin in the thin, 16,500 ft. air. Higher than any mountain peak in the 48 states, the altitude doesn’t seem to bother the flamingos, pink curiosities of nature who still sleep on one leg in spite of the 40 mph winds whipping across the plain.
Wanting nothing more than a restful sleep after a day spent navigating an environment straight out of a Dr. Seuss book, we instead were roused at 4am as part of a plan to watch the frigid sunrise. Though I have seen enough sunrises in my travels to warrant sleeping in through a 4am wakeup, never before had I been presented with the opportunity to watch the sunrise from the steaming caldera of an active volcano.
This is so strange I am going to repeat it.
The opportunity to watch the sunrise from the steaming caldera of an active volcano.
I’m not making this up. This is a place where you can literally jump through steaming geysers of sulfur which springs straight from the Earth. Don’t believe me? Look for the part where I momentarily appear to be on fire.
For as much fun as this might seem, when you are navigating the geysers of an active caldera there are nevertheless dangers intrinsic to such an activity. What dangers might exist inside of an active caldera you ask? What about accidentally stepping in a puddle of boiling mud?
Relaxing in a thermal hot spring after having escaped the confines of the active caldera I got to chatting with an Australian traveler who had also spent the last three days in the salt flats.
“You ever been anywhere like this before?” I casually inquired, the thin mountain air still having an effect on the ability to speak in long sentences.
“Never mate. This place is mental. It’s like I’ve gone to another planet and am afraid to return.”