|
I had 3 weeks left in South America and I really wanted to
see Machu Pichu.
However, I was on the other side of the continent, in Buenos
Aires. I booked a flight to La Paz, Bolivia so I could grab
a bus across the border to Machu Pichu.
Buenos Aires is at sea level. La Paz, Bolivia is 3600 meters
(12,000 feet) above sea level. Flying between the two gave
me no time to acclimatize to the changes in altitude, and
as soon as I arrived I was short of breath and developed a
headache. I figured that I would adjust to the altitude over
time, but during the next two days I got worse and worse.
I had no energy, my appetite disappeared and I had weird semi-wake
delusions like I had two heads. I developed a dry cough. I
would consciously tell my body to do something, and it would
ignore me.
I decided the best plan was to skip Machu Pichu, go to the
bus station and get down to lower altitudes. I went to bed
on Wednesday night to the sound of fireworks, no doubt the
Bolivian people celebrating my remarkably sound decision.
Thursday morning I awoke to the sound of fireworks again.
"Why would people be lighting off fireworks in daylight?"
BAM! “That was no firework. That sounded like cannon
fire.” I got dressed and made my way to the lobby. A
couple of frantic backpackers were trying to find a way out
of La Paz as the TV played pictures of crowds of people running
through white smoke and buildings burning.
"What’s going on?" I ask.
"Everything," replies one of the backpackers. "They've
got tanks out there."
Four blocks from my hotel, 7,000 striking police officers
and civilian protesters clashed with government troops over
a new tax plan, which had prompted the government to call
out the military. Buses and planes were not running. I was
trapped in foreign country during a revolution! “This,"
I thought "is the perfect time to call the Canadian Consulate
and see what advice they can provide." They were closed
due to the unrest. It would seem to me that the very day that
you want your consulate to be open would be on the day of
unrest in the country!
The unrest was short-lived. By 3 o’clock in the afternoon
the tanks were gone and the streets started to fill with people
again. It was amazing to see how quickly things returned to
normal. Some young boys were playing soccer on a street that
was normally bustling with traffic, groups of people were
having casual discussions on street corners, a young couple
walked by my hand in hand. Less than 3 hours ago armed combatants
had been running down these streets, and now people used them
so casually. The people of La Paz had got back at living their
lives. Maybe the Bolivians are more practiced at it, but I
wonder what Toronto would be like four hours after tanks were
called in to crush an armed rebellion.
The next day I was able to get on a bus and head to Chile.
The symptoms of my altitude sickness cleared up quickly, though
my sense of balance was slow to return. For about three days
I was walking around like a drunken sailor. I would often
find that I had (unconsciously) leaned to far forward or backward
or to the left or to the right and suddenly find myself stumbling
in that direction. I am sure that everyone in Northern Chile
thinks I am a hopeless alcoholic. |
Travel Writers: Fracas in La Paz by Gregory
Wesson
