I think I left off the last little nugget about tear down the back end of Kombi. That day in Topiza was an eye opener when it came to exactly how Kombi’s heart beat. After 4-5 hours of surgery and a few beers I had the fuel pump, distributer, and fuel line system cleaned and reassembled. As I said in the last post I intended to drink early and often so I could get to bed early for a long day the next day. This didn’t really sort out the way I had planned. After fixing Kombi it was necessary to take a test drive out to the countryside to make sure all was well. So Wiebke(one of the German girls) and I set out down the road with the best of intentions. It was late Friday afternoon and shortly after leaving town I couldn’t help but notice that there we dozens of dudes still working on the road we were meandering through. So it didn’t take much thought to figure out that what better way to get to know the town folk than to pull over and drink the hell out of whatever beer was left in Kombi. So for an hour or so Wiebke and I put a few back with a Bolivian construction crew figuring that whatever info I could glean from these guys just might help me out when I need it most. The best metaphor I could come up with at the time was “building bridges for the future.” Bridges we still had to find and then cross, but without building them in the first place you can’t have either of those things. I’m sure you can see where this is going. Later that night we moseyed into a locals only carnival of sorts on the outskirts of Topiza this is where we found those bridges and crossed them and crossed them back over and over and over again. Low and behold as we’re walking through the drunk area being heckled by wasted Bolivians this dude runs out of one of the tents and grabs me by the arm insisting that I join them at their crowded but hospitable table. After a short conversation of me telling him to let me go and him dragging me into the tent I figured out that not only was he one of the construction workers from the road but he was the only one. Everyone else has left to go to sleep for a 5 am wake-up call. He had intended to do the same but upon seeing me he ordered up another round, I ordered up another round, his buddies ordered up another round, he did, I did ,they did… Sooooo the going to bed early bit didn’t really shake out, the “bridges for the future” bit really did. Willis, myself, Kati, Josh, and a half dozen Bolivian good timers got cocktailed till the police shut the joint down. I really hope Willis made it to the job site on time.
Kati, Josh, Kombi, and myself hit the road sometime around 6 am the next morning for a long day of probably the most beautiful stretch of mountain driving I’ve ever seen in my life. The mountains of south-central Bolivia and stunning to say the least. We mixed in about 200km of dirt/gravel road and 11 hours later we arrived in the town of Potosi, Bolivia, the highest city in the world. Potosi sits at an altitude of about 13500 feet and we topped out on our route at just over 15000 feet. (I should make a side note that the highest elevation Kombi and I have attained was somewhere on the Paso Jama at just over 18000, but I’ve found no way to confirm what the locals were telling me.) Anyway, Kombi purred like a kitten the whole day through all of the altitude, dirt, and hitchhikers we could throw at her. After a night in Potosi we bid farewell to Kati and Josh and I set out for La Paz/Lake Titicaca. We made it about 50 km down the road when Kombi decided she had had enough and this time it was the real deal. Not only would she not restart after letting her cool down she wouldn’t even run going downhill in gear We had big problems. That’s where Walter and Julio come into the picture. After coasting back down the mountain to a small town we had passed through Walter and I spent the next 5 or so hours tearing apart, cleaning, and rebuilding the carburetor and distributor(again). He sincerely attempted to refuse any sort of payment but I insisted on and small amount of money and some beer. We all had a good laugh, shook hands, took photos and hit the damn road.
Since the two days of rebuilding Kombi has been running like a dream. She actually has me think I may attempt to drive her back to Fort Collins next winter. We’ll see.
Back on the road north past La Paz Josh and I set-up to do a DH tour of some trails outside on the town of Sorata, Bolivia. The tour only ran $100 and was worth every penny of it. All in all we were out 13 hours including shuttles, riding, and food logging over 4000m in vert. The trails are mainly old foot paths the locals use to access their farms. It felt great to get a day of shredding in keep my head strait until I can get back in the ocean in a few days. Thoroughly exhausted we headed to the town of Copacabana the following day to relax before we crossed the border back into Peru. That’s where shit gets interesting.
Nowhere in my limited research did anyone or any website tell me that Peru and Bolivia are not friendly with one another at their borders. Not only do they not let each other cross into their respective countries but they don’t let their own people cross back over the border. This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever and obviously caught me by surprise. So after bribing the Bolivian border guard to let me leave Bolivia(upon entering the border patrol made a mistake and put the wrong license plate number on my paper work, they were trying to say that Kombi was stolen) and going through all of the immigration to leave Bolivia and enter Peru Kombi was held up at the border and not allowed to enter her home country. At least ten times the older gentleman working the vehicle desk told me I had to reenter Bolivia and drive to the Peru border with Chile if I intended to enter Peru at all. At least ten times I told him that this was impossible. All of this was really intense with him raising his voice at times visibly irritated that anyone with a vehicle from Peru would even attempt to cross this border. I did get a look at the list of vehicles that had crossed for the previous three days and it looked like about 15-20 total cars crossed each day and none of them were Bolivian or Peruvian. After two hours of me refusing to take my paper work back from him, faxes, phone calls, and ultimately another bribe they reluctantly lowered the chains and let Kombi go home. It’s tough to relay the whole scene but it definitely required me to max out whatever Spanish I had in my quiver. One wild ride.
Onward and upward Josh, Kombi, and I drove along the west bank of Lake Titicaca taking in the beauty of the largest lake in South America. Away from Titicaca I found the landscape a touch uninspiring and literally just as I started to comment to Josh that Southeast Peru left a little to be desired we came upon the town of Calapuja Calapuja is most definitely not on the so called “Gringo trail” with maybe a total of one thousand inhabitants it see little to no tourism, but as we drove by that day I spotted a bit of a crowd in a field off the road. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be the local celebration for Carnival with about 150 or so people all in costume ready to dance, sing, and drink the Thursday away. Turns out I’m really into that shit too. The first people we met insisted that we have some beer with them and their “Family.” If you’re familiar with the way Carnival is set-up around the world various groups of people called Schools get together with a common theme and pool their resources to buy all the booze, food, and such for partying. Well here they’re called Families and in this small town there were a total of three Families. For certain we happened on the right one. I knew we had to be in Cusco at 7 am the next morning to pick Big Andrew up at the airport so after about and hour of beers and good times with our new Family Josh and I decided to hit the road for the 6-7 hour drive to Cusco. I made it about 5 km down the road when I pulled Kombi over and started to cuss myself for the ridiculous decision I had just made. How in the hell could I possibly pass up the party that was about to happen in Calapuja in favor of a 7 hour drive to Cusco. As I drove back to the party I was actually mad at myself for being such a fucking American and thinking I had a schedule to stick to and any sort of obligation to anyone outside of Calapuja. The rest is history , the day of Carnival turned into the night of Carnival turned into me crawling out of Kombi sometime in the night and yakking next to the house I was parked in front of. Hours upon hours of drinking room temperature beer and passing around 4 or 5 cups for 25 or so people to drink out of caught up with me. It was so much god damn fun, I can’t even explain it. Dancing the night away with 70+ year old wasted women, everyone having the time of their lives. The band is taking turns drinking and playing music, the dancers(including Josh and I) are drunk and falling in the street. Wasted dudes are coming and going on motorcycles, sometime 2 and 3 guys per moto. Watching any and all social, cultural, ethnic, and linguistic barriers fall by the wayside
That’s it. I’m done. I have to go back to Calapuja……
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