LA PAZ -- Landing here was a double swipe of fortune; of the three planes taken to get here, I walked right into two of 'em (cutting it very close) without so much as resting in the terminal. A quick descent later and I'm wondering if I can avoid the inevitable by bating my breath until this whole altitude thing subsides. No such luck. But there was an effort at clinging to the last vestiges of home by eating an apple, one yanked right from the branch, waiting in the Customs line.
I'm truly in the nosebleed section of the world. No, really, that happened. PLINK! -- "What the?!" -- sanguine liquid drains across my cheek and suddenly I'm one napkin short of clotting an accident. The air is so thin it's emaciated and my ol' ticker is clocked in at doubletime just trying to keep up. I can even hear the lungs making adjustments in the breathing pattern of my comrade, Andy, sleeping in a hostel: breath, breath, breath, GASP. Trudging up a set of stairs means resting halfway, stricken, and embarking for the summit later.
Having made it, and already been swept downstream by a democracy protest, we tried to make a normal event of the first night. Swilling frothy beers about the abandoned streets, a HUGE band with brass section, rumbling drums and all, strikes up a peppy number. It was very much off-key and arythmic but scent to follow. Tracking the drifting sound through the day-glo lights, we stumble right into a military band, practicing right in front of the National Capitol in full uniform. It was a ritzy stoop to relax on and stare perplexed at the Bolivian version of the goosestep.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
10K High
LA PAZ -- Landing here was a double swipe of fortune; of the three planes taken to get here, I walked right into two of 'em (cutting it very close) without so much as resting in the terminal. A quick descent later and I'm wondering if I can avoid the inevitable by bating my breath until this whole altitude thing subsides. No such luck. But there was an effort at clinging to the last vestiges of home by eating an apple, one yanked right from the branch, waiting in the Customs line.
I'm truly in the nosebleed section of the world. No, really, that happened. PLINK! -- "What the?!" -- sanguine liquid drains across my cheek and suddenly I'm one napkin short of clotting an accident. The air is so thin it's emaciated and my ol' ticker is clocked in at doubletime just trying to keep up. I can even hear the lungs making adjustments in the breathing pattern of my comrade, Andy, sleeping in a hostel: breath, breath, breath, GASP. Trudging up a set of stairs means resting halfway, stricken, and embarking for the summit later.
Having made it, and already been swept downstream by a democracy protest, we tried to make a normal event of the first night. Swilling frothy beers about the abandoned streets, a HUGE band with brass section, rumbling drums and all, strikes up a peppy number. It was very much off-key and arythmic but scent to follow. Tracking the drifting sound through the day-glo lights, we stumble right into a military band, practicing right in front of the National Capitol in full uniform. It was a ritzy stoop to relax on and stare perplexed at the Bolivian version of the goosestep.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Prologue: ETD - 14 Hours
Free time fleets. Whether it's restarting school, a new job, or hopping on a series of planes to cross the equator, the span until the deadline blazes.
Three weeks. Four days. Tomorrow.
If my medieval notions hold up as predicted, everything will be outwardly backward when I cross into the southern latitudes. The next time you hear from me, I'll be speaking backwards, walking about on my head, and writing right to left.
Or it's more likely that I'll be hilariously debilitated from the acute altitude. La Paz is the highest capital in the world, more than double Denver.
Three weeks. Four days. Tomorrow.
If my medieval notions hold up as predicted, everything will be outwardly backward when I cross into the southern latitudes. The next time you hear from me, I'll be speaking backwards, walking about on my head, and writing right to left.
Or it's more likely that I'll be hilariously debilitated from the acute altitude. La Paz is the highest capital in the world, more than double Denver.
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