Bolivia may have been the most colorful country I visited. The contrast between the still-very-alive incan culture and modernity was stark. The greatest tragedy of the month that I was in Bolivia, though, was that I never got out of the car. I was picked up out of Paraguay by my Frenchman, Guillaume, and we liked each other so much that we rode all through Bolivia together. Unfortunately, I passed the entire country without really getting a feel for it. Finally during the last week, Guillaume and I said our goodbyes and the country came to life. The very day I set out alone I made it to a company-owned mining community where I stayed for 2 days celebrating the Bolivian Independence, then to a little old railroad town up the road a ways, then finally to Oruro by train and out of the country with a Chilean to Little Los Angeles—Arica, Chile. It was kind of a whirlwind few days, but really ended up being the most revealing of the month that I traveled Bolivia. Guillaume was great, but I shouldn't have let my feet rest for so long.
Colors