After spending over a month in the jungle in Villa Tunari, we decided we were in need of a few days of civilization.  A couple bumpy bus rides later we found ourselves in Sucre, a beautiful, clean and relatively quiet city (such a nice change after nasty La Paz) with a bunch of history we weren’t really interested in.  Our main achievements in Sucre were eating some good food (so nice to have options again!), loitering at a number of cafés to catch up on our blogging, and finding a laundromat with hot water so we could sterilize our mold encrusted jungle clothes.  Sucre treated us nicely, but just the same we were soon ready to get back on the road and make our way down to Uyuni to check out the much-anticipated salt flats.

By far the most visited tourist attraction in Bolivia, the salar de Uyuni is salty, flat and incredibly huge, covering over ten thousand square kilometers.  We caught an overnight bus to Uyuni and sought out a tour – booking ahead is for chumps.  There are a ridiculous number of companies that offer identical tour packages for the salt flats, making it a complete crapshoot when deciding which to go with.  After speaking with a few different agents and hearing the exact same description but with wildly varying prices, we decided to go with the second-cheapest and most racially-appealing option, World White Tours.  The next morning we met our driver Pepe (who we were ensured was not a drunk) and the rest of our group, consisting of Luiz and Renata from Brazil, Casey from the U S of A and Gabriella from Israel (and a bunch of other places) and headed out of town. 

Our first stop just outside of town was the "train graveyard" where a bunch of old trains have been left to rot.  I’m not sure why they’ve been left there, but it’s a cool place to take some pictures with rusty, graffiti-covered trains.  Somewhere in the mix was the very first locomotive in Bolivia… kinda cool, I guess.  The real highlight of the first day was, of course, the giant frickin’ salt flat.  It’s really, really big!  Once we’d driven far enough onto it, it was pretty unreal – nothing but flat, white, salty crust almost as far as you could see.  If you’re lucky enough to visit during the wetter season the salar becomes a massive mirror, causing the sky to blend in with the ground making for an incredibly confusing horizon.  It was in a dry mood for us, with the exposed salty crust forming hexagonal crystals into the distance.  There was the odd spot where the crust had broken and the salty brine was visible underneath.  To me it felt a lot like driving on a huge, frozen Lake Superior – the chilly air was about right, too!  We stopped for lunch at Incahuasi Island, a lump of land covered in thousands of fuzzy cacti, where we made an attempt at some funky perspective photos (all the cool kids were doing it).  Finally, after a long day of salty driving, we left the salt flats and pulled up to our cozy little salt hotel (yes, a hotel made of salt) where we were treated to a salty dinner and then rested our salty heads.

Imagine a volunteering gig where your only job is to spend your days hanging out with a couple good friends while walking a cute and cuddly dog through the Bolivian jungle. "Sounds great, sign me up!" you say?  Not so fast... replace that cuddly dog with Balu, a fully-grown male Andean bear with a serious addiction to coca leaves and backpacks.  Next, swap those good friends with a couple dudes you've just met, neither of which are in any way qualified to be working with a bear. Finally, factor in Balu's cunning and constant desire to catch you and engage in a very one-sided wrestling match.  Still sound like fun?  Glad to see that great minds think alike!

Before you slip into your rubber boots and plunge headfirst into the jungle, check out the following survival tips: 

You and your two newly met teammates are about to release a three-hundred pound bear from his reinforced steel and brick enclosure with nothing but a ten meter rope and a backpack full of peanuts, fruit, and a quadruple-sealed bag of coca leaves (only to be used in SERIOUS emergencies) to keep him under control.  Such a feat requires either nerves of steel or, more likely, blissful ignorance.  Take things one day at a time, and keep in mind that in his eight years at Comunidad Inti Wara Yassi, a wildlife refuge in Bolivia, Balu's never injured a volunteer to the point of needing stitches (the same can’t be said for a few unlucky coca-fueled construction workers).

Balu is quite playful, and one of his favourite games is trying to catch his volunteers (just to play, don't worry...?). He's also smarter than he looks, and will try to catch you off guard with a surprise sprint forward, a quick run back, or, on his more devious days, a surprise sprint forward followed by a quick run back (a combo which can catch even the most careful of volunteers off guard).  Whether Balu's simply feeling playful or, god forbid, angry or frustrated, and despite everyone's insistence that he won't do any serious harm, you DO NOT want to get caught. Although Balu's likely to catch you at least once over the course of your month-long volunteering gig, do your best to avoid this, as it's pants-shittingly terrifying and will likely leave your favourite jungle wardrobe torn to shreds.

Some things to keep in mind in order to avoid Balu's rib-crushing bear hug: 

1) Keep your distance. Although Balu can outrun you with enough motivation, he’s rather lazy and a bit overweight, and so will only try to catch you if it won't leave him out of breath.  Maintain a reasonable distance and you should be safe.

My job for the month at Comunidad Inti Wara Yassi (CIWY) was to walk with Tigre (with her because she leads) in the jungle every day. Before starting my first day I was told that Tigre doesn't take trails, is very energetic, hunts and typically gets her handlers lost in the jungle overnight at least once during their stay. I was also warned how violent she can be.  On the day that we arrived, the girl who was currently training to walk with Tigre was attacked pretty badly (stitches on her arms and possibly other places, I didn't really want to know more).  Alarm bells started ringing in my head but something inside me told me this is something I had to do.  Walking alone in the jungle with a wild cat has been a fantasy of mine for about for as long as I can remember, and only now have I realized that it is something I will really be able to do!

I wish someone had told me how gentle and patient Tigre can be, because this is the Tigre I soon got to know and love.  From the moment we arrived at CIWY all I heard were horror stories about how violent she is and how other volunteers had gotten lost in the jungle overnight because of her. Still, it wasn't until I began to work with her that my subconscious fears began to surface to the point that I nearly gave up.  I had imagined a much more relaxed experience. Naive, I now know.

We first read about Comunidad Inti Wara Yassi (CIWY) in a guest book at cozy coffee shop in Copacabana about a week before we decided to go there.  We were on the lookout for some sort of volunteer gig, but weren't terribly inspired by the various organic farming options we'd found online. Although it wasn't something we'd really considered, we jumped at the idea of working with jungle animals!

Looking into the organization further we were touched by the story of how a Bolivian couple in the late 1980's, in the hopes of making a difference in Bolivia, established a school of alternative education outside of La Paz for the many children of miners who had relocated to the area. After being exposed to the lush surrounding rainforest and its ruthless destruction, the children vowed to protect the fragile rainforest and its animals through a campaign of education and awareness.  During a later field trip to Rurrenabaque, the project took an important shift after the kids pooled together their meagre funds to purchase and rescue a spider monkey from its local owners who were forcing it to drink alcohol and dance for their amusement.  Over the next few years, a number of other animals were adopted and rescued, despite the constant struggle to figure out what to do with them. Finally, Parque Machia, the first wildlife refuge in Bolivia, was established.

For nearly 20 years now, professionals and volunteers from all over the world have been supporting this cause through the raising of funds and the donating of time.  The organization now manages three parks in Bolivia where upwards of 500 animals of over 30 different species (including bears, cats, birds, monkeys, coatis, and foxes) are cared for.  

A few days after reading the guest book in Copacabana we saw a poster for CIWY at our hostel in La Paz, and soon after ran into a guy who knew a guy who had volunteered with them and spent a month walking a puma.  By then the seed of the idea had sprouted and taken root, and we found ourselves packing our bags.  After a long day of bussing through Cochabamba and beyond, we arrived in Villa Tunari late in the evening and crawled to the closest hostel to hide from the torrential downpour that welcomed us.  In the morning we walked across the bridge looking for the CIWY office, only to walk right past it.  It was not marked well and looked more like an abandoned concrete structure with graffiti all over it.

We were quick to forgive the outer appearance of the office after being hailed by other volunteers watching from the cafe.  On the inside, the place was humming with activity: volunteers chopping food for the monkeys, hauling hay and trees for the cats and bear, unloading endless truckloads of bananas, and disposing of bucketfuls of animal waste.  Everyone looked very enthusiastic!  

For the next four weeks we’ll be volunteering at a wildlife reserve called Inti Wara Yassi in the small town of Villa Tunari in Bolivia.  Only in Bolivia (or another developing country, I suppose) could a place like this exist, where unqualified but willing volunteers can, after only a short lesson from other volunteers, work with and handle wild animals.  We arrive partway through the workday and kill some time in the outdoor cafeteria where breakfasts, lunches, and after work beers are available.  While surveying our new surroundings, we take in the graffiti from past volunteers which covers the nearby walls, including things like “Tigre the Lostalot Ocelot”, “Quaranteam 2013”, “Monkey Love”, “small (but vicious) animals”, and “Badass Balu”, and wonder what we’re about to get ourselves into. 

As the workday wraps up and the volunteers straggle into the café, we strike up a conversation hoping to learn more about the volunteer experience.  A couple realities quickly sink in: there will be a lot of dealing with poop, and, at some point, we’re likely to pick up a minor wound (making for an interesting scar story once we’re back at home).  One of the volunteers, a skinny redhead from Australia, eagerly describes his latest encounter with a fox while working in the small animal section.  While attempting to get a collar around the fox’s neck (after days in a cage, he figured it would enjoy a nice walk), the fox decided it didn’t like what was going on.  After a couple quick bites to the shin (through a rubber boot), the fox clamped its jaws on the aussie’s forearm and hung on for dear life.  No lasting damage was done, and we’re assured that the on-site vets are very skilled at stitching up both animals and humans.

Finally, 4:30 rolls around and we’re led on a quick tour of the facilities which include: quarantine, containing about eighty capuchin monkeys, some in cages and some tied up on runners (not to mention the dozen or more wild ones that hang out hoping to snag food from the residents); the aviary, where macaws, toucans, and parrots are guarded from hungry wild monkeys by a well-trained dog; and a sizeable area for land and water turtles.  We´re also told about other areas in which a number of coatis, two ocelots, one puma, and an Andean bear are kept (but which aren´t included in the express tour).  We are then sat down and asked by Marta, the volunteer coordinator, to fill out a survey (along with a hefty waiver form) as well as some extra questions to help figure out which section we belong in.  Chelsea’s asked if she has a good sense of direction, to which she replies yes, and I’m asked if I can handle running through the jungle with my glasses on, to which I explain that I can wear contact lenses if necessary.  We’re then shown to the closet of second-hand clothing so we can pick up something we won’t mind destroying over the next weeks.  Finally, we gather in the office and are given our assignments: Chelsea is to work with Tigre the Ocelot (a lucky opening since the current volunteer, just that afternoon, was jumped and received a decent scratch on her arm) and I’m to spend my first few days in quarantine, after which I’ll be working with Balu, the fully-grown Andean bear.

La Paz sucks.

Keep in mind here that neither Chelsea nor I are big fans of cities - they're usually too busy, too noisy, too smelly... we'd both really rather be in a smaller town or out lost in the wilderness.  La Paz, Bolivia's bustling administrative capital, is the epitome of all that sucks about cities: streets packed with breaking-down cars and trucks, all constantly weaving around one another, doing their best to decorate their hoods with pedestrian guts while spewing plumes of acrid, black exhaust; sidewalks and plazas crammed with crowds of pushy, loud strangers all pushing their way past the rancid cesspools of garbage and human waste that scatter the streets.  I'm sure there are some worthwhile spots hidden within the nightmarish cityscape, though we were so appalled we did our best to stay hidden in our hostel.  One of the few times we did venture out in search of a decent meal, we discovered a maggot at the bottom of our (otherwise delicious) compost soup.

Okay, fine, the central market was a great place to stock up on alpaca-wool sweaters in preparation for the coming cold of Patagonia, and the Witches' Market was a perfect spot to shop around for stuffed piranhas and llama fetuses.  Alright, I'll admit that there were a couple okay watering holes, some even offering different options (options!) of beer: our aptly-named hostel Adventure Brew even had a decent micro-brewed IPA, the likes of which my lips hadn't touched since leaving Canada.

On the whole, however, La Paz sucks. Unfortunately, however, traveling around Bolivia by bus will almost inevitably leave you stuck there for a night.  For us, the only redeeming feature of La Paz was its proximity to "Death Road", the site of numerous fatal vehicle accidents (including a single event in the 80's which took the lives of over one hundred people) and a popular spot for downhill mountain biking.

Hola de Bolivia!  (Hello from Bolivia).  After our Gringo Trail adventure through Peru we headed across the border at Lake Titicaca to Bolivia. This was one of the easiest crossings we have done: we took a collectivo (shared van/taxi) from Puno to the border, walked across stopping in a shack part way through to get our stamps, and hopped into a tuk-tuk (motorized rickshaw) to Copacabana.

When we arrived there was a crazy Carnival celebration going on so we had to stop before the crowded centre and walk with our backpacks, pushing through crowds to a super shitty hostel (not much choice because of the celebration). 

After settling in a bit we went back out to the streets to see what was goin' on. There were parades of people dancing and singing, dressed in all kinds of crazy costumes, some with masks. Almost everyone had a beer in their hand, even the dancers and musicians. The sides of the streets were lined with food and drink stands and there were huge speakers blaring what sounded like the same song over and over again for hours very late into the night.