Hooray for Chalupas

We encounter a roadblock due to construction on the new road. “We will have to go on an alternative road…the old road,” my friend concedes. “The old road!” I reply in a shrill voice. My friend proceeds confidently in his 2001 Jeep Cherokee, since he has driven this road for numerous family vacations. We are on Bolivia’s infamous World Most Dangerous Road or Death Road, a given name for the highest death rate for travelers, with a cliff drop-off of 3,300 feet/1000meters. Since 2006, travelers now can drive safely on a two-lane paved road connecting La Paz to Coroico. The old road is marketed to adventure cyclists to descend from La Paz’ high planes, La Cumbre starting at 15,400feet/4,700 meters to the touristic town of Coroico located in the Amazonian rainforest known as Los Yungas at 5,000ft/1500 meters.

I was not a thrill seeker like other tourists. Experiencing crumbling roads with a precipice to my death, rock avalanches to plummet me to death, and passing slippery overpasses from mountain waterfalls for added death defying challenge is not my idea of fun. Rather, I was in love with the majestic mountains of my birthplace and paternal heritage. I wanted to see all of Bolivia. The drastic climate transition from crisp cold snow capped mountains to tropical dewy-humid green foliage is one of the most unique in the world to experience. In truth I had also wanted to retrace the steps my mother had once journeyed. My deceased mother was a social, fun loving Mexican-American woman willing to try new experiences including marrying and living in La Paz, Bolivia in the early 70s. However, her anxiety of heights was tested on the gravel road not much wider than a tourist bus or minibus, with sharp turns carving mountains, any bus could fall into the abyss of green foliage. She demanded the bus driver stop! At 5’8 with perfect Spanish the driver responded like a soldier to his Capitan. My mother had a commanding voice and was domineering. Left in the middle of nowhere with a baby and toddler in tow, she walked to the next available taxi. I can only imagine the other passengers considered her a crazy gringa.

The Death Road is every thrill seeker’s bucket list must-do resulting in a memorable cocktail story. For me, I connected to the land of my late father and the experiences of my mother. I understood the Bolivians a little better, their tolerance and acceptance to accept the things they couldn’t change because there was not an alternative.