At the age of 54, I must have felt the clock ticking and with it the need to pull off something bigger than I had done before. I began looking for an expedition that I felt would let me gain significantly greater technical snow and ice skills as well as a step up in
altitude. I followed some leads for a guided ascent of Mt. Elbrus in Russia and also talked to several companies guiding Kilamanjaro trips. Then while investigating potential choices in South and Central America in November of 2001, I came across the
American Alpine Institute's web site description of a climbing trip that seemed to fit perfectly my quest for higher altitude and that seemed to be within my technical ability. After speaking to them on the phone and sending in my application I was included in their July expedition.
It was amazing that after thirty-six years my close high school friend emails me out of the blue two days before my flight to Bolivia would take me through a long layover in Miami. Fred, it seemed, lived about an hour out of Miami and had graciously agreed to try and get away from his investment business in order to meet me at the airport. When I landed and was awaiting my baggage I tried his cell number and discovered he was already at the airport a few baggage carousels down. He told me he was wearing a blue and white pin-striped shirt so that I might identify him (appearances can change a bit in 36 years). I scanned shirts while I continued to wait for my duffle to make its appearance on the carousel and suddenly, there he was, slightly heavier in the face than my recollection of high school times, but it was undoubtedly Fred. I think recognition was mutual and we stepped toward each other, me dragging my baggage cart, to shake hands and then to give each other a good hug.
Though he wasn't very familiar with that part of Miami, Fred suggested that we drive to a restaurant outside the airport. We managed to locate a very elusive baggage storage facility in which to leave my large duffle and wandered out to search for his car somewhere in the airport's "Flamenco" parking lot. I'm not sure how many birds are represented in parking lot names at this airport, but they seemed a confusing maze.
Fred insisted that I must at least see the ocean while in Miami, but after maneuvering in that general direction for some time in his car, we decided that you really can't quite reach the ocean beach frontage. They arranged it so that no matter what you do, it always remains at least one causeway further off.
Satisfied with our try, we decided that it might be easier to find a restaurant. We picked out a quaint little Chinese buffet staffed entirely by Cubans, so much easier that getting to the beach!
My Miami layover finally came to an end and I boarded my Lloyd Aero Boliviano flight. When I had picked up my boarding pass earlier the airline ticket agent told me the flight would be making a stop in Santa Cruz, Bolivia before reaching my final destination of La Paz. Upon takeoff, however, the pilot began making announcements through a static plagued PA system that was best left turned off. The first thing I caught was that our first stop would be Panama in two and a half hours. Was I on the right flight? Surely they would have caught such an error when they inspected my boarding pass. Not much of Panama was visible at 1:00 AM, but if I was in another country I figured might as well get out and least experience it's airport. I took a brief stroll in the terminal before we were off again, presumably for Santa Cruz. About 7:00 AM we landed – somewhere, and we were shuffled off the plane. After standing in a crowd waiting for a non-existent customs agent for half an hour my fellow passengers and I were eventually escorted into a large room. This was the airport's no-mans-land with one guarded exit and no seats. I learned only after arriving in La Paz that this airport was in Lima, Peru. Great! Yet another country in my international airport tour, and with exceptional hospitality, too! As it turned out we were told to re-board our plane. So we had just spent an hour in Limbo Land for no discernable purpose. Finally at about 8:40 AM we landed in Santa Cruz, went through customs and then boarded another plane for La Paz.
After the airport and plane shuffling my primary concern was whether or not my baggage had managed to follow me. With all my climbing gear in that duffle it would be a challenge to replace critical items, although possible, except for my plastic boots which I had stuffed with clothes and put in my summit pack, knowing that replacing them was not possible in Bolivia.
Two and a half hours after my scheduled arrival time, Jose was not to be found, but I was amazed and relieved that all my baggage had arrived . I didn't really expect that AAI's airport-to-hotel shuttle person would still be there waiting for me, and after asking several handlers and agents the possible whereabouts of Jose, I took matters into hand and hailed a waiting taxi. I managed to make it understood that I needed to get to the Max Inn. My first brief experience with a native Bolivian was turning out well. I had pulled out my camera to take a picture of the mountains rising behind the great bowl shaped depression containing most of La Paz. The driver noticed this and pulled a couple of feet over to the rickety little posts at the edge of the precipice dropping a thousand feet down into the city below, encouraging me to step out and get better pictures.
--Gary
