THE MOST DANGEROUS ROAD ON EARTH

I have mentioned my obsession with hats. In early 2003, I was getting the itch to see some more. I was well aware that the city with the most hats per capita was La Paz, Bolivia. La Paz was also my favorite South American city, probably for that very reason.

So I set my sights on a trip to Bolivia, and in July of that year, we arrived in La Paz via Miami on American Airlines. This might not have been the best idea I have ever come up with. La Paz is located at 11,942 feet – the world’s highest capital city. El Alto Airport sits at 13,323 feet. We checked in to the freezing Gran Hotel Paris, rested up, and then took a slow walk around the downtown area. We had dinner and went to bed early. Naturally, we didn’t get much sleep – it’s virtually impossible to sleep at that altitude for the first few nights.

In the morning, Joan was starting to feel ill. She had a headache, nausea, and a general malaise. And, it was rapidly getting worse. She had obviously developed a severe case of soroche – altitude sickness – a problem that randomly strikes people who have gone too high, too fast. There is apparently no relationship to age or state of health. And, there was only one cure for the problem – get to a lower altitude and get there fast. Fortunately, we were scheduled to fly to Arica, Chile that morning. Arica is located at sea level in the extreme northern part of Chile and is supposed to be the driest city on earth. In fact, it has reportedly never rained in Arica. I was planning to use Arica as a jumping off point for Lauca National Park, the beautiful, high altitude park located on the Chile – Bolivia border.

Joan perked up immediately after touchdown in Arica. All of her symptoms had completely resolved in less than 30 minutes. We picked up our rent-a-car and drove to the hotel which was located on the beach, just to the south of town. The next morning, we drove slowly up into the Andes to Putre, a bleak outpost at 11,400 feet. I was hoping that the more gradual ascent would agree with Joan and, in fact, she had no further problems. We spent a chilly night at the only hotel in town and left early the next morning for Lauca.

Lauca, most of which is located above 14,000 feet, is certainly one of the most beautiful places in the world. The air is crystal clear and the sky is the bluest blue that I have ever seen. Snow-covered Volcan Parinacota is always in evidence, and the park supports a wide array of wildlife including all four South American camelid species – the Vicuna and Guanaco which are wild, and the Llama and Alpaca which are domestic.

We headed back to Arica in the late afternoon, and flew on to La Paz the following morning. We spent a couple of enjoyable days walking around this most indigenous of major cities.

Not only are the Cholas (ladies of La Paz) interesting, but the handicrafts on offer are first-rate. On my several trips to Bolivia I have accumulated a large collection of mantas – the beautiful, hand-woven blankets fashioned by the Andean ladies – as well as a representative assortment of bowler hats.

And now for the main event – the road to Coroico – the Yungas Road – the Death Road – the Most Dangerous Road in the World. I had been reading about this road for years – a rough, mud and gravel road cut directly into the side of the Andes. It connects La Paz with the low lying Yungas Region of Bolivia. After leaving La Paz, the road first ascends to 15,000 feet at the La Cumbre Pass. It then descends more than 10,000 feet in the space of 40 miles.

Most of the road is the width of a single vehicle. With solid rock on one side and a sheer 2,000 foot drop on the other, the road is only 12 feet wide at its maximum. Driving on this road is on the left – so that the downhill driver can get a better look at the edge of the cliff and to make passing easier. The downhill driver never has the right of way. If passing is required, and it always is, the downhill driver must back up to make room. Rain and fog can severely hamper visibility, and water runoff can turn the road into mud. 200 to 300 people are killed on this road every year.

I’m not sure why I even wanted to travel this road – I’ve never been much of a thrill-seeker. I guess it was curiosity, plain and simple. When we flew back from Arica to La Paz, I asked the taxi driver at the airport if he would be interested in making a little extra money. Could he drive us to Coroico in three days time? Of course, he answered in the affirmative and gave me his phone number. He was driving an old van, one that didn’t look very solid. I doubt that it even had 4-wheel drive. Obviously, I hadn’t done enough research on this particular subject. But, three days later we were on our way.

I would have to rank this as the most terrifying experience of my life to that date. Maybe, I’m a wimp, but to say that the conditions were suboptimal on that day would be the understatement of the decade. We had to travel in thick fog under a steady drizzle. The road had long since turned to mud and the traffic seemed particularly heavy, with dozens of huge trucks streaming in from Brazil.

If I was terrified, my wife and daughter were apoplectic. They kept threatening to get out of the car and walk – and I think, in retrospect, that this might have been the best idea. We had several close calls, almost slipping off the edge in the mud.

I’ll never forget my daughter sobbing – “Dad! How could you do this to us? You’ve lived a full life – I’m just starting out”. Well, obviously we all arrived in Coroico in one piece. The hotel we booked into was bleak and unoccupied. And Coroico, itself, was barely visible, buried in a cloud. There was no one on the street and there seemed to be nothing whatsoever to do. And, even if there had been, we couldn’t wait to get back on the road in the reverse direction. We had to get this over with as quickly as possible – or travel on to Brazil and skip the return altogether.

The return trip proved to be slightly less hair-raising. The weather was better and traveling uphill, we got to hug the cliff side and keep a few feet away from the precipice. The trip took several hours and I was never so happy to reach 12,000 feet. I wanted to kiss the driver. I guess it was all in a day’s work for him. Bolivia is a rough place.

I learned a hard lesson on that short trip. Never do something dangerous just to do it!

Tags: alpaca, Arica, atacama, Bolivia, bowler hat, chile, chola, coroico, dangerous, guanaco, hat, La Paz, Laura, llama, most dangerous road, road, vicuña, volcano, yungas