Tracking Dinosaurs in Torotoro

Our first destination in Bolivia was one of the least-tourist areas in a country already low in visitation. Parque Nacional de Torotoro is famed for its plentiful dinosaur tracks, beautiful colored mountains, and extensive caves. "Famed" is a bit of an exaggeration, however, as none of the travelers we met around Bolivia had ever heard of it.

They are definitely missing out. Less than 24 hours after arriving I was panting my way through a high-altitude cave. Each frigid night gave way to a brilliant blue-skied daytime warmth, perfect for hiking Torotoro's canyons. Clambering over boulders in dry riverbeds led to ancient rock paintings. I could barely move without tripping over another dino print. And the tiny town featured beautiful mountain views from every angle.

Umajalanta cave was the biggest highlight of the trip. I've never done any sort of caving before, and I was both amazed at the sights as well as my ability to finish the circuit! I don't think I would ever do it again, but it was absolutely worth experiencing.

Most people on a limited trip in Bolivia will not have the opportunity to visit a truly rural town, so Torotoro itself was a highlight for me as well. What it lacks in creature comforts it makes up for in the charming setting and friendliness of its inhabitants.

Torotoro is not easy to reach, and depending on what you're trying to accomplish in Bolivia, may put you too far off the gringo trail to be sensible. But if you obsessively plan ahead like I did to work out all the possible routes—and I'm talking planes, trains and automobiles—hey, no problem! It's a wonderful place I'll never forget.

Quick Tips:

If you're on a tight budget, you'll need to have time to spare. The locals' transport is a bus from Cochabamba that only travels a few times each week and takes 10 hours or more to reach Torotoro. It's likely to be standing room only, and sometimes the bus breaks down. Once there, you can probably find a local guide for a few dollars per day. Local lodging is cheap as well. But if, like us, you're trying to pack as much as possible into a typically short American vacation, take a tour.

The best-known agency in Cochabamba is Fremen, which charges for a 3-day tour. The price is for two people, including "express" transport by 4x4 (about 4.5 hours), lodging, food, and 3 days with a guide. We were on tighter budget, so on another traveler's recommendation we contacted Gonzalo Milan, who runs a smaller agency called Dino Tours. For the same deal, Gonzalo charges for two, although this price was disputed once on the road.

True budget travelers will find even for 3 days difficult to swallow, especially as this is hardly a luxury tour—the lodging and food are very basic and there's a whole lot of hiking. However, for those determined to visit the park, the time saved in transport alone will make it worthwhile. In addition, Gonzalo uses the nicer hostel built with government money (still very basic!) and employs two helpful and entertaining assistants, which also factors into the cost. For travelers with a more flexible budget, Gonzalo's tour is a good option.

E-mail Gonzalo Milan (Spanish only) or call 04-422-0207.


BRING:
Be sure to wear good boots, as the tour involves three days of hiking.

Warm clothes are important at night, but it's quite pleasant during the day for hiking.

For caving, I wouldn't recommend wearing jeans—you will definitely get wet and very dirty.

There is an option to swim in the natural pools of the canyons so bring bathing gear if it's not too cold—in September it was only about upper-70s during the day and the water was chilly so we sunbathed instead.

Mosquito repellent is not necessary at this altitude.

Bring plenty of sunblock!

Best Way To Get Around:

Within the tiny town, everything is in walking distance. As for getting to Torotoro and around to the park's various sights, Gonzalo drove us as far as the car could go. I don't think most of the other tourists we saw had a driving option, but for serious hikers it's not necessary. The furthest site we visited was Umajulanta cave, 9 kilometers out of town. Gonzalo drove us to the "parking lot," about 1 kilometer from the cave—not necessarily a simple stroll if you're not acclimatized yet. Other tourists either walk the 2 hours to the cave or simply skip it.

Hotel Aranjuez is tucked away in the wealthiest residential area of Cochabamba. Although it's far from central activities it seems like a great setting for visitors who simply come to Cochabamba to relax. For our one-night stop, it was no problem.

Jose Jordan and the rest of the staff welcomed us warmly. After all of our e-mails and IMs, it was great finally meeting Jose face-to-face. The young porter was intrigued by our visit to Torotoro, a location considered remote by most people. The kind staff all spoke English, and was helpful in getting us to the airport the next morning. The hotel is only about 10 minutes away.

The hotel offers free Internet, although there's only one computer—a very slow iMac. Still, free is free, and we definitely made use of it. Jose claims the hotel restaurant is the best in town, although truthfully in Bolivia the range is pretty small. We had a wonderful dinner there, but it did not open early enough for us to get breakfast before leaving.

I refer to Hotel Aranjuez as "the fancy hotel" because its price was 5 times more than our usual hostels and pensions, but it really wasn't oppressively high-end. Simply, the hotel had character. Our room featured two firm and comfortable double beds, cable TV (with American programming!), plenty of hot water, storage space and dark wood detailing. There was a pretty outdoor pool surrounded by greenery, but unfortunately not heated. Jose said they're working on that. The mid-sized dining room was very gracious.

Jose and his 12-year-old daughter Camela treated us to dinner; sadly, his youngest daughter was sick so his wife stayed home as well. Bolivia is hardly known for its cuisine, so after 3 days in Torotoro, we relished the chance to eat non-traditional food.

All the options on the extensive menu sounded delicious, especially the way Jose described them. In the end all four of us ordered the "Chicken Aranjuez," a breast fillet stuffed with herbs and cheese, wrapped in bacon and served with shoestring fries. Add some Fanta and it was heaven. We also polished off two baskets of garlic toasts, which were delicious, and finished up with sundaes, which were not. Bolivians do not understand the concept of ice cream.

Unfortunately Jose would not be coming to work the next morning until after we'd gone to the airport, so we had to say our goodbyes after dinner—with a big hug from Camela who loved the denim miniskirt I'd brought her.

Hotel Aranjuez is highly recommended to anyone who is going to Cochabamba. Although it's definitely not a budget option, it's also not out of reach. The main reason to stay there is the wonderful manager Jose, whose family built the hotel. His generosity, kindness and enthusiasm for sharing his country with visitors truly touched me, and showed me a different side of Bolivia.

Hotel Aranjuez

Exploring caves has never been high on my adventure-fantasy list, but when in Torotoro... do as Gonzalo Milan says.

Along with our monkeyboy guide William, we drove about 8 kilometers out of town to a random patch of hill, which served as the parking lot for Umajalanta cave. The remaining 1km walk seemed relatively harmless.

The altitude hit me fast—while at 2700 meters this was hardly the highest elevation I've experienced, we had only arrived in Bolivia 19 hours ago. I wheezed my way through the dry riverbeds, rolling green hills and dinosaur tracks littering the area. During pauses for breath I enjoyed the scenery... open fields conjuring up images of Africa, miniature canyons and grazing sheep. Hemmy skipped ahead, unaffected.

William and Gonzalo distributed the super-sexy caving gear—hard hats with headlamps and stretchy kneepads. The initial descent was steep and slow-going—after all, there were no lighted pathways or tinkly ambient music. Baby William not only lugged around all the gear, occasionally taking our daypacks during tougher parts, but bounced around the cave in shower slippers.

Once inside, we found ourselves crawling on our knees through pools, sliding on our butts down dirt pathways, navigating the slanted cave floor in a manner reminiscent of the roller-rink game "crack the whip"—holding hands, lining up and going down sideways. We saw stalactites, all broken off at the points. Before the area became a national park, people took stalactites as souvenirs, doing irreparable damage. Surrounding us at various times were the cries of bats and the pings of underground water.

One of the most standout experiences for me was wriggling on my belly through extremely tight, sandy-bottomed tunnels, without a clue of their length, backpack and helmet scraping across the ceiling. Gonzalo demonstrated; I'll never forget the image of his feet inching along, going limp periodically, his advice to suppress our fears to avoid suffocation echoing in my ears.

Trying to rappel was crazy as well. The extreme dark and my extreme lack of grace made an awkward combination. In addition, we weren't actually secured to anything, we simply held the rope while jumping down the wall. For subsequent drops, I decided to instead half-slide down while Gonzalo caught me from underneath.

In a great chamber, we shut off our lamps, sat in a circle and held hands while Gonzalo thanked the gods for our safety. We finally reached a lake populated with tiny blind fish after a couple hours in the cave. Gonzalo told us that of Umajalanta's seven kilometers we had only explored one!

Going back was much more difficult than going in... I kept hoping a secret elevator was hidden behind a boulder somewhere. We took a different path on the way back to the mouth. The 1km walk back to the car was tough as well, as I was already exhausted from climbing back out.

According to Gonzalo, very few Torotoro guides take tourists caving. While I would never do it again, it was a unbeatable experience.

The second day we would see the famous huellas (Dino tracks) around Torotoro. Joining the gang today was Gonzalo's second assistant, Shemputos.

We drove all of one minute to the river, where those without running water bathed and washed clothes. There were many elephant-esque depressions and three-toed wells in the rock. One child left her laundry duties to snuggle next to me with the dinosaur picture book Gonzalo provided.

The coolest huellas were on a hill with a great view of town. The double-line of deep tracks appeared to run upwards, very close together. Gonzalo explained that a large quadruped took short hops on its hind legs to eat from trees. Originally created in mud, the solidified prints were shifted upwards by tectonic forces. We saw a tiny print that Gonzalo himself discovered and some that hardened with mud squishing between toes or around the foot, giving a sense of weight and movement.

We weren't really learning more about dinosaurs than we already knew. But whether the fault lay in Gonzalo's lack of knowledge or in our Spanish skills, I'll never know.

Next we got back in the jeep to visit El Cañon, which Gonzalo referred to as "The Grand Canyon of Torotoro." While it certainly wasn't on par with the REAL Grand Canyon, it was quite beautiful.

I was pessimistic going down, already imagining the climb back up. The path was steep, narrow and slippery—I fell once and my anxiety over falling again caused me to breathe harder, which at high altitude doesn't work so well. Still, it was lovely and I enjoyed watching the walls of the canyon loom higher and higher above us.

At the canyon bottom, we clambered over giant water-smoothed boulders until we reached a small waterfall known as El Vergel, "the cow's nose." Hemmy and I had lugged our swimsuits and river sandals, but with frigid water and temps only in the mid-to-upper 70s, we settled for sunbathing.

We disturbed a large group of locals washing clothes and swimming that abruptly packed up and moved. Considering how long it had taken to hike this far, I was AMAZED that they would come here for laundry! What was wrong with the river by the town?

We picnicked here on the rock, drinking cool mountain water from a pool. Gonzalo had packed hot food that little William carried. Somehow, he managed to beat us down here.

After lunch Shemputos revealed himself as the real monkeyboy, as he stripped down, dove in the cold water and inexplicably began yelping as he swam. I waded in to confirm it was too cold for swimming, but felt refreshed.

The climb back out was as difficult as I expected, and I was disheartened to see a large group of goats—led only by dogs—beat me to the top. Gonzalo eventually made a game for me... hiking to the count of 10 then resting. We counted to 10 in 4 different languages until I collapsed, drained, in the jeep.

On our final day in Torotoro, we were disappointed to lose William to the lure of education while crazy Shemputos took over sole assisting duties.

We left the village on foot, admiring for the last morning the close proximity of the gorgeous colorful mountains. Soon we reached another dry riverbed. With all the dry riverbeds we'd seen over the last three days, we couldn't help wondering what this area was like when there was rain. Pointing to the shelf of grass a dozen feet above our heads, Gonzalo indicated the impressive depth of the river during the wet season.

Along the way, Shemputos sprinted across the riverbed, scrambled up the sheer rock face and pointed out faded red rock paintings. Gonzalo told us the tribes in this area tended to be literal rather than artists, painting more simplistic messages such as "warning: snakes in the mountains" or "long river to the west."

We continued through the riverbed, crossing natural bridges and abseiling down steep drops. Eventually we reached the resurgence of Chiflónkaka cave, a lovely small waterfall. Gonzalo claimed to have discovered this extensive cave for which only absolute nutheads—uh, adventurous types—could book a special tour. Exploring Chiflónkaka takes a full day (as opposed to the 3.5-4 hours in and out of Umajalanta) and involves a wider variety of experiences, including scuba diving.

Once again I found that while the sunny day was pleasant enough for short-sleeved hiking, it wasn't swimming weather. Shemputos disagreed, and while Hemmy and I sunbathed, he dog-paddled his way frenetically through the icy mountain waters, screeching all the while. Meanwhile, Gonzalo had clearly entered "coca time," stuffing the leaves methodically into his mouth and dozing off with dark green crust on his teeth.

I hated to admit it, but on the hike back I was happy we would be leaving that afternoon. Not that I didn't thoroughly enjoy Torotoro, but my usual day-to-day lifestyle does not involve multiple days in a row of hiking. As beautiful as the scenery was, as nostalgic as I grew at the sight of our little village nestled in the mountains, as helpful as crazy Shemputos was carrying my bag and handing me water... I was ready for a break.

Thanks to Jose Jordan at Hotel Aranjuez, we'd arranged everything with Gonzalo Milan before arriving in Cochabamba. The 3-day tour would cost the incredible discount price of $90 each, Gonzalo would collect us at the bus station early in the morning, after which we'd have breakfast and relax after the long flight and equally long bus ride from La Paz.

We called Gonzalo from the bus station in La Paz to give our estimated time of arrival. This was our first chance to speak to him, as thus far we'd either worked through Jose or direct e-mails. I imagined a wiry little guy who'd spent his life leading treks. To my surprise, we met an extremely fat, effusive Gonzalo in Cochabamba who hugged and kissed us on arrival.

Soon after loading into Gonzalo's jeep, we ran into our first misunderstanding. We just kept driving and driving. Cochabamba grew small in the distance. My hunger was overtaken by other pressing needs. Finally I blurted out "Where are we going?!" I didn't mean to be rude but where was my chance to decompress after the travel? Gonzalo claimed that Jose had only requested an earlier start to the tour, but nothing about breakfast or stopping by his hotel in Cochabamba.

Unfortunately, we'd gone so far there really was nowhere to stop... Gonzalo tried one random village where we received puzzled looks at the concept of a public bathroom. I was forced to wait until we got to our first tour stop, Tarata.

The main reason to visit Tarata is the town's crumbling colonial buildings and beautiful church. Our first stop, however, was a small open-air restaurant that featured awful squat toilets—no porcelain, just a dirt hole, no place to discard toilet paper. In the back of the restaurant near the toilets were bubbling vats of chicha, a strong fermented alcohol popular throughout the Andes. One look was enough to know I'd never try it.

We ate breakfast in the market, some horrible dry overbaked empanadas with a delicious hot sweet corn drink, then visited the church. Next we dropped by the small town Huaycuil, famed for its pottery, much of which involved vulgar vessels for drinking chicha. Gonzalo's amusement at the vessels was disconcerting.

We ran into the second misunderstanding at a random pit stop, over the tour's price. Gonzalo insisted that it was still $150, the same for two people as one, as the main cost was in the transport. $90 was the price for 4. We tried calling Jose from the roadside stand, but he was unreachable. There was no choice—we couldn't not go, and I'd originally expected it to be $150, but had been really excited about getting a discount.

On the road again, Gonzalo asked us worriedly if we were still amigos. Of course we said yes, it was just a misunderstanding. We certainly didn't want him or his assistants to go hungry—the price difference was just massive!

Gonzalo was very accommodating, stopping any time we wanted to take a photo. Closer to Torotoro—within 2 hours—this happened frequently. The colors of the mountains and valleys along the narrow dirt road were spectacular. The drive was heinously bumpy in parts, employing many off-road shortcuts to get to Torotoro in half the time of the bus.

Along the way, we stopped at a bridge where locals celebrated the beginnings of a new paved road. One unassuming man was actually the mayor of a few small towns as well as Gonzalo's coca supplier. He stuffed Gonzalo's pouch full of leaves before we drove off.

Once in town we hit our third misunderstanding, albeit a minor one. I had asked Jose if it were possible to buy or rent towels in Torotoro, as we didn't want to use our bath towels for swimming in the canyons. Jose asked Gonzalo, and reported back that of course we could do so. Now, Gonzalo seemed mystified by this. In a town with barely any restaurants, markets or real shops, where did we expect to buy towels? "Torotoro is hard" is something Gonzalo would say many times over the next 3 days.

We met Gonzalo's first assistant at the hotel. 14-year-old William was very sweet, related to Gonzalo in a vague way, and apparently a caving expert already. He joined us for lunch, then helped us in the cave. I was most amazed at his footwear—they appeared to be traction-less shower sandals, yet he bounded up and down the cave without difficulty.

Back when we were arguing about the price, Gonzalo told us he paid his assistants $10 each. Not much out of that $150 and it was unclear if they received $10 per tourist or total. I hoped petrol cost a great deal to justify their low pay. I suppose in rural towns like Torotoro, however, $10 can be stretched far.

The second day we met Gonzalo's other assistant, Shemputos. His unusual name is Quechua, and I'm not sure how it's spelled. Shemputos was CRAZY. Even more monkey-like than William, he also bounded around the canyons in shower slippers. At just 21 years old, he was married with 4 kids. Very hard to imagine him as a father, although he looked much older as people who work outdoors often do. Once a campesino, he had only recently approached Gonzalo about joining his crew, although his displays of affection and constant cries of "Tío! Tío!" showed they'd become close quickly.

During the hike to El Cañon, Gonzalo frequently stopped to sit, chew coca, and gaze blankly into the distance. We soon learned to recognized "coca time."

Both William and Shemputos were very helpful throughout the hike, and supportive of my need to rest frequently due to altitude. We really missed our little William on the third day, as it was a Monday and school was in session. Shemputos alone was a bit much to take, although his frantic dog-paddling and random bouts of screeching laughter were certainly sources for amusement.

The more time we spent with Gonzalo, the more odd he seemed. Certainly friendly enough, but once he ascertained my Spanish was considerably weaker than Hemmy's, he all but ignored me unless I physically needed help during hikes. When Shemputos asked Hemmy her age and subsequently began hooting and elbowing Gonzalo, I got the creepy vibe they thought she was of viable age for him. His tiny house featured two twin beds and a toilet in the kitchen; it was stuffed with dino toys and posters of his various tours and smacked of someone whose work is his whole life... it felt very lonely.

As we prepared to bid farewell to Torotoro, Shemputos followed us to the hotel under the guise of helping us with our bags. Suddenly he presented a note requesting money for soccer shoes. It was puzzling. He didn't specify a monetary amount or number of shoes needed, and the whole thing was obviously secretive so he clearly wasn't supposed to do this. We feigned language barrier and shooed him away. While Gonzalo packed his stuff to go back to Cocha, we waited by the jeep avoiding eye contact with Shemputos... we felt guilty because of course we were the "rich Americans" but why the hell should he be allowed to continue putting us on the spot?

In the meantime, Gonzalo asked us to add to his "satisfied customers" comment book. By flipping through to the oldest entries, we learned that our baby William had been helping Gonzalo since he was 9!

Incredulously, we read that all of Gonzalo's former clients outright ADORED him. We liked him, found him kind and generous, but not EXCESSIVELY fascinating or sweet or knowledgeable... sometimes a bit weird, really. We couldn't imagine calling him "Gonchy" or "Tío Dino" or even "Tío Gonchito" as so many people had over the years. I would absolutely recommend anyone visit Torotoro with Gonzalo but simply could not envision loving him that much.

At the time of our visit, Torotoro had only enjoyed electricity for 2 years and running water for 1 year. Thus, I expected it to be a quiet, tranquil place. Gonzalo hinted there was more than meets the eye.

From the vantage point of a hill outside town, I noticed a large destroyed house near the river's edge. Because the rural villages still tend to build with primitive materials, it seemed almost like an ancient ruin. With dino tracks at my feet, that certainly seemed possible.

Instead, Gonzalo gave us a peek into the seething heart of Torotoro. About 60 years ago, the town was divided by class struggles between the rich patrons and campesinos, or peasants. The campesinos, perhaps finally realizing the power of numbers, suddenly rose up against the patrons. In one bloody night, they descended on the now-ruined house with machetes and wiped out the entire family within—save one child. The child was allowed to live for reasons unclear to Gonzalo, provided he joined the honest campesino life and never rebuilt on that property. That child was William's father.

Unusual twist.

The additional twist: he was also Gonzalo's uncle. We ran into him later in town, a pleasant elderly gentleman pushing a 3-year-old child in a wheelbarrow. Proof again that men's biological clocks do not wind down.

Further probing about the unpredictable violence of the campesinos led to a tangent about our hostal, which was relatively new. Gonzalo told us that when the local government came to fund the hostal, the campesino reaction was hostile. Not wanting an influx of tourists or imposed changes on the town, they threatened to blow up the place. Luckily, a deal was struck, the hostal was built, and threats subsided.

If we'd had more time, it may have been worth staying longer just to understand more about Torotoro's secret nature. As a drop-in tourist however, we only sampled a bit of slow village life.

The children are very friendly. At our first lunch, a young girl made a beeline for our table with an adorable bed-headed toddler in her arms and stopped there, grinning, as if it were show and tell. The next morning kids lined up to stare at us, giggling as we climbed into the jeep... tourists are a fascinating bunch! Another sweet group of kids sat with us during Gonzalo's presentation about dino tracks in Torotoro.

The government hostal is basic by American standards but does feature hot water and electricity 24 hours a day. It's quite big and run by a kind woman. Some basic necessities are available for sale, like toilet paper and bottled water. It's very secure at night, but as I unfortunately found out when trying to take an early walk, it's locked from the inside until the manager wakes up.

The large rooms have multiple uncomfortable beds and uncovered showers that spray water all over the bathrooms. I had 2 beds in my room, with a real—albeit painfully saggy—mattress on the twin bed and basically just a hard pallet on the queen-sized bed. Hemmy's room had 3 beds, also only one with a real mattress. Hemmy's shower actually caused a minor flood and she spent the first night of our vacation squeegee-ing her hotel room floor! I helped by standing on the sidelines, laughing and pointing.

Torotoro also features a local eccentric. The man who runs the museum Pachamama Huasi seems to have started out as someone simply interested in the local fossils and ancient stones in the surrounding hills. Gonzalo referred to him as "doctor," implying he had a PhD.

But somewhere along the way a passion for collecting rocks and creating mosaics turned into a bizarre design scheme. Rocks covered every inch of the small museum, which was also the doctor's home. He would show us a rock that he claimed was millions of years old, and then add grinning, "It also looks like an airplane!" Rubber dinosaurs and a stray Godzilla doll were scattered among the fossils. Yet Gonzalo, William and Shemputos seemed deeply respectful.

After the long day of caving, it turned out all of the restaurants in town were closed. I was worried it was my fault because I'd been so slow on the climb out, but at the same time... it was 9pm! Way too early to end dinnertime in South America! But of course, this is a very small town. Gonzalo decided to cook for us instead.

This led to the problem of finding an open store on a Saturday night along the darkened quiet streets of Torotoro. Upon finding one, we treated ourselves to cookies, sodas and cigarettes for the grand total of $2. I was fascinated by the one-stop shop—tiny, yet stocked with vegetables, candy, batteries, toilet paper, utensils, basically anything one might need. We went to another diminutive store the next day for apples and found the same wide array of products—Torotoro's version of the megamart.

Breakfast was always at Gonzalo's home—which interestingly enough, was also a former patron house. Every other meal was at the same restaurant, as Gonzalo probably had an agreement. It seemed like there were at least 3 restaurants in town and the one we went to wasn't that good. On a tour, however, there's no choice. The first day the food seemed passable—we were freezing cold and the hot greasy soup featuring meat, rice and various vegetables hit the spot. Unfortunately we would have this "kitchen sink" soup too many times in Bolivia. I grew to resent this restaurant. Everything was plain yet extremely salty, and not particularly tasty. Potatoes were in every meal and were often undercooked.

No one else seemed to mind, as this was the most popular spot in town. The second night we spent an excruciating time there, as the place became filled with locals. Gonzalo had brought scratchy DVDs from home to show us the ceremony of Tinku, but that was soon replaced with "La Musica Nacional!" a collection of bizarre music videos, mainly traditional but mixed with pop. It was awful, but interesting to watch the townspeople's enjoyment of this disc—they really dug the videos and turned the sound up to an ear-deafening level. This exact same DVD would haunt me later on a train ride out of Uyuni.

It was also fascinating from the perspective that if they'd only had electricity a couple years, how and when did the villagers get so into the TV/DVD concept? Leaving Umajalanta the first night, a young boy inside the electricity-free ranger station asked if he could ride with us back to town—the main reason being he wanted to watch TV. I imagine the townspeople travel between Torotoro and Cochabamba every once in a while and are thus aware of modern conveniences, but it made me wonder how soon they would become dependent on those conveniences.

Watching villagers washing clothes in the river, I was even more puzzled by the methodology behind the "gift" of electricity and running water. It didn't make sense to me that a private company would come to a rural community in desperate need of reliable utilities and charge the impoverished locals a monthly bill. So if instead, the government funded the installation, why was it that not every house in town had access?

I would be interested in learning how the town progressed, from the introduction of water and electricity to the day when it's all commonplace: when the Internet café is hopping with teenagers, when there's a DVD player in every home and the local restaurant shows satellite football games, when the first public Laundromat is introduced. Reason enough to check back in on little Torotoro a few years down the road.

How does one go about checking up on a guide recommendation when said guide is not listed in guidebooks, has no website and does not respond to the e-mail found by Googling? Make friends with Jose Jordan.

To fit our three chosen locations into a measly 2-week trip, Hemmy and I had to keep a tight schedule—a difficult proposition anywhere in the developing world but notoriously difficult in Bolivia. Torotoro was the wild card. In terms of both money and time, we could only afford to go with Gonzalo Milan, but we needed to reach him in advance so we wouldn't just show up in Cochabamba and find him unavailable.

I couldn't tell if Gonzalo didn't respond to my e-mail because the address I found was incorrect, or because my grammar was so garbled he didn't know how to respond. I decided to contact high-end hotels in Cochabamba where the managers were likely to speak English.

The first to respond soon became my trusted friend. Jose, manager of Hotel Aranjuez, was fascinated by our excursion to Torotoro... even though it's relatively close to Cochabamba it's complicated to visit. Oddly enough, Gonzalo's phone number was listed in my guidebook as someone who could arrange transport, so Jose called him and worked it all out. Taking a fatherly stance, Jose felt more secure about recommending Gonzalo after they spoke on the phone, and assured me Gonzalo seemed serious about his work. Even better, he told us Gonzalo would only charge US$90 each for the tour, although this was unfortunately disputed later. We arranged to visit Torotoro second, after the jungle.

A week before our trip, it turned out all of the airlines changed schedules for low season. Scrambling to create a new itinerary, I urgently asked Jose once again for his aid. Ever the kind soul, Jose worked it out so we could visit Torotoro right after arrival. In addition, when I had difficulty booking a domestic flight online, Jose arranged it for me.

During an instant-messaging session, Jose inquired about my career. When I told him I worked in fashion, he became very excited and insisted I stay in his hotel and meet his little daughters. I hated to disappoint him but at $59 a night for a double, Hotel Aranjuez was far out of our range.

We went back and forth on the issue, Jose insisting he was not trying to sell me services but really didn't feel comfortable with me staying in a $5 pension. Finally, he surprised me with an offer: if I brought some items from work for his daughters, Hemmy and I could stay in his hotel for free!

I was floored by this generosity—especially as it costs me nothing to pick up samples around the office—and by his further insistence that we have dinner with his family at the hotel restaurant. Falling between 3 days of rural life in Torotoro and our trip to the jungle, a night in the "fancy" hotel sounded amazing.