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‘No tienes miedo?’ Aren’t you afraid?
The growing crowd of cholitas falls silent, waiting for my answer. I get asked this question in every pueblo, these small Aymara or Quechua communities, isolated in the highest regions of the remote Bolivian Andes. I shrug, smile, and say ‘Si, un poco’. Yes, a little.
The truth is, I’m not a little afraid. I’m very afraid.
Fourteen days ago, in a small town near the Peruvian border, I stood at the start line, the base of the Bolivian Andes, sheltering from torrents of freezing rain that curtained the town. I stared at the washed-out mud roads that led out of the village, searching for a reason to abandon the whole thing entirely. For the first time I could remember, I was literally paralysed by fear, standing under a tin roof and refusing to take even the first few steps.
I had two options. The first, a 12-hour, rickety bus ride back to La Paz, which actually seemed just as uncomfortable as running the first segment to my next chance to quit; the second, four passes over 5,000m, a forecast for stormy weather throughout, and no civilisation aside from coca growers and gold mines. I chose the muddy trail over the bus ride home, but it was pretty close for a moment.
For 14 days, this fear has remained. It has taken a look around, found a cosy spot, and settled down inside my mind.
12.30. As in every pueblo I’ve run into so far, a crowd has gathered around me within minutes of my arrival. I’m a rare sight in these parts, a solo gringa, running with nothing but a backpack containing everything I need to survive for three weeks in the mountains. I can’t slip through these communities inconspicuously – my sporty trucker cap and pale legs stand out from the local women, always in traditional cholita dress, long dark braids swinging by their hips and colourful ruffled skirts proudly sporting mud and dust from a day of working the coca fields nearby.
‘No tienes miedo?’
https://www.sidetracked.com/el-miedo/