I saunter into my favourite cafe in La Paz, Bolivia: La Terraza - where I know I can get a salad fit for a giant that is delicious, clean and cheap. I'm relieved that no one is smoking and I take a seat in the corner, yet quickly move to window seat, "Much better for people watching!" I joke with the couple at the neighbouring table.
We begin to chat. "We’ve been coming here for 14 years," the couple explains, as they tell stories of their lovely family and their experiences throughout a decade of changes in La Paz. "Wow, that's incredible," I gush in awe. "What a place to be." They offer travel advice of beautiful Incan ruins and luscious gardens, and then, "Have you been to Chacaltaya?" they ask me. "Yes - actually! I've written about that glacier. You must have seen major changes in the last 14 years of coming here..." as my tone drops and I subconsciously shake my head a little. "Chacaltaya?" the woman asks, as if we might not be talking about the same glacier. "The glacier just nearby - it's beautiful."
"When was the last time you were there?" I ask.
"Must have been 12 years ago now," the woman mumbles. "Its ice and snow have melted over 80 percent in the last 20 years - there's almost nothing left of it..." I sound like a broken climate change record. "But it's the highest ski hill in the world - a stunning place where the birds fly beneath you," the woman reminisces. I continue, "...They say it will be entirely gone in the next year or two. You should go see it while you're here." The tone in my voice and the looks on their faces made me feel like I was telling them they had to go visit a dying friend before she passed away, and this was the first they 'd heard she was ill.
"Mourning the death of a long-lost friend," was a line from one of the first articles I ever read on Chacaltaya Glacier, reported on by the BBC. It is a landmark here in Bolivia. As the woman in the café had rightly said, Chacaltaya was famous for being the highest place to go skiing in the entire world at a lofty 5,300 m (17,490 ft), which reached down 500 m (1,650 ft) to its base.
But Chacaltaya is not the only glacial beacon losing its touch – the entire glacial mountain range is becoming familiar with climate change. The whole family of 15 glaciers in that range have melted over a third in the last two decades.The glaciers here are of epic altitude and life-lines for the 1.5+ million people that live below it. Over half of the water in the reservoir for the city of La Paz and El Alto (the outskirts in the highlands) is estimated to come from the glaciers (though not from Chacaltaya). The rest is from rainfall and other run-off.
Glaciers are important around the world for providing freshwater to people like you and I – that is where the vast majority of our drinking water comes from, whether in India, western Canada, or right here in Bolivia. Glaciers melt at a slow rate each year, allowing a steady flow throughout the spring and summer. With climate change on the rise, many regions are experiencing much quicker rates of melt. This poses the risk of flooding rivers and of not having sufficient water supplies in late summers - and means that adaptation measures like building dams and initiating major water conservation practices are likely in the near future for Bolivia. The other aspect to think about is the mass of people migrating to major cities like La Paz every year – it is easier to survive on 8 Bolivianos (1 dollar) a day in the city than in the rural pueblos (communities). The average income here is just over 3 dollars a day. I feel spoiled living a luxury here at a mere $8 a day.
Bolivia is way ahead of countries like Canada when it comes to implementing measures that respond to climate change. Their National Climate Change Program (I wish we had one of those!) is focusing seriously on adaptation measures to deal with the sufficient decrease in freshwater. Bolivia’s leading glacier expert, Edson Ramirez, has said that "We keep having to revise downwards our projections of when Chacaltaya is going to disappear completely." Projections of the ultimate farewell were slated for 2015, but have since been rescheduled to as early as this time next year.
I had the luck-filled opportunity to climb Huayna Potosi glacier, which is directly next to Chacaltaya. My travel companion Lilith hiked up to the mountain refuge on the first day, where we tried to go to sleep at 4pm because we had to start the second part of the hike at midnight. With crampons and ice picks we began to scale the majestic glacier by the light of our headlamps in a dancing flurry of snow. Half of the expedition team didn’t make it "à el cumbre" (to the summit), as the altitude went up to a feisty 6,088 m (20,090 ft). (We found out later that it's rare to go above 6,000 m (19,800 ft) without oxygen... that’s over 2/3 of Mount Everest!). Lilith and I somehow found ourselves skipping over 30 m (100 ft) deep crevasses and staring up at walls of aquamarine blue ice and, miraculously, sitting on the peak at 7 am after numerous chocolate bars for the best kind of energy...
Bolivia may be economically poor in relation to the rest of the world, but it is undeniably rich in natural beauty. People here are well aware that climate change is impacting them. They are also well aware that it is not them who created the problem. There is not a spark of controversy around human-caused global warming in this part of the world. It’s relieving. Relieving like the thought of 170 of the countries in the world dedicating themselves to taking direct initiatives on climate change.
Every 200 m (660 ft)or so of the mountain, thoughts of, "I really hope this is around for my kids to enjoy in 20 years," crossed my mind. There is nothing to replace the feeling of being absorbed by a mountain glacier with nothing else for miles around. Going down that mountain felt glorious! The clouds cleared and the view of the mountain ranges and La Paz in the distance was amazing, with only an untouched blanket of white everywhere else around us. The feeling of awe and gratefulness and love for being alive at that moment was so great that it hurt. But in a good way. Glancing one mountain over to the left, we see Chacaltaya.
Even though we only just met, I found myself saying goodbye to a new friend out the dusty back window of a sputtering, rattling, seatbelt-less Toyota van as we descended the well-used dirt road back into La Paz.
And I am not about to go through a loss like that again, if I can help it.
--- Original post at http://itsgettinghotinhere.org ---