Arriving late afternoon in Puno after a super quick border crossing into our final country of Peru we received one of our most warmest welcomes yet. A lady worker at Kusillo´s Hostel named Roxanne greeted us like we were old friends showing bucket loads of cheer and a huge smile to match. Within a minute of us being shown up to our cosy room she brought us in a tray of hot water and along with a cracking selection of tea- something that instantly earned her top brownie points. Our new country was already off to a lovely start.
Three cups fulls later and we headed out to type up the last few blogs of Bolivia and by the time we had finished early evening was setting in. Back at the hostel we had planned to quickly freshen up and set out to find some dinner when our host brought us in another tray of wonder with a hot water bottle for Laura thinking that we were ready for bed- it was only 8pm so we must have looked incredibly tired! We didn´t want to seem rude so snuggled up for an earlier than planned lights out quite satisfied with yet more tea.
To make up for our lack of supper last night the next morning we were given one of the best breakfasts in a long while, with fresh crispy bread, pancakes, juice, coffee and fried eggs. It certainly cheered up Laura who had had another rough night´s sleep with the snore monster, and to my defence I was pleased to finally hear from the mother of the household that it is because of the high altitudes that I am snarling dinosaur noises twice as loud than usual.
Seeing as we had four days here until we needed to leave for Arequipa to meet Toby (our first friend from back home to come and visit us) we spent our first full day in Puno in complete leisure strolling around the streets of the small port town. We bought our last postcards for home which tingled our insides with mixed emotions. As insanely excited as we are to finally return home and see friendly faces the actually reality of this mind blowing trip now ending feels somewhat devastating. For the meantime though we enjoyed just sitting back in our chairs under the blazing gold sunshine eating some delicious llama kebab on scewers drizzled in a red wine sauce (Laura obviously taking the non alpaca option).
Our second day in Puno was far more productive, as we got in a minivan with fourteen others and drove to the port where a boat would take us for a two day voyage around the different islands on Lake Titicaca. Within an hour we had docked at one of the astonishingly unique Uros floating islands inhabited by one of the five families that live there. Almost everything from the Uros people´s homes, puma-headed rafts and spongy floor is made from the totora reeds which sprout up in the waters of the lake. The inside stem of the reed is also used as a source of food, which when eaten helps clean their teeth at the same time- who needs toothpaste! We had a mildly tasty chomp on one whilst our guide demonstrated to us how the artificial islands are built from scratch. We were then shown around the small vicinity of the floating village, looking at the trout filled farm and into the tiny insides of the homes where Laura was chosen to dress up in typical bright pink and luminous green Uros clothing, making her look a bit like a giant lollipop.
There was a slight pressure to buy the locals handmade crafts and after La Paz we really weren´t in a position to spend any more money. We made up for not purchasing anything by paying for a relaxing puma boat taxi ride over to the other fascinating family homes. As we set off, the women on the island all lined up and bid us farewell by cheerfully clapping and singing local traditional songs (and an amusing version of ´row, row, row the boat!´)
About 10 minutes later and we reached our second island that had tame pet flamingoes walking around cheeky grinning teenage girls sat in a circle cooking up something that smelt incredible. They seemed more than happy for me to take a picture of them, although the cutest girl here (all of about 5 years old) was far more shy, and spent her time running away from the camera behind the different reed huts. Despite the high surge of tourists sailing in by the boat load here, with the Uros people naturally taking full advantage attempting to make some extra money by selling their embroidered clothing and crafts, this really was one of the most truly remarkable places we´ve visited.
We contined our journey at a slow boat ride pace over Titicaca to Isla Amantani where we would spend the night with one of the islanders. Once we had arrived we were greeted by a group of identically dressed women wearing black vales and christmas green coloured dresses. We were divided into pairs and sent off with our new mums to their different homes spread across the island. Our family consisted of a friendly cowboy hatted dad, two gorgeous little girls who looked like they had been playing in the mud all day, and their grandma, who spent the afternoon sat infront of the garden crops brushing her long grey hair away from her face that surely could have told a thousand stories.
At 3pm we still hadn´t eaten lunch, and when mumsy said that it would still be an hour off, Laura and I went to speed things up by helping to prepare the food. I´m not sure if Laura´s potato peeling skills using an old knife instead of an efficiant English peeler actually helped out that much but it was nice to make an effort. It felt so special though, as we sat in their minature stone kitchen with mum giving us big smiles, dad smoking out the entire room building a fire to cook upon and the two girls happily running around outside gathering more wood- it was a surreal treasured moment that will stick with me for a long time to come.
For lunch we were also joined by two other guests staying there, one swiss girl and an old guy with a big character from Berlin (we´re bad at remembering names). We finally all got to eat, though the mountain full of dry rice, dry boiled potato and fried cheese was a bit of an anticlimax.
The four of us were then taken by mum to meet up with the rest of our tour group in order to trek up one of the two high green terraced hills which overlook Amantani. After a slightly breathless one hour climb up narrow streets through farms and stone archways we made it to the top of the hill named pachamama- a beautiful setting, graced with ruins from the Tiahuanaco culture. We stayed there and watched a stunning sunset fall over the sparkling waters of Titicaca before returning back to our family homes.
For the evenings activities we were given a choice to either go to bed or dance at a nearby fiesta. All of us were totally nackered but didn´t want to miss out on anything special, and with the party only lasting one hour we decided to get ready. Our jeans and T-shirt approach weren´t deemed suitable by the family, so we were taken back up to our rooms where our German friend and I were dressed in alpaca hats and snazzy ponchos, but Laura and swiss amiga had to wear layers of thick traditional colourful clothing which must have given them an extra stone in weight. The heavy black vale must have weighed a few pounds alone and it wasn´t the most attractive or comfortable item for a night out dancing. With no disrespect to the islanders, we all looked and felt ridiculous, and all prayed that the other families had dressed up their guests the same or we were in for an embarrasing night.
We arrived to a very dim lit unparty like hall around 90% full of tourists (thankfully adorned in similar clothing) and 10% locals who looked bored to death with having to put on this event on every single night of the week. Even though the evening felt incredibly cringeworthy it didn´t stop us from having a bit of fun taking our mum´s hand for a dance to the pan pipe, charango folkcore melodies onstage. I´m not sure if you could have called it dancing though as all we seemed to do was hold hands and throw eachothers arms back and forth whilst spinning around in a circle clockwise for about five minutes and then anticlockwise for another. With our thick layers on it was some sweaty hard work and we were relieved everytime the band stopped for two minutes. To be really honest we were even more relieved when the fiesta ended so we could all go to sleep. Perhaps if the locals put this evening on once every month instead of every night, painted the grey walls and instaled some light bulbs, then maybe a sense of excitement and atmosphere might arise once in a while- still, it was worth a go!
After some dry pancakes with a stingy pot of jam for breakfast we packed up and said goodbye to the family and got back onboard our boat which then took us over to the island of Taquile. We spent a couple of hours hiking over the plump hills over towards the main plaza where we could view and buy the islanders intricate woven clothes in the textile factory. Our guide explained to us the unique weaving techniques which go back to the Inca, Pukara and Colla civilizations and how that every man here must wear a chullo, a knitted hat with an earflap, in which the colour of it represents if they are single, married or a leader on the island.
Our set lunch of Titicaca trout and chips certainly satisfied my ever present hunger, although Laura´s constantly given overly eggy omellette vege dish is starting to really do her head in. After food we trekked down over 500 knee jarring uneven steps back to the port and set off for our long return journey to the mainland.
By the time we had returned to our warm pad in Puno and slurped down a welcoming tea we were shattered, so sleep naturally followed.
For our last day we took a rather pensioner filled minibus day out to see the extraordinary ruined chullpas of Sillustani. Set high on a plateau surrounded by the shimmering Lake Umayo are the remains of huge funerary towers built by the Colla people who are buried in the fetal position within. These dramatic stone blocks adorned with carvings of snakes and pumas reach up to 12m high and certainly impressed us beyond our expectations. Although engulfed by wrinklies, the afternoon out was well worth it- the amazing scenery was capped with an impressive sky and the ruins really captured our imagination. The short day trip made for a pleasant and interesting end to our enjoyable time in Puno and it was probably the last bit of culture we would take in for the next seven days.
We bid a very fond farewell to our fantastically welcoming and warm hosts at Kusillo´s. We were so grateful for their mothering like kindness that we bought them a box of chocolate biscuits as a thank you- as we handed it over they handed us some chocolate bars to keep us satisfied on the bus trip ahead and made us promise that we would come back with three children. We were sad to say goodbye but were starting to get tingles- a certain Toby Woodfine arrives later for a guranteed week of trouble and mischief in Arequipa.
Wednesday 31 March 2010
Friday 26 March 2010
Copacabana
Arriving in Copacabana in the early afternoon as the sunlight blazed around the cobbled streets, a cloudless blue sky overhead and the dazzling waters of Lake Titicaca down the small slope to the shore felt like a real holiday destination. The whole town emitted a relaxed vibe that was enhanced by the carnival atmosphere of the local schools´ marching bands that were in procession down the streets for the afternoon. We joined the holiday atmosphere by also laying back and relaxing as the sun streamed down on us- me reading another great book (which seems to render me incapable of focusing until I discover the outcome of the characters) and Blakey fiddling with his charango- not a crude euphemism- his newly acquired 5 string guitar like instrument. Other than enjoying a delicious meal and jug of fresh lemonade in the pretty flower filled garden of our hostel- Blakey sampling the local speciality, trout from the lake- we did little else. We did laugh at the slight idiocy of another traveller who tried to complain about her food because her trout had bones in it (unlike that boneless trout found in European seas I presume).
That evening, down to our last Bolivianos, we realised that there was no ATM here and we would need to head to the bank the next morning. We made do with a cup of coffee and some left over snacks from the bus journey and fell asleep ridiculously early.
The next morning I awoke ridiculously early- something that never fails to make Blakey`s heart sink though thankfully the last few chapters of my book kept me occupied until a reasonable hour (far preferable to me poking him until he wakes up I am told). After a wonder down to the bank to find it wouldn`t open until 2pm we gratefully tucked into our complimentary breakfast and then headed out to explore this picturesque little town. The beautiful white plastered walls of the Moorish cathedral, decorated with turquoise glazed tiles on the large doomed roof stood out fantastically againgst the dark blue sky provided by the high altitude of this place and we enjoyed photographing the prety gardens in the central plaza and alongside interesting sculptures.
Although we had planned a longer trek, our desperation to get money out saw us change our route to climb the looming hills that stood over the city. Although a relatively short trail the steep incline coupled with a lack of oxygen up here gave us quite a work out- we took very small steps and very deep breaths. Almost at the top the path split, leading to two sharp peaks- one with a large monument and religious artefacts overlooking the town, the other a mass of rocks and grassy slopes with views of the countryside. We climbed the latter first- again with a slow and steady approach. At the top we were rewarded with gorgeous views of the lake and more of that peace and quiet that this town holds in abundance. We laid back in the grass and let the breeze blow across our faces as the wispy clouds blew across the sky. It was blissful!
Eventually we decided to tear ourselves away from our little paradise and tackle the other slope. The rocky stones to the summit were interspersed with monuments to deceased village people (not the band) placed in the most picturesque spots. At the top a large monument was adorned with fresh flowers and we had views of the entire town as the school marching bands paraded through the tiny streets (playing the animals went in two by two!). Other than that we saw the lake stretch out around us, disappearing beyond the horizon giving the impression of a vast yet calm ocean. It had been a gorgeous morning and as we crept into the afternoon our stomachs begged us to go downhill.
By the time we arrived at the bank it was already 2.45pm- but rather than find it open we found a massive queue of people sneaking right down the road and the doors still barred. We were the first gringos to join the queue, perching on a doorstep in the hot afternoon sun- scared there might not be enough money to go around! Soon a host of other gringos started to queue behind us, though to our horror the locals all seemed to think they could queue just infront- those sneaky old ladies with their shawls and bowler hats were the worst- many of them just hot footed it straight to the front where a crowd was collecting around the door. It looked like we were going to be here a long time.
Eventually, coming up to 3.30pm the staff decided to show up. The whole crowd of people stood and moved forwards though us gringos stuck to our queueing ettiquette. This was fantastically rewarded when a gun toting security guard led us straight through the doors ahead of the rabble of Boliviano pensioners- suck on that queue jumping grandma!
But we were not done yet! I handed the cashier my card and she put it through the machine. She asked for it agin and tried againd and then turned to the next person telling me my card wasn´t working. We had given away our very last Boliviano to a man collecting on the hill- we had no money and were pretty hungry now. I stood and waited for an answer but the next girl´s card wouldn´t work, or the one after that, and after that again. We were all getting a little worried- people had hostal bills to pay and bus tickets to buy. We knew we had to leave the country the next day or overstay our visa- something we had heard could turn into a buerocratic nightmare. The less than customer friendly cashier started to get in a fluster and after 5 cards from different banks wouldn´t work she shouted at us that it was our banks fault- nothing to do with her. Yeah right, but we had to face it, there was to be no money this afternoon.
As we walked out on to the street we looked at each other in disbelief- how could we be so stupid not to keep an emergency fund? As Blakey´s tummy rumbled a couple of wonderful girls came to our rescue. They trustingly lent us 10 pounds so we could eat that evening and the details of their hotel so we might pay it back the next day. A lot of travellers take the view what comes around goes around, and one of the girls had been left with nothing in Buenos Aires after having her bags robbed so was only too pleased to return the favour that had saved her. We very gratefully set out to pacify our growling stomachs.
We had been at the bank for almost 2 hours of the afternoon so got to a cosy looking restaurant across from our hostel at nearly 5pm. We sat and waited for this well overdue meal when the waitress approached me with what looked like spaghetti piled with steak chunks. I had specified that I was vegetarian but I got Blakey to double check what this was. He nearly retched as he chewed on what seemed to be an extremely foul type of mushroom. After a few attempts I pushed the offensive concoction off my pasta but the stodgy spaghetti was drenched in the sauce. We left without leaving a tip and bought an emergency yoghurt to pacify me!
Although less than an ideal afternoon we had enjoyed our time on Copacabana and were taken with this little town. It seemed to attract a disproportionate number of European hippies but it was beautifully located and managed to retain that tranquility even as things went wrong. We took a final stroll around the market stalls selling brightly woven trousers and Inca style jewellery before I once again fell asleep obscenely early.
Our last morning in town- fingers crossed- required money for a bus ticket- A return trip to the bank saw a far more helpful man, a far more civilised queue and us obtaining the money we needed. We posted the borrowed money through the door of the girls room, bought our bus tickets and said a final goodbye to Bolivia. We both agreed that it had been the most surprising, interesting and enjoyable country in South America so far.
That evening, down to our last Bolivianos, we realised that there was no ATM here and we would need to head to the bank the next morning. We made do with a cup of coffee and some left over snacks from the bus journey and fell asleep ridiculously early.
The next morning I awoke ridiculously early- something that never fails to make Blakey`s heart sink though thankfully the last few chapters of my book kept me occupied until a reasonable hour (far preferable to me poking him until he wakes up I am told). After a wonder down to the bank to find it wouldn`t open until 2pm we gratefully tucked into our complimentary breakfast and then headed out to explore this picturesque little town. The beautiful white plastered walls of the Moorish cathedral, decorated with turquoise glazed tiles on the large doomed roof stood out fantastically againgst the dark blue sky provided by the high altitude of this place and we enjoyed photographing the prety gardens in the central plaza and alongside interesting sculptures.
Although we had planned a longer trek, our desperation to get money out saw us change our route to climb the looming hills that stood over the city. Although a relatively short trail the steep incline coupled with a lack of oxygen up here gave us quite a work out- we took very small steps and very deep breaths. Almost at the top the path split, leading to two sharp peaks- one with a large monument and religious artefacts overlooking the town, the other a mass of rocks and grassy slopes with views of the countryside. We climbed the latter first- again with a slow and steady approach. At the top we were rewarded with gorgeous views of the lake and more of that peace and quiet that this town holds in abundance. We laid back in the grass and let the breeze blow across our faces as the wispy clouds blew across the sky. It was blissful!
Eventually we decided to tear ourselves away from our little paradise and tackle the other slope. The rocky stones to the summit were interspersed with monuments to deceased village people (not the band) placed in the most picturesque spots. At the top a large monument was adorned with fresh flowers and we had views of the entire town as the school marching bands paraded through the tiny streets (playing the animals went in two by two!). Other than that we saw the lake stretch out around us, disappearing beyond the horizon giving the impression of a vast yet calm ocean. It had been a gorgeous morning and as we crept into the afternoon our stomachs begged us to go downhill.
By the time we arrived at the bank it was already 2.45pm- but rather than find it open we found a massive queue of people sneaking right down the road and the doors still barred. We were the first gringos to join the queue, perching on a doorstep in the hot afternoon sun- scared there might not be enough money to go around! Soon a host of other gringos started to queue behind us, though to our horror the locals all seemed to think they could queue just infront- those sneaky old ladies with their shawls and bowler hats were the worst- many of them just hot footed it straight to the front where a crowd was collecting around the door. It looked like we were going to be here a long time.
Eventually, coming up to 3.30pm the staff decided to show up. The whole crowd of people stood and moved forwards though us gringos stuck to our queueing ettiquette. This was fantastically rewarded when a gun toting security guard led us straight through the doors ahead of the rabble of Boliviano pensioners- suck on that queue jumping grandma!
But we were not done yet! I handed the cashier my card and she put it through the machine. She asked for it agin and tried againd and then turned to the next person telling me my card wasn´t working. We had given away our very last Boliviano to a man collecting on the hill- we had no money and were pretty hungry now. I stood and waited for an answer but the next girl´s card wouldn´t work, or the one after that, and after that again. We were all getting a little worried- people had hostal bills to pay and bus tickets to buy. We knew we had to leave the country the next day or overstay our visa- something we had heard could turn into a buerocratic nightmare. The less than customer friendly cashier started to get in a fluster and after 5 cards from different banks wouldn´t work she shouted at us that it was our banks fault- nothing to do with her. Yeah right, but we had to face it, there was to be no money this afternoon.
As we walked out on to the street we looked at each other in disbelief- how could we be so stupid not to keep an emergency fund? As Blakey´s tummy rumbled a couple of wonderful girls came to our rescue. They trustingly lent us 10 pounds so we could eat that evening and the details of their hotel so we might pay it back the next day. A lot of travellers take the view what comes around goes around, and one of the girls had been left with nothing in Buenos Aires after having her bags robbed so was only too pleased to return the favour that had saved her. We very gratefully set out to pacify our growling stomachs.
We had been at the bank for almost 2 hours of the afternoon so got to a cosy looking restaurant across from our hostel at nearly 5pm. We sat and waited for this well overdue meal when the waitress approached me with what looked like spaghetti piled with steak chunks. I had specified that I was vegetarian but I got Blakey to double check what this was. He nearly retched as he chewed on what seemed to be an extremely foul type of mushroom. After a few attempts I pushed the offensive concoction off my pasta but the stodgy spaghetti was drenched in the sauce. We left without leaving a tip and bought an emergency yoghurt to pacify me!
Although less than an ideal afternoon we had enjoyed our time on Copacabana and were taken with this little town. It seemed to attract a disproportionate number of European hippies but it was beautifully located and managed to retain that tranquility even as things went wrong. We took a final stroll around the market stalls selling brightly woven trousers and Inca style jewellery before I once again fell asleep obscenely early.
Our last morning in town- fingers crossed- required money for a bus ticket- A return trip to the bank saw a far more helpful man, a far more civilised queue and us obtaining the money we needed. We posted the borrowed money through the door of the girls room, bought our bus tickets and said a final goodbye to Bolivia. We both agreed that it had been the most surprising, interesting and enjoyable country in South America so far.
Thursday 25 March 2010
La Paz
You woud have thought that traveling on a night bus wouldn´t shock us anymore, but on our journey to La Paz we were in utter disbelief. If an earthquake was a form of transport then we were surely sat in one, with every bolt, nut and screw rattling their way out as the tyres shuddered over the rough terrain constantly ejecting us from our seats as though on a fairground ride in the dark. Laura typically had the one chair on the bus that woudn´t recline from its upright position and to make matters worse we were sat above a heater which fizzled us into crispy bacon. 13 hours on and we were pleased to see the capital coming into view.
La Paz instantly looked stunning with the snow topped Mount Illamani overlooking the stadium-like canyon jammed with buildings all the way up it as far as our eyes coud see. At the bus station we took a taxi to our pre-chosen hotel east of the Prado and were dropped off right in the middle of a road swamped with locals fishing through piles of stacked up clothes colourfully decorating the street. Behind every mound of material were rows of grinning gold teethed women with long plaits dangling from their black bowler hats, wrapped in layers of multicoloured woven ware.
After navigating passed the stalls and traffic that was trying to squeeze through we checked into our hotel. The ony room available was not yet clean so we headed staright back out to find some breakfast. What we found was super cheap and even more filling but our bus journey had still left us feeing quite traumatised. We headed back to the hotel where our bed was ready to crash out in. I instantly fell asleep but somehow Laura managed to stay awake and watch two films in a row on cable. Just as the third movie was about to begin we thought it best to venture out and see what we had actually come to see.
With the altitude here being 3660 metres high and our lungs still trying to adjust we walked slowly around the maze of steep alleyways taking our time to inspect the delights of the Mercado de Brujas- the Witches Market. Amongst the various potions and remedies by far the strangest items were the disturbing dried llama fetuses- something the locals place under the grounds of their newly built homes to bring good fortune. Lucky or not it wasn´t a gift I fancied bringing home to the family and I´m not sure what customs would have said.
Away from the spells led us to some seriously potentially pocket emptying shops. In particular were the fantastic racks of musical instruments on sale, from violins to beautiful sounding charangos, an overflowing supply of brightly patterned yet tasteful Bolivian woven clothes, intriguing masks buried under Inca treasures and shops full of hip decorative ornaments, cushion covers and stylish bed throws that could transform our future London flat into designer heaven. Eitherway we decided not to fork out for anything just yet and return the next day with fresh heads on knowing what we really wanted or needed. It did appear that La Paz was going to be a splendid place to buy presents for back home as long as we could cram everything into our bulging rucksacks.
We spent hours nosing around until Laura´s bladder demanded we return to our room. We aimed to be a few minutes before we headed out again but our lack of sleep got the better of us. After a very lazy dinner of jelly and a chocolate wafer we were out like a light.
The followng morning Laura woke me at some ungodly hour saying she couldn´t sleep and was ready for breakfast and a days worth of shopping. An hour later after reviving myself on some good grub I too was eager to hunt back through yesterdays market gems. By lunchtime we had done incredibly well with our arms weighed down with bags full of goodies. Over an absurdly cheap three course meal that cost us 3 pounds each (I tried llama meat- bloody good it was) we discussed a few items that we´d spotted in the shops that we fancied for ourselves. We knew we were unable to resist and decided to trash our budget for the month. Laura had eyed up a rather modest warm hoodie for a tenner, but I had fallen for an electric charango which cost 160 pounds!! Knowing this would be my ony opportunity to buy one or have to shell out three times the price at home we decided to ruddy well go for it. However, when we returned to the shop it had shut and wasn´t going to reopen until we had caught a bus out of here. For some reason this spurred us on and we spent the next couple of hours trawling the other music shops, determined to find something just as perfect. Thankfully we found something even better, and for 40 pounds less- that night on my bed I was more than a little excited to have an instrument in my hands after 8 months on air guitar and knee tapping. I slept a happy boy.
An even earlier start the following morning saw us on a bus with no breakfast (as no where had yet opened) heading to Bolivia´s most significant archaeological site- Tiahuanaco. Whether it was the lack of food or caffeine I don´t know, but our heads felt like melted cheese covered in gravy. Before seeing the ceremonial site we were taken around two museums, taken around painfully slowly that is with our enthusiastic guide Fred stopping outside each cabinet to explain every content with his thick accent. We only managed to understand one word in every three and every time he spoke he would curl his flared nostrils into the air and lengthen his teeth rather like a donkey. He really was trying his best and used his body parts to full potential crawling on his hands and knees, doing karate chops, taking off clothes and wrapping them around himself like a mummy but it was all a bit too much this early in the morning for what was clearly a set of very tired travellers with rumbling tummies. Another annoyance was that he kept saying we could go off and have ten minutes to take photos but then instantly gather everyone for another lecture, it went on and non. Laura was getting even more frustrated with two German men rapidly chomping on their chewing gum like they hadn´t eaten in days.
Our guide finally took us outside to the main site which was far more interesting than the museum but still managed to fall under our most boring tour on this trip. We hated being so uninterested in something so important in Bolivia´s culture but compared to what we have seen already it didn´t come close. The terraced buildings that had been unearthed gave a glimpse of the past life, as did the sun gate and some fascinating totems depicting priests or leaders from the time- but we saw it all with 10 others also stood around, straining to understand Fred and a hot sun beating down on us- what a shame we hadn´t come here on our own so that the figures might have intrigued us more and the lack of chomping Germans would have given our imaginations more to think about.
None the less, we enjoyed our time in La Paz. It didn´t overwhelm us the same way other places in Bolivia have but it was a pleasant stop made all the more enjoyable by the Christmas shopping like expedition that has made us even more excited to see everyone´s faces soon.
La Paz instantly looked stunning with the snow topped Mount Illamani overlooking the stadium-like canyon jammed with buildings all the way up it as far as our eyes coud see. At the bus station we took a taxi to our pre-chosen hotel east of the Prado and were dropped off right in the middle of a road swamped with locals fishing through piles of stacked up clothes colourfully decorating the street. Behind every mound of material were rows of grinning gold teethed women with long plaits dangling from their black bowler hats, wrapped in layers of multicoloured woven ware.
After navigating passed the stalls and traffic that was trying to squeeze through we checked into our hotel. The ony room available was not yet clean so we headed staright back out to find some breakfast. What we found was super cheap and even more filling but our bus journey had still left us feeing quite traumatised. We headed back to the hotel where our bed was ready to crash out in. I instantly fell asleep but somehow Laura managed to stay awake and watch two films in a row on cable. Just as the third movie was about to begin we thought it best to venture out and see what we had actually come to see.
With the altitude here being 3660 metres high and our lungs still trying to adjust we walked slowly around the maze of steep alleyways taking our time to inspect the delights of the Mercado de Brujas- the Witches Market. Amongst the various potions and remedies by far the strangest items were the disturbing dried llama fetuses- something the locals place under the grounds of their newly built homes to bring good fortune. Lucky or not it wasn´t a gift I fancied bringing home to the family and I´m not sure what customs would have said.
Away from the spells led us to some seriously potentially pocket emptying shops. In particular were the fantastic racks of musical instruments on sale, from violins to beautiful sounding charangos, an overflowing supply of brightly patterned yet tasteful Bolivian woven clothes, intriguing masks buried under Inca treasures and shops full of hip decorative ornaments, cushion covers and stylish bed throws that could transform our future London flat into designer heaven. Eitherway we decided not to fork out for anything just yet and return the next day with fresh heads on knowing what we really wanted or needed. It did appear that La Paz was going to be a splendid place to buy presents for back home as long as we could cram everything into our bulging rucksacks.
We spent hours nosing around until Laura´s bladder demanded we return to our room. We aimed to be a few minutes before we headed out again but our lack of sleep got the better of us. After a very lazy dinner of jelly and a chocolate wafer we were out like a light.
The followng morning Laura woke me at some ungodly hour saying she couldn´t sleep and was ready for breakfast and a days worth of shopping. An hour later after reviving myself on some good grub I too was eager to hunt back through yesterdays market gems. By lunchtime we had done incredibly well with our arms weighed down with bags full of goodies. Over an absurdly cheap three course meal that cost us 3 pounds each (I tried llama meat- bloody good it was) we discussed a few items that we´d spotted in the shops that we fancied for ourselves. We knew we were unable to resist and decided to trash our budget for the month. Laura had eyed up a rather modest warm hoodie for a tenner, but I had fallen for an electric charango which cost 160 pounds!! Knowing this would be my ony opportunity to buy one or have to shell out three times the price at home we decided to ruddy well go for it. However, when we returned to the shop it had shut and wasn´t going to reopen until we had caught a bus out of here. For some reason this spurred us on and we spent the next couple of hours trawling the other music shops, determined to find something just as perfect. Thankfully we found something even better, and for 40 pounds less- that night on my bed I was more than a little excited to have an instrument in my hands after 8 months on air guitar and knee tapping. I slept a happy boy.
An even earlier start the following morning saw us on a bus with no breakfast (as no where had yet opened) heading to Bolivia´s most significant archaeological site- Tiahuanaco. Whether it was the lack of food or caffeine I don´t know, but our heads felt like melted cheese covered in gravy. Before seeing the ceremonial site we were taken around two museums, taken around painfully slowly that is with our enthusiastic guide Fred stopping outside each cabinet to explain every content with his thick accent. We only managed to understand one word in every three and every time he spoke he would curl his flared nostrils into the air and lengthen his teeth rather like a donkey. He really was trying his best and used his body parts to full potential crawling on his hands and knees, doing karate chops, taking off clothes and wrapping them around himself like a mummy but it was all a bit too much this early in the morning for what was clearly a set of very tired travellers with rumbling tummies. Another annoyance was that he kept saying we could go off and have ten minutes to take photos but then instantly gather everyone for another lecture, it went on and non. Laura was getting even more frustrated with two German men rapidly chomping on their chewing gum like they hadn´t eaten in days.
Our guide finally took us outside to the main site which was far more interesting than the museum but still managed to fall under our most boring tour on this trip. We hated being so uninterested in something so important in Bolivia´s culture but compared to what we have seen already it didn´t come close. The terraced buildings that had been unearthed gave a glimpse of the past life, as did the sun gate and some fascinating totems depicting priests or leaders from the time- but we saw it all with 10 others also stood around, straining to understand Fred and a hot sun beating down on us- what a shame we hadn´t come here on our own so that the figures might have intrigued us more and the lack of chomping Germans would have given our imaginations more to think about.
None the less, we enjoyed our time in La Paz. It didn´t overwhelm us the same way other places in Bolivia have but it was a pleasant stop made all the more enjoyable by the Christmas shopping like expedition that has made us even more excited to see everyone´s faces soon.
Saturday 20 March 2010
Salt Plains
Our adventure in Tupiza started with a nightmare night bus. Feeling jammy after rocking up to the station and securing the last two tickets we soon found ourselves crammed into the extremely upright chairs of trhe back row, surrounded by sleeping children piled down the central aisle (with the exception of the kid with light up trainers- he chose to stamp his feet for the entire night rather than sleep, treating us all to an ongoing disco). Luckily for everyone else their chairs would recline to extremes- leaving us literally pinned to our seats. It is no exaggeration to say that the guys in front of us actually stopped he blood flow to our legs- we were continuously wiggling our toes in a failed bid to counteract the constant pins and needles we were suffering. Add to that an extremely bumpy road, knackered suspension and a 4am arrival and you have two ruined travellers.
We rolled up to La Torre Hostal on a recommendation from a couple in Potosi and were soon to be extremely glad for it. After a brief sit on the doorstep a gentleman led us inside to the comfy sofa of the dinig room where we promptly fell sleep until 7.30am when the hotel guests started to surface for their breakfasts (presumably somewhat put off by the pair of hobos sprawled and snoring in the corner!) At this time the extraordinarily efficient hostess gave us a free breakfast whilst we waited for our room to be cleaned and then talked us through the tour options available for us- the reason we had come to this hostel. By 9am we had been to the bank and planned the next six days- it was definately time to sleep! We flung ourselves into the crisp clean sheets and dozed soundly. When I woke up refreshed to a snoring Blakey I stared blankly at the cable TV whilst waiting for him to resurface.
By the end of the day we had wandered around the quiet dusty streets of the little town, eaten in a very slow restaurant (20 minutes after placing our order the waiter left and returned a while later with half the ingredients needed for our meal) and crashed out in bed again. Oter than answering a knock at the door from another English couple considering joining us on the salt plains (obviously checking out whether they could put up with us for four days!!) the nightmare journey here had rendered us completely incapable of activity.
The following morning was suitably slow and after a brief phonecall home (the only Mother´s day gift I could afford this year) and a further painfully slow restauarant meal we were to head out on horseback into the surrounding countryside. We soon found we were to be accompanied by Nina and Paul, the couple that had now decided to join us on the salt plains tour despite having seen us both in an unattractive state of undress and slobbering tiredness the previous night, and we all set out amicably into the bright sunshine of the afternoon.
After being handed authentic looking cowboy hats some huge horses were bought out for us- not what you expect for a novice horse trek as these powerful looking creatures were pretty full of beans!! Mounted and holding on tight we started the trot along the railway tracks to the edge of town- the horses soon letting us know we had little control! They stopped to chomp on grass and chose their own path regularly until the guide had hissed through his teeth long enough that they would slowly conform to his orders- rarely ours though!! Still, each moment that passed saw our confidence grow and we were all starting to enjoy ourselves.
The enjoyment increased massively when we reached the countryside. The amazing huge rock formations around here are technically known as badlands- a cactus strewn desert interspersed with huge red rock edifaces- it looked like a movie set it was so cliched. First we saw what looked like a giant jagged wall with a large gap through the middle- if a set designer had copìed it I would have asked them to create something more realistic! Then we came to the Piedras del Macho- extremely phallic shaped "man stones" and on to the atmospheric Canyon del Inca where we dismounted and explored a little way on foot. By this point it was clear we were going to get along with the other couple- they were fantastically laid back and just as scathing as us about try-hard travellers- great!!
After a long and satisfying afternoon the return journey with the horses saw a few spurts of energy as they broke into quick, bouncing trots that saw us all cling on a little tighter, hats fly off our heads and smiles spread across our faces. What a bunch of cowboys and what a brilliant afternoon!
Unfortunately the great afternoon came at a price. Not having taken antihistamines this time, when we returned to our room Blakey was rasping for breath- it was pretty scary listening to him. I felt utterly helpless laying next to him with nothing to offer that might ease it- then I truly did become utterly helpless as I pulled my old puking trick. We were both a state and getting quite nervous about heading off the next morning.
By the time we woke I was feeling a little better and headed out to get Blakey some emergency antihistamines and us some money for the journey. After queuing for ages at a bank, knowing I was already late for our pick up, I managed to ask for 5 pounds instead of 50- whoops! Still, it was all inclusive so that was going to have to do. As I rushed back it was clear the other couple were in a similar state to us- Paul had been kept up with agonising tooth ache and had spent the morning in a rushed visit to the dentist whilst Nina flicked through her translations dictionary to try and work out what was wrong with him. We had all considered postponing hte trip, but finding we were all as bad as each other we knew we could take it easy and headed out to our home for the next four days- the jeep.
We were quickly introduced to our driver- Carlos and our cook, his wife- Esperanza. Over the next four days we would come to love this couple- they looked after us so well. Carlos had a wicked sense of humour (he was extremely interested to find out how many women musicians get in England) and a great love of Michael Jackson. After listening to the greatest hits album on Nina´s iPod for far too long we tried to change to an alternative- unfortunately for us he spotted Shakira- our next soundtrack. Whilst he was bobbing his head along to the music we all discovered he would far rather be watching than listening to her, but the smile on his face let us know his imagination was doing a pretty good job!
Esperanza was much quieter and very kind. As our cook she won all of our hearts- her vegetable soup became legendary! Each meal she served was huge but really wholesome with a fantastic veggie option for me. Everyday we ate until utterly full though all the fruit and veg meant we felt satisfied rather than guilty- it was a real treat. En route she kept the smiles on our faces with lollypops and biscuits- like having a mum for the road!
So we set off with a jeep full of instantly likeable people- thank goodness- we were to be in each others company for the next four days straight! Many people head off to the salt flats from Uyuni but the tip we received recommending heading from Tupiza was well worth it- offering a full extra day of sights. The first day of driving took us far deeper into the dramatic badlands with amazing red stones and sweeping valleys. It is going to be difficult to come up with enough adjectives to describe "picturesque" or "beautiful" in relation to each sight we saw- but we were all spellbound. We climbed higer and higher into the mountains- the majority of our trip being between 4000 and 5000 metres above sea level (which saw us stuffing icky tasting coca leaves into the the sides of our cheeks, a habit that leaves the teeth and lips covered in green bits!) and took over a hundred pictures each day. On the first night we ended up a little mud hut with a four bed dorm in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. We sat around a table of tea and crackers with Nina and Paul and enthusiastically reflected on how lucky we had been so far- great sights and great guides- whilst the village children pleaded with their long eyelashes and chubby cheeks for some of our crackers. Only too happy to oblige we passed the plates to them for them to stuff great handfuls in their pockets, leave the room and come back pretending to be someone new! It kept us entertained but after they each had enough to construct a small shelter we took the remainder back to Esperanza- she must have thought our appetites were huge!
That night on a mountain top in the middle of nowhere we went outside to se the stars. Needless to say the cloudless, lightless atmosphere led to a spectacular night sky. Dressed in hundreds of layers we stayed out as long as we could but soon sought the warmth of our sleeping bags. It wasn´t hard to doze off quickly.
The next two days saw more of the same- the landscape forever changing and offering magnificant sights. Now we were getting into the lakes territory where huge pools in a range of different colours harboured a wealth of minerals. The minerals bought flocks of beautiful flamingoes to their shores which saw all of us trying to sneak through grotesque looking mud shores in a bid to get a decent close up shot- an activity which saw the flamingoes slowly sneak to the middle of the lake each time! Still, it wasn´t hard to frame some stonking pictures (if I do say so myself!) when the lakes were bright white, turquoise or my favourite, Lago Colorado- red like tomato soup! Seeing that lake as the sun rose was a real highlight- the surounding mountains reflected in perfect symmetry in the still surface of the water, flamingoes stalking through and the colour becoming more intense as the sun ascended.
Another highlight over these two days was our arrival at a hot spring- 4000 metres high yet surrounded by higher volcanoes and mountains of the Andes. We were allowed to bath in the perfectly temperate waters with the sweeping plains, vicuñas chomping on th sparse shrubs and birds flying in the clear blue skies- it was pure luxury and we had the place to ourselves. We would have been reluctant to ever get out if it weren´t for the fact that Esperanza was whipping up yet another delicious meal whilst we indulged.
The highest point we came to at 5000 metres above sea level was the geysers at the top of our trail. A smoking landscape of otherwordly holes omitting a sulphury stench as mud boiled and bubbled in the deep caverns. It was not the first time we felt we could be on a Star Wars set.
By the third night we had reached the edge of the salt plains- the only sight we had heard about in advance- the amazing lakes, springs, volcanoes, deserts and rock formations had been a fantastic surprise! This night we were staying in a salt hotel- a building made entirely of the white stuff giving everything a bright and clean glow. It was easy to enjoy our last dinner together gossiping about all we had done and giving opinionated views of other tour groups-needless to say ours was preferable!
So the next morning offered our grand finale- the salt plains themsleves. Another early start saw us driving through the dark over this long, flat expanse. As the sun started to creep over the horizon it was like waking up to find snow- everything we could see was pure white. By the time the sun was showing in full we couldn´t wait any longer- we stopped the jeep and got out to play around.
After a number of silly pictures we continued a little further to a coral island- a rememnant from when this was a huge inland sea. The island was covered in humoungous cacti- some were over a thousand years old-and after a brief but tiring climb allowed views to show how huge this expenase was- it was massive! Whilst we were happy to snap away by the time we descended we were more than ready for Esperanza´s delicious breakfast- as was the emu trying to steal things from our table!
The tour finished with a drive to a spot in the middle and some silly pictures. It is becoming a tradition for travellers to do silly things with perspective here- a task a little trickier than we anticipated but stilll a lot of fun! We were sad when it was all over and after a final meal we had to pack up for the short drive to the town of Uyuni where we were to be dropped off. It had been a brilliant four days awith a brilliant four people and we weren´t quite ready to say goodbye.
We rolled up to La Torre Hostal on a recommendation from a couple in Potosi and were soon to be extremely glad for it. After a brief sit on the doorstep a gentleman led us inside to the comfy sofa of the dinig room where we promptly fell sleep until 7.30am when the hotel guests started to surface for their breakfasts (presumably somewhat put off by the pair of hobos sprawled and snoring in the corner!) At this time the extraordinarily efficient hostess gave us a free breakfast whilst we waited for our room to be cleaned and then talked us through the tour options available for us- the reason we had come to this hostel. By 9am we had been to the bank and planned the next six days- it was definately time to sleep! We flung ourselves into the crisp clean sheets and dozed soundly. When I woke up refreshed to a snoring Blakey I stared blankly at the cable TV whilst waiting for him to resurface.
By the end of the day we had wandered around the quiet dusty streets of the little town, eaten in a very slow restaurant (20 minutes after placing our order the waiter left and returned a while later with half the ingredients needed for our meal) and crashed out in bed again. Oter than answering a knock at the door from another English couple considering joining us on the salt plains (obviously checking out whether they could put up with us for four days!!) the nightmare journey here had rendered us completely incapable of activity.
The following morning was suitably slow and after a brief phonecall home (the only Mother´s day gift I could afford this year) and a further painfully slow restauarant meal we were to head out on horseback into the surrounding countryside. We soon found we were to be accompanied by Nina and Paul, the couple that had now decided to join us on the salt plains tour despite having seen us both in an unattractive state of undress and slobbering tiredness the previous night, and we all set out amicably into the bright sunshine of the afternoon.
After being handed authentic looking cowboy hats some huge horses were bought out for us- not what you expect for a novice horse trek as these powerful looking creatures were pretty full of beans!! Mounted and holding on tight we started the trot along the railway tracks to the edge of town- the horses soon letting us know we had little control! They stopped to chomp on grass and chose their own path regularly until the guide had hissed through his teeth long enough that they would slowly conform to his orders- rarely ours though!! Still, each moment that passed saw our confidence grow and we were all starting to enjoy ourselves.
The enjoyment increased massively when we reached the countryside. The amazing huge rock formations around here are technically known as badlands- a cactus strewn desert interspersed with huge red rock edifaces- it looked like a movie set it was so cliched. First we saw what looked like a giant jagged wall with a large gap through the middle- if a set designer had copìed it I would have asked them to create something more realistic! Then we came to the Piedras del Macho- extremely phallic shaped "man stones" and on to the atmospheric Canyon del Inca where we dismounted and explored a little way on foot. By this point it was clear we were going to get along with the other couple- they were fantastically laid back and just as scathing as us about try-hard travellers- great!!
After a long and satisfying afternoon the return journey with the horses saw a few spurts of energy as they broke into quick, bouncing trots that saw us all cling on a little tighter, hats fly off our heads and smiles spread across our faces. What a bunch of cowboys and what a brilliant afternoon!
Unfortunately the great afternoon came at a price. Not having taken antihistamines this time, when we returned to our room Blakey was rasping for breath- it was pretty scary listening to him. I felt utterly helpless laying next to him with nothing to offer that might ease it- then I truly did become utterly helpless as I pulled my old puking trick. We were both a state and getting quite nervous about heading off the next morning.
By the time we woke I was feeling a little better and headed out to get Blakey some emergency antihistamines and us some money for the journey. After queuing for ages at a bank, knowing I was already late for our pick up, I managed to ask for 5 pounds instead of 50- whoops! Still, it was all inclusive so that was going to have to do. As I rushed back it was clear the other couple were in a similar state to us- Paul had been kept up with agonising tooth ache and had spent the morning in a rushed visit to the dentist whilst Nina flicked through her translations dictionary to try and work out what was wrong with him. We had all considered postponing hte trip, but finding we were all as bad as each other we knew we could take it easy and headed out to our home for the next four days- the jeep.
We were quickly introduced to our driver- Carlos and our cook, his wife- Esperanza. Over the next four days we would come to love this couple- they looked after us so well. Carlos had a wicked sense of humour (he was extremely interested to find out how many women musicians get in England) and a great love of Michael Jackson. After listening to the greatest hits album on Nina´s iPod for far too long we tried to change to an alternative- unfortunately for us he spotted Shakira- our next soundtrack. Whilst he was bobbing his head along to the music we all discovered he would far rather be watching than listening to her, but the smile on his face let us know his imagination was doing a pretty good job!
Esperanza was much quieter and very kind. As our cook she won all of our hearts- her vegetable soup became legendary! Each meal she served was huge but really wholesome with a fantastic veggie option for me. Everyday we ate until utterly full though all the fruit and veg meant we felt satisfied rather than guilty- it was a real treat. En route she kept the smiles on our faces with lollypops and biscuits- like having a mum for the road!
So we set off with a jeep full of instantly likeable people- thank goodness- we were to be in each others company for the next four days straight! Many people head off to the salt flats from Uyuni but the tip we received recommending heading from Tupiza was well worth it- offering a full extra day of sights. The first day of driving took us far deeper into the dramatic badlands with amazing red stones and sweeping valleys. It is going to be difficult to come up with enough adjectives to describe "picturesque" or "beautiful" in relation to each sight we saw- but we were all spellbound. We climbed higer and higher into the mountains- the majority of our trip being between 4000 and 5000 metres above sea level (which saw us stuffing icky tasting coca leaves into the the sides of our cheeks, a habit that leaves the teeth and lips covered in green bits!) and took over a hundred pictures each day. On the first night we ended up a little mud hut with a four bed dorm in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. We sat around a table of tea and crackers with Nina and Paul and enthusiastically reflected on how lucky we had been so far- great sights and great guides- whilst the village children pleaded with their long eyelashes and chubby cheeks for some of our crackers. Only too happy to oblige we passed the plates to them for them to stuff great handfuls in their pockets, leave the room and come back pretending to be someone new! It kept us entertained but after they each had enough to construct a small shelter we took the remainder back to Esperanza- she must have thought our appetites were huge!
That night on a mountain top in the middle of nowhere we went outside to se the stars. Needless to say the cloudless, lightless atmosphere led to a spectacular night sky. Dressed in hundreds of layers we stayed out as long as we could but soon sought the warmth of our sleeping bags. It wasn´t hard to doze off quickly.
The next two days saw more of the same- the landscape forever changing and offering magnificant sights. Now we were getting into the lakes territory where huge pools in a range of different colours harboured a wealth of minerals. The minerals bought flocks of beautiful flamingoes to their shores which saw all of us trying to sneak through grotesque looking mud shores in a bid to get a decent close up shot- an activity which saw the flamingoes slowly sneak to the middle of the lake each time! Still, it wasn´t hard to frame some stonking pictures (if I do say so myself!) when the lakes were bright white, turquoise or my favourite, Lago Colorado- red like tomato soup! Seeing that lake as the sun rose was a real highlight- the surounding mountains reflected in perfect symmetry in the still surface of the water, flamingoes stalking through and the colour becoming more intense as the sun ascended.
Another highlight over these two days was our arrival at a hot spring- 4000 metres high yet surrounded by higher volcanoes and mountains of the Andes. We were allowed to bath in the perfectly temperate waters with the sweeping plains, vicuñas chomping on th sparse shrubs and birds flying in the clear blue skies- it was pure luxury and we had the place to ourselves. We would have been reluctant to ever get out if it weren´t for the fact that Esperanza was whipping up yet another delicious meal whilst we indulged.
The highest point we came to at 5000 metres above sea level was the geysers at the top of our trail. A smoking landscape of otherwordly holes omitting a sulphury stench as mud boiled and bubbled in the deep caverns. It was not the first time we felt we could be on a Star Wars set.
By the third night we had reached the edge of the salt plains- the only sight we had heard about in advance- the amazing lakes, springs, volcanoes, deserts and rock formations had been a fantastic surprise! This night we were staying in a salt hotel- a building made entirely of the white stuff giving everything a bright and clean glow. It was easy to enjoy our last dinner together gossiping about all we had done and giving opinionated views of other tour groups-needless to say ours was preferable!
So the next morning offered our grand finale- the salt plains themsleves. Another early start saw us driving through the dark over this long, flat expanse. As the sun started to creep over the horizon it was like waking up to find snow- everything we could see was pure white. By the time the sun was showing in full we couldn´t wait any longer- we stopped the jeep and got out to play around.
After a number of silly pictures we continued a little further to a coral island- a rememnant from when this was a huge inland sea. The island was covered in humoungous cacti- some were over a thousand years old-and after a brief but tiring climb allowed views to show how huge this expenase was- it was massive! Whilst we were happy to snap away by the time we descended we were more than ready for Esperanza´s delicious breakfast- as was the emu trying to steal things from our table!
The tour finished with a drive to a spot in the middle and some silly pictures. It is becoming a tradition for travellers to do silly things with perspective here- a task a little trickier than we anticipated but stilll a lot of fun! We were sad when it was all over and after a final meal we had to pack up for the short drive to the town of Uyuni where we were to be dropped off. It had been a brilliant four days awith a brilliant four people and we weren´t quite ready to say goodbye.
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Silver Mines of Potosi
Our 3 hour drive from Sucre up to the world´s´s highest city of Potosi was a journey full of some truly stunning views. The outlook from our bus window had a picture of desolate jagged mountains carving between rolling green hills dotted with sheep, cacti and the odd lonely farm worker. In comparison though, as we began to pass through the outskirts of the city, the beauty soon turned into a bombshell of ugly orange-bricked building sites with roads coated in graffiti and trash.
However, after catching a taxi from the space station like bus terminal we reached our accommodation which was nestled in the corner of a gorgeous narrow street about a minutes walk from the plaza in which we soon strolled up to. We were instantly greeted by the towering white cathedral surrounded by some magnificent colonial architecture. Huge, wonderfully decorated mansions with doors so thick and impressively tall that they must have been made for giants. There is a giant amongst the city, and it stands tall, looming above every street in Potosi- the gigantic multi-coloured mountain of Cerro Rico.
With us reaching an altitude of 4060m high we were feeling like we´d just been given a good couple of shots worth of vodka and were stumbling up the roads at a slow drunken pensioners pace. My breathing was a bit erratic too, so we decided not to make any plans for the next day so we could adjust ourselves to the climate.
Sitting in a chilled out cafe getting a late lunch for 5 pounds was a suitably delicious and easy start. Bellies full and having a quick lay down back at our hostel was a grand follow up until our double bed literally collapsed beneath us. My skinny frame and Laura´s petite rear surely couldn´t have done this and whoever thought they could repair a broken bed with cello-tape is seriously deluded. There was no option but to change rooms and to our disappointment we were moved from our warm lit and spacious pad into a cold, dim and depressing corner of the hotel. All was forgiven when we saw the bedsheets were designed with Harry Potter on though.
That night we explored some further streets in Potosi trying to find another good place to eat but eventually ended up returning to our previous cafe for another brilliantly priced slap up meal. For no real reason we were feeling exhausted after that and went to get under our 5 layers of blanket warmth for a great night´s sleep.
Well I got plenty of rest anyway, as Laura had been subjected to one of the snore monsters finest moments rattling the walls and shaking the bed to her immense dis-pleasure. No harsh words, punches or kicks could stop me and I wasn´t a popular boy in the morning. I blame Harry Potter.
We didn´t have much planned for the day and after one of our most hideous breakfasts consisting of stale white bread and grimy coffee we didn´t have much motivation either. The high altitude was still playing with our ability to move a couple of steps without running out of breath and throughout the day we seemed to get far worse ending up with our heads collapsed onto numerous cafe tables. What we did have organised was to spend time taking photos of the astonishing scenery around us, but just as we were ready to do so the afternoon took a turn for the worse with rumbling, rainy black skies. The darkened clouds did actually allow for some good shots as they crept over the orange washed city, but we soon retired to our room and with the strobe-like-lightning-flashes hitting over our walls we were almost hypnotised to a ridiculously early 8.30pm good night all.
Thankfully not from my bird meet walrus wailings this time but rather an early mornings run to spew up her digested bile down the toilet, Laura had had another rough night´s sleep and was looking even more delicate the next day. That morning we had planned to attempt one of our most fearful challenges of not only Bolivia but our whole trip. One way or the other, there was no way that we could leave Potosi without a visit to the deadly cooperative mines. This expedition has had more serious warnings of danger written about it then any other tour we have read about and we were certainly feeling a little jittery about it all (especially when we signed a disclaimer in the booking office saying that the company would take no responsibility for injury or death).
At 1.30pm 15 of us were driven up towards the Cerro Rico mountain where we would enter the mines for approximately 2 hours worth of shuffling around on our hands and knees in the dark with only our headlamps to see the way ahead. Halfway there we stopped off to get kitted up in all the right gear from well dented hard-hats, ancient dusty jackets, tasteful burgundy baggy trousers and thick black welly boots that were about 20 years old, worn by thousands and still in perfect wear. Now dressed up we were split into two groups and a decision had to be made on a team name- we became ´The Sexy Bombas´.
Next up our guide who I should now introduce as being named ´White Peter´ (or Pedro as his real name) took us to a shop where we could buy the workers in the mines a gift. This could be anything from 96% alcohol to which we were all given a throat piping slurp of, a choice of dynamite from Peru, Argentina or the obvious best being Bolivian, to simply buying a big bottle of fizzy juice. We all obviously chose the explosives complete with fuse, detonator and an extra tube which would make the blast even bigger (to me it just looked like it had been filled with the insides of a bean bag).
We were then driven to the factory where they mix the minerals from the mines with water and various solutions to extract the silver, tin, lead and most commonly being zinc. It was an interesting if quick look around fast spinning machinery that could easily splice you in half given the chance but it must have been here for donkeys of years judging by the rusty worn state of it all.
It was now time to enter inside the mines, and just before we took our first step into the shaft we were warned to to touch the piping or wires that ran alongside the tunnels otherwise we might get a nasty electric shock- with us all a bit on edge this really didn´t help much but it was nice he told us I guess. With head lamps now on we walked though. The beginning started off easy enough with us just having to notch our heads 90 degrees in order to dodge the sharp chunks of rock and broken pieces of wood that were meant to be supporting the ceiling.
However 15 minutes on, just having missed a cart speeding past us at an alarming rate, we reached a point where some workers were drilling a thunderous racket into the wall bringing an extra thick layer of dust making it almost impossible to see or breathe. Pedro took us right up close to the miners and after putting down their drills they then began to plant hand-fulls of dynamite right above our heads. For about 5 minutes we nervously watched on and then suddenly were shouted and pointed at by vigurously fast moving fingers to move back (to which we weren´t going to wait around a second for in fear the detonation would rip apart the walls and completely cover us). We gratefully didn´t hear a bang but did end up in a red smoked filled room that had a collection of freaky human sized statues staring at us- we swiftly moved on.
We took a small break outside the entrance to an eerie low hole that we would squeeze under once our hearbeats had returned to a half normal rhythm. Whilst the sweat poured off us with most people in the group already coughing and spluttering Pedro gave us a lesson in the harsh realities of working here. The miners operate in temperatures up to 45 degrees in the unventilated shafts for gruelling 24 hour shifts and with them constantly being in contact with silica dust and asbestos, their life expantancy is only around 10 years after starting work here- that is if they haven´t been crushed to death by a cave-in first! Although it made me have a massive respect for the miners at the same time they all have the option to work here or not. There are other jobs to go for in Potosi and even far safer mines to work in, but all of these come with a lower salary and having the benefits to pick and choose hours along with who you work with down here it seems that this comes across to them a far better option nevermind the risks involved.
It was time to move on and the next section where we had to descend further and further down a tiny, pitch-black, dirty tunnel on hands, knees and often on our rear ends (sliding with no control whatsoever) kicking up a smoke-screen of dust as we did so was a claustrophobic´s nightmare. One girl in our group had a sudden panic attack a few seconds in and asked to be taken back outside. Another one of our tour guides said he would get her out but first needed to tell Pedro who was already nearing the end of the pit. Saying he would only be one minute until he returned he pushed the group downwards and Laura decided to stay with the breathless girl. I wanted to wait aswell but I was already halfway down and our guide told me I had to continue and that everything would be fine. After climbing down some rotten ladders missing most of their steps I waited crouched at the bottom for what seemed like eternity for Laura to catch up. Eventually, to my great relief, I heard her shuffling feet come towards me.
We were now on the third level down and began to trapse through deep murky water avoiding the odd trolley hurtling past and moved into unbearable temperatures. To make this an even more real life hell was the fact that all the miners here worship the devil! We were taken to see the horned statue named Tio in which had been decorated with flowers, alcohol, food and a smouldered cigarette in mouth. Every weekend the workers come here to party with him offering gifts not just for their protection, but for any wish they need, he will grant and question in life, Satan will answer.
After two hours of one of the most demanding, heart-thumping, eye-opening, blood buzzing tours ever we reached the exit for a massive intake of air. We were told that only 3 members from the other group of nine had made it through without turning back so we felt quite pleased with ourselves. White Peter had one more unbelievable challenge up his dusty sleeve though- a game of pass the lit dynamite before it explodes. This was one task Laura and I opted out of and watched on in disbelief. Two minutes later and it went off with a brain shatteringly loud bang creating a sizeable crater, thankfully not in someone´s chest but in the ground instead. After our explosive end to the tour we sat back in the minibus both feeling shocked, shattered and speechless. Laura was particularly out of it and within 10 seconds of returning to our hostel she was curled in a ball under the sheets with her hand fiercely wrapped across her forehead feeling horrific. She told me that she would only need 5 minutes to recover and then we could look over the pics and video footage of the day as I was overly excited about doing so. One hour on and Laura woke up in fits of agony complaining of an intense migraine so strong we feared she might have a high-altitude cerebral edema. The lights went off quick and we both fell asleep.
The next morning we were pleased to see that her brains hadn´t seaped out through her nose onto the pillow. We still felt in a horrendous state though and after checking out of our hostel we had a very easy going day relaxing before getting on the 8.30pm nightbus to Tupeza- a bus that looked like it would bring a whole other story with it...
However, after catching a taxi from the space station like bus terminal we reached our accommodation which was nestled in the corner of a gorgeous narrow street about a minutes walk from the plaza in which we soon strolled up to. We were instantly greeted by the towering white cathedral surrounded by some magnificent colonial architecture. Huge, wonderfully decorated mansions with doors so thick and impressively tall that they must have been made for giants. There is a giant amongst the city, and it stands tall, looming above every street in Potosi- the gigantic multi-coloured mountain of Cerro Rico.
With us reaching an altitude of 4060m high we were feeling like we´d just been given a good couple of shots worth of vodka and were stumbling up the roads at a slow drunken pensioners pace. My breathing was a bit erratic too, so we decided not to make any plans for the next day so we could adjust ourselves to the climate.
Sitting in a chilled out cafe getting a late lunch for 5 pounds was a suitably delicious and easy start. Bellies full and having a quick lay down back at our hostel was a grand follow up until our double bed literally collapsed beneath us. My skinny frame and Laura´s petite rear surely couldn´t have done this and whoever thought they could repair a broken bed with cello-tape is seriously deluded. There was no option but to change rooms and to our disappointment we were moved from our warm lit and spacious pad into a cold, dim and depressing corner of the hotel. All was forgiven when we saw the bedsheets were designed with Harry Potter on though.
That night we explored some further streets in Potosi trying to find another good place to eat but eventually ended up returning to our previous cafe for another brilliantly priced slap up meal. For no real reason we were feeling exhausted after that and went to get under our 5 layers of blanket warmth for a great night´s sleep.
Well I got plenty of rest anyway, as Laura had been subjected to one of the snore monsters finest moments rattling the walls and shaking the bed to her immense dis-pleasure. No harsh words, punches or kicks could stop me and I wasn´t a popular boy in the morning. I blame Harry Potter.
We didn´t have much planned for the day and after one of our most hideous breakfasts consisting of stale white bread and grimy coffee we didn´t have much motivation either. The high altitude was still playing with our ability to move a couple of steps without running out of breath and throughout the day we seemed to get far worse ending up with our heads collapsed onto numerous cafe tables. What we did have organised was to spend time taking photos of the astonishing scenery around us, but just as we were ready to do so the afternoon took a turn for the worse with rumbling, rainy black skies. The darkened clouds did actually allow for some good shots as they crept over the orange washed city, but we soon retired to our room and with the strobe-like-lightning-flashes hitting over our walls we were almost hypnotised to a ridiculously early 8.30pm good night all.
Thankfully not from my bird meet walrus wailings this time but rather an early mornings run to spew up her digested bile down the toilet, Laura had had another rough night´s sleep and was looking even more delicate the next day. That morning we had planned to attempt one of our most fearful challenges of not only Bolivia but our whole trip. One way or the other, there was no way that we could leave Potosi without a visit to the deadly cooperative mines. This expedition has had more serious warnings of danger written about it then any other tour we have read about and we were certainly feeling a little jittery about it all (especially when we signed a disclaimer in the booking office saying that the company would take no responsibility for injury or death).
At 1.30pm 15 of us were driven up towards the Cerro Rico mountain where we would enter the mines for approximately 2 hours worth of shuffling around on our hands and knees in the dark with only our headlamps to see the way ahead. Halfway there we stopped off to get kitted up in all the right gear from well dented hard-hats, ancient dusty jackets, tasteful burgundy baggy trousers and thick black welly boots that were about 20 years old, worn by thousands and still in perfect wear. Now dressed up we were split into two groups and a decision had to be made on a team name- we became ´The Sexy Bombas´.
Next up our guide who I should now introduce as being named ´White Peter´ (or Pedro as his real name) took us to a shop where we could buy the workers in the mines a gift. This could be anything from 96% alcohol to which we were all given a throat piping slurp of, a choice of dynamite from Peru, Argentina or the obvious best being Bolivian, to simply buying a big bottle of fizzy juice. We all obviously chose the explosives complete with fuse, detonator and an extra tube which would make the blast even bigger (to me it just looked like it had been filled with the insides of a bean bag).
We were then driven to the factory where they mix the minerals from the mines with water and various solutions to extract the silver, tin, lead and most commonly being zinc. It was an interesting if quick look around fast spinning machinery that could easily splice you in half given the chance but it must have been here for donkeys of years judging by the rusty worn state of it all.
It was now time to enter inside the mines, and just before we took our first step into the shaft we were warned to to touch the piping or wires that ran alongside the tunnels otherwise we might get a nasty electric shock- with us all a bit on edge this really didn´t help much but it was nice he told us I guess. With head lamps now on we walked though. The beginning started off easy enough with us just having to notch our heads 90 degrees in order to dodge the sharp chunks of rock and broken pieces of wood that were meant to be supporting the ceiling.
However 15 minutes on, just having missed a cart speeding past us at an alarming rate, we reached a point where some workers were drilling a thunderous racket into the wall bringing an extra thick layer of dust making it almost impossible to see or breathe. Pedro took us right up close to the miners and after putting down their drills they then began to plant hand-fulls of dynamite right above our heads. For about 5 minutes we nervously watched on and then suddenly were shouted and pointed at by vigurously fast moving fingers to move back (to which we weren´t going to wait around a second for in fear the detonation would rip apart the walls and completely cover us). We gratefully didn´t hear a bang but did end up in a red smoked filled room that had a collection of freaky human sized statues staring at us- we swiftly moved on.
We took a small break outside the entrance to an eerie low hole that we would squeeze under once our hearbeats had returned to a half normal rhythm. Whilst the sweat poured off us with most people in the group already coughing and spluttering Pedro gave us a lesson in the harsh realities of working here. The miners operate in temperatures up to 45 degrees in the unventilated shafts for gruelling 24 hour shifts and with them constantly being in contact with silica dust and asbestos, their life expantancy is only around 10 years after starting work here- that is if they haven´t been crushed to death by a cave-in first! Although it made me have a massive respect for the miners at the same time they all have the option to work here or not. There are other jobs to go for in Potosi and even far safer mines to work in, but all of these come with a lower salary and having the benefits to pick and choose hours along with who you work with down here it seems that this comes across to them a far better option nevermind the risks involved.
It was time to move on and the next section where we had to descend further and further down a tiny, pitch-black, dirty tunnel on hands, knees and often on our rear ends (sliding with no control whatsoever) kicking up a smoke-screen of dust as we did so was a claustrophobic´s nightmare. One girl in our group had a sudden panic attack a few seconds in and asked to be taken back outside. Another one of our tour guides said he would get her out but first needed to tell Pedro who was already nearing the end of the pit. Saying he would only be one minute until he returned he pushed the group downwards and Laura decided to stay with the breathless girl. I wanted to wait aswell but I was already halfway down and our guide told me I had to continue and that everything would be fine. After climbing down some rotten ladders missing most of their steps I waited crouched at the bottom for what seemed like eternity for Laura to catch up. Eventually, to my great relief, I heard her shuffling feet come towards me.
We were now on the third level down and began to trapse through deep murky water avoiding the odd trolley hurtling past and moved into unbearable temperatures. To make this an even more real life hell was the fact that all the miners here worship the devil! We were taken to see the horned statue named Tio in which had been decorated with flowers, alcohol, food and a smouldered cigarette in mouth. Every weekend the workers come here to party with him offering gifts not just for their protection, but for any wish they need, he will grant and question in life, Satan will answer.
After two hours of one of the most demanding, heart-thumping, eye-opening, blood buzzing tours ever we reached the exit for a massive intake of air. We were told that only 3 members from the other group of nine had made it through without turning back so we felt quite pleased with ourselves. White Peter had one more unbelievable challenge up his dusty sleeve though- a game of pass the lit dynamite before it explodes. This was one task Laura and I opted out of and watched on in disbelief. Two minutes later and it went off with a brain shatteringly loud bang creating a sizeable crater, thankfully not in someone´s chest but in the ground instead. After our explosive end to the tour we sat back in the minibus both feeling shocked, shattered and speechless. Laura was particularly out of it and within 10 seconds of returning to our hostel she was curled in a ball under the sheets with her hand fiercely wrapped across her forehead feeling horrific. She told me that she would only need 5 minutes to recover and then we could look over the pics and video footage of the day as I was overly excited about doing so. One hour on and Laura woke up in fits of agony complaining of an intense migraine so strong we feared she might have a high-altitude cerebral edema. The lights went off quick and we both fell asleep.
The next morning we were pleased to see that her brains hadn´t seaped out through her nose onto the pillow. We still felt in a horrendous state though and after checking out of our hostel we had a very easy going day relaxing before getting on the 8.30pm nightbus to Tupeza- a bus that looked like it would bring a whole other story with it...
Wednesday 10 March 2010
A Sweet Town
We arrived in Sucre on a bright and sunny morning. After a brief misunderstanding with a taxi driver (4 pounds each? That´s too expensive! Oh, 40p, yeah, that´s OK!) we were whisked through the cobbled streets lined with grand white plastered buildings giving everything a bright and airy feel. Everything felt spotlessly clean and we were instantly struck with the prettiness of this city. We were soon booked into a similarly airy and comfortable hotel with open courtyards full of roses and cacti- it had been worth the wait to get here.
A leisurely breakfast (slightly enforced by the less than keen waiting staff) saw our bellies full of good food and I managed to acquire a new book along with information about a local dance performance. The rest of the morning was idled away as we rested in our pretty room.
Fully recovered from the night bus we headed out into the afternoon sun to walk around the new city. We were only a couple of blocks from the greenery filled plaza and each cobbled side street led to views of a different mountain or valley at the end of the road. We soon found out about a large market taking place in a nearby town the next day so after booking bus tickets for that we booked tickets for the dance performance that evening and headed back for further reaxation and a dip into the new book- one of my favourite luxuries out here.
Come the evening and we headed for one of the many tempting restaurants surrounding the plaza where we soaked up the romantic atmosphere before heading through the lamplit streets up to a tiny theatre. Upon entering it was clear it was going to be a fairly intimate performance- a reasonably sized stage was surrounded with just 6 dining tables of various sizes- ours right near the front. Other audience members were rich enough to enjoy dinner at the performance (something we were worried might lead to Asian style chatty audiences- though thankfully not). We were happy to settle at our table with our cameras ready (no flash, of course!) and just enjoy the show.
From the beginning of the first number it was clear we were going to enjoy this. The stage suddenly burst into life after a group of traditionally dressed girls, swaying their skirts and fluttering their eyelashes, were joined by a group of stomping men with bells attached to the heels of their shoes. The energetic performance was like as elaborate tap dance- the rhythmic stomping and jingling creating a pounding accompaniment to the melodies playing.
The show continued with many elaborate costume changes and heartfelt dances. The dances were all depicting Bolivian folklore which seems to consist mainly of flirting and causing excessive pain to the Spanish. The dancers emotively depicted each character keeping us totally engaging in the colourful spectacle right to the end. The last dance- a traditional carnival piece- saw most of the couples flirting (again!) whilst acrobatic clowns tumbled around the stage and into the audience. This continued right through to the bows when the dancers came from the stage- one grabbing Blakey´s arm and encouraging him to dance with her. I wasn´t quick enough with the camera to capture the moment before I too was taken by the hand. By the end most of the audience members had been led to the stage for the energetic finale and once all assembled in a large circle my partner led me to take centre stage- it seems I can steal the show even when part of the audience!
We walked back to the hostal buzzing and after fending off a drunken local trying to offer his services as a tour guide were soon tucked up and asleep. The next morning we had an early start to catch the bus to Tarabujo.
It felt a bit of a struggle as we reluctantly flung the covers of and headed for a basic breakfast the next morning (ALWAYS slightly stale bread, slighty dodgy tasting butter and jam and a mediocre coffee- free, but you can´t imagine how exciting cereals with milk and Warburtons bread is right now!) Still, we managed a brief internet check before boarding the slow bus as it heaved its load of grigos up the nearby hills and though the beautiful Bolivian countryside to the small market town for a mid-morning bargain hunt.
The market had been described as one of the most colourful in South America and there certainly were a great number of interesting faces and characters wearing traditional costumes, large lumps of coca leaves stuffed into the sides of their cheeks. Many would have made an interesting cover for a National Geographic but I can´t help but struggle with the concept of taking pictures of people in this way- it seems a little patronising. Add to that the fear of some of the women that cameras can steal souls and we weren´t too trigger happy, though hopefully we captured the mood of this place sufficiently.
The town itself was fairly intersting- the central plaza contained one of the most grotesque statues I have ever seen. A life sized plaster model depicted a local Bolivian standing over a slain Spaniard with a gaping bloody hole in his chest. The victor was holding the dripping bloody heart, teeth bared and bloody with still more blood running from his mouth and down his chin. The artist had managed to capture his eyes full of fury with a hint of psychopathy- nice! Rarely have I seen towns so proud of the brutal and violent struggle for victory- many depict their heroes as upright and noble instead- this was truly frightening!
For us, the market itself was a little disappointing- after the live frogs, snakes and other strange things in the markets of China this was a little tame. Stalls were clearly either for locals,selling rather boring everyday items like clothes, shoes and the same kind of bric a brac you would see in Eastleigh on a Thursday or Saturday, or aimed at gringos selling "stereotypical" weavings and llama wool products. After ssing an American guy sporting a long llama patterned poncho and traditional hat we decided that he looked like too much like a "stereotypical" knob, and were somewhat put off. Still, when we came to leave we had acquired a couple of souvenirs and were pleased to have ventured further out into the countryside just to see the sweeping views across the hills and valleys that decorated the route there and back.
We returned that aftenoon and after our relativaly late night, early morning and bumpy ride we did little else than take advantage of Facebook chat and wander the streets before finding another satisfying, romantic and incredibly cheap meal. We returned to indulge in cable TV- though I soon fell asleep as Blakey excitedly relived his childhood whilst watching Sharon Stone and Arnie get it on in Total Recall.
Feeling fairly satisfied with all we had achieved in Sucre so far, on our last day we planned to visit the dinosaur tracks- a nearby collection of pre-historic footprints. Well, our pace is certainly starting to slow up as we had such a long lie in that I finished the newly acquired book and Blakey completed his last Sudoku puzzles and we both missed the bus! Not too dissapointed after hearing some rather mixed reviews of the place we were left with one final afternoon to make the most of the best cafes and prettiest streets we have seen so far in Bolivia. It certainly feels indulgent taking things so easy here- but apparently that´s what the Boivians are famous for!
A leisurely breakfast (slightly enforced by the less than keen waiting staff) saw our bellies full of good food and I managed to acquire a new book along with information about a local dance performance. The rest of the morning was idled away as we rested in our pretty room.
Fully recovered from the night bus we headed out into the afternoon sun to walk around the new city. We were only a couple of blocks from the greenery filled plaza and each cobbled side street led to views of a different mountain or valley at the end of the road. We soon found out about a large market taking place in a nearby town the next day so after booking bus tickets for that we booked tickets for the dance performance that evening and headed back for further reaxation and a dip into the new book- one of my favourite luxuries out here.
Come the evening and we headed for one of the many tempting restaurants surrounding the plaza where we soaked up the romantic atmosphere before heading through the lamplit streets up to a tiny theatre. Upon entering it was clear it was going to be a fairly intimate performance- a reasonably sized stage was surrounded with just 6 dining tables of various sizes- ours right near the front. Other audience members were rich enough to enjoy dinner at the performance (something we were worried might lead to Asian style chatty audiences- though thankfully not). We were happy to settle at our table with our cameras ready (no flash, of course!) and just enjoy the show.
From the beginning of the first number it was clear we were going to enjoy this. The stage suddenly burst into life after a group of traditionally dressed girls, swaying their skirts and fluttering their eyelashes, were joined by a group of stomping men with bells attached to the heels of their shoes. The energetic performance was like as elaborate tap dance- the rhythmic stomping and jingling creating a pounding accompaniment to the melodies playing.
The show continued with many elaborate costume changes and heartfelt dances. The dances were all depicting Bolivian folklore which seems to consist mainly of flirting and causing excessive pain to the Spanish. The dancers emotively depicted each character keeping us totally engaging in the colourful spectacle right to the end. The last dance- a traditional carnival piece- saw most of the couples flirting (again!) whilst acrobatic clowns tumbled around the stage and into the audience. This continued right through to the bows when the dancers came from the stage- one grabbing Blakey´s arm and encouraging him to dance with her. I wasn´t quick enough with the camera to capture the moment before I too was taken by the hand. By the end most of the audience members had been led to the stage for the energetic finale and once all assembled in a large circle my partner led me to take centre stage- it seems I can steal the show even when part of the audience!
We walked back to the hostal buzzing and after fending off a drunken local trying to offer his services as a tour guide were soon tucked up and asleep. The next morning we had an early start to catch the bus to Tarabujo.
It felt a bit of a struggle as we reluctantly flung the covers of and headed for a basic breakfast the next morning (ALWAYS slightly stale bread, slighty dodgy tasting butter and jam and a mediocre coffee- free, but you can´t imagine how exciting cereals with milk and Warburtons bread is right now!) Still, we managed a brief internet check before boarding the slow bus as it heaved its load of grigos up the nearby hills and though the beautiful Bolivian countryside to the small market town for a mid-morning bargain hunt.
The market had been described as one of the most colourful in South America and there certainly were a great number of interesting faces and characters wearing traditional costumes, large lumps of coca leaves stuffed into the sides of their cheeks. Many would have made an interesting cover for a National Geographic but I can´t help but struggle with the concept of taking pictures of people in this way- it seems a little patronising. Add to that the fear of some of the women that cameras can steal souls and we weren´t too trigger happy, though hopefully we captured the mood of this place sufficiently.
The town itself was fairly intersting- the central plaza contained one of the most grotesque statues I have ever seen. A life sized plaster model depicted a local Bolivian standing over a slain Spaniard with a gaping bloody hole in his chest. The victor was holding the dripping bloody heart, teeth bared and bloody with still more blood running from his mouth and down his chin. The artist had managed to capture his eyes full of fury with a hint of psychopathy- nice! Rarely have I seen towns so proud of the brutal and violent struggle for victory- many depict their heroes as upright and noble instead- this was truly frightening!
For us, the market itself was a little disappointing- after the live frogs, snakes and other strange things in the markets of China this was a little tame. Stalls were clearly either for locals,selling rather boring everyday items like clothes, shoes and the same kind of bric a brac you would see in Eastleigh on a Thursday or Saturday, or aimed at gringos selling "stereotypical" weavings and llama wool products. After ssing an American guy sporting a long llama patterned poncho and traditional hat we decided that he looked like too much like a "stereotypical" knob, and were somewhat put off. Still, when we came to leave we had acquired a couple of souvenirs and were pleased to have ventured further out into the countryside just to see the sweeping views across the hills and valleys that decorated the route there and back.
We returned that aftenoon and after our relativaly late night, early morning and bumpy ride we did little else than take advantage of Facebook chat and wander the streets before finding another satisfying, romantic and incredibly cheap meal. We returned to indulge in cable TV- though I soon fell asleep as Blakey excitedly relived his childhood whilst watching Sharon Stone and Arnie get it on in Total Recall.
Feeling fairly satisfied with all we had achieved in Sucre so far, on our last day we planned to visit the dinosaur tracks- a nearby collection of pre-historic footprints. Well, our pace is certainly starting to slow up as we had such a long lie in that I finished the newly acquired book and Blakey completed his last Sudoku puzzles and we both missed the bus! Not too dissapointed after hearing some rather mixed reviews of the place we were left with one final afternoon to make the most of the best cafes and prettiest streets we have seen so far in Bolivia. It certainly feels indulgent taking things so easy here- but apparently that´s what the Boivians are famous for!
Monday 8 March 2010
Bloqueos
At 11am we were eagerly sat on our backpacks at the side of the dusty road waitingfor a bus that would take us to a town we could only remember began with the letter V, and from there we were to get a connection to Sucre. Samaipata is such a small town that there isn´t a bus stop and we were told the bus could come any time around 11.30am and that when we saw it we shhould stand in the middle of the road and awave our arms around as the driver wouldn´t be expecting to pick up gringos. We had been sat there since 11am and at about 12 noon a local man speaking fluent English approached our now sandblasted faces and told us that there hadn´t been any pubic transport along here in three days- something to do with the government and what he had heard on his radio. He seemed a bit of a loco so we weren´t quite sure what to believe. Laura headed up the road to ask others what they had heard, but unhelpfully she was sent to the building next door at each place she arrived until there were no more buildings to be sent for.
Our patience had melted under the blazing sunshine by 12.30pm. By the time it reached 1pm it was clear the 11.30 bus was not going to pick us up, so admitting defeat we picked up our belongings and headed back to the town centre to figure out how on Earth we were going to leave today. We had been told about 4 night buses that pass through, but frustratingly everywhere that we had found to be helpful was shut for a siesta- the only possible thing to do was find somewhere to eat. We sat in a cafe just off the plaza called ¨Mad Cow¨and enjoyed a large jug of lemonade that we drew out as long as we could whist writing up diaries and generally passing the time with fingers crossed we would soon find a solution.
A couple of hours later and we returned to the Roadrunners guys who had given us the information the day before. This time we were greeted by a lady we had not met before and who was exceedingly helpful- much more so than the guys had been, giving us the addresses of four companies that would sell us a ticket on a night bus for that evening which avoided the need to change at the other village and would see us arrive there by morning. The first place we were sent was right back to pne of the buildings that Laura had already visited in search of information in the morning- the one at the end of the road. Once again the monosyllabic guy grumbled a resoundingly unhelpful "No" and turned his back on us without any more information. Our patience was wearing thin.
We annoyingly huffed back to town again to find another agent who thankfully could help us- but by now it was too late in the day to book the damn ticket! The bus from Santa Cruz would have left the station just 15 minutes ago and so we were stuck here for another day. I was beginning to clench my fists under the table when the phone call she to the bus company to secure tickets for next day ended abruptly- we weren´t even able to go tomorrow. It seemed the crazy guy from earlier wasn´t so crazy after all- we had been stranded by a series of lorry strikes that had placed blockades around the highland towns- no-one was able to get in or out of any of them and we were to be stranded until Friday at least. She agreed to try again tomorrow for us and we just had to keep our fingers crossed.
We headed back to our hotel where to the owner´s delight we booked in for the next two nights at least- potentially the unforeseeable future. In our extra 2 and a half days we were free to arrange some lovely outings in the area- but our next pay check was not due in the bank for another four days- we had just enough money to sleep and eat so a pricey trek in the National Park was out of the question. We were stumped for ideas- we had eaten in every restaurant, gone online in the one internet cafe far too many times already and were getting to know all the locals by which shops they owned. We knew the little town like the back of our hands- maybe it was tme to get a job here?!
I don´t think that there has been a single moment in the last 6 months that we culd say we were bored, but for the next two days we certainly came close. The first day was not so bad- having the hotel available for the whole day we indulged in a long lie in, planned further engagement parties and wedding details and lazed in the pretty garden on the comfortable hammock. The greatest adventure came when Laura tried to use the incredibly dangerous gas stove. An appliance that would certainly be banned in the UK- the owner set the huge flame going when he connected a gas bottle to the rusty counter with a very dodgy hose pipe. The appliance hissed into life, and when he dropped the match from a nervous distance the flames rose high enough to take his eyebrows off. Apparently Laura struggled to stir her porridge continuously whilst keeping the skin on her arm intact as the violent heat burnt the oats to the bottom of the visciously bubbling pan. I was calmly relaxing in the garden when she came screaming out to get me to help her control the flames- she had tried to turn the appliance off and the flame burst from the switch she had used, turning the dial into a flame thrower with fire shooting out and almost touching the roof. I shouted for the owner who came running to our aid- threw water across the flames to dispell them for long enough to try and fiddle with the dial and control the seeping gas. When he finally turned the gas bottle of at the other end we collapsed into nervous hysterics as he mutter the understatement "poco peligroso".
The next day was not so easily spent. We had to be out of our room in the morning and could only think of the internet as a distraction- rains through the night had turned the streets to muddy paths and the grey skies and chilly breeze made spending time outside less inviting. Halfway through a long to-do list we had constructed in a hope to make the most of this dead time a girl next to Laura told her she had been on the internet too long and that her friend was waiting- half shocked I apologised and hurried to finish what I was doing, though Laura was a little more frustrated by the rudeness of the girl when we left the internet 5 minutes later- we had been on a productive roll and who was she to tell us we had been there too long?! After wandering around fairly aimlessly and buying another cup of coffee so we might be able to sit in a cafe we really felt time beginning to drag. The following 5 hours passed slowly before we returned to the side of the road and eventually boarded our long anticipated bus to Sucre- it had better be good!!
Our patience had melted under the blazing sunshine by 12.30pm. By the time it reached 1pm it was clear the 11.30 bus was not going to pick us up, so admitting defeat we picked up our belongings and headed back to the town centre to figure out how on Earth we were going to leave today. We had been told about 4 night buses that pass through, but frustratingly everywhere that we had found to be helpful was shut for a siesta- the only possible thing to do was find somewhere to eat. We sat in a cafe just off the plaza called ¨Mad Cow¨and enjoyed a large jug of lemonade that we drew out as long as we could whist writing up diaries and generally passing the time with fingers crossed we would soon find a solution.
A couple of hours later and we returned to the Roadrunners guys who had given us the information the day before. This time we were greeted by a lady we had not met before and who was exceedingly helpful- much more so than the guys had been, giving us the addresses of four companies that would sell us a ticket on a night bus for that evening which avoided the need to change at the other village and would see us arrive there by morning. The first place we were sent was right back to pne of the buildings that Laura had already visited in search of information in the morning- the one at the end of the road. Once again the monosyllabic guy grumbled a resoundingly unhelpful "No" and turned his back on us without any more information. Our patience was wearing thin.
We annoyingly huffed back to town again to find another agent who thankfully could help us- but by now it was too late in the day to book the damn ticket! The bus from Santa Cruz would have left the station just 15 minutes ago and so we were stuck here for another day. I was beginning to clench my fists under the table when the phone call she to the bus company to secure tickets for next day ended abruptly- we weren´t even able to go tomorrow. It seemed the crazy guy from earlier wasn´t so crazy after all- we had been stranded by a series of lorry strikes that had placed blockades around the highland towns- no-one was able to get in or out of any of them and we were to be stranded until Friday at least. She agreed to try again tomorrow for us and we just had to keep our fingers crossed.
We headed back to our hotel where to the owner´s delight we booked in for the next two nights at least- potentially the unforeseeable future. In our extra 2 and a half days we were free to arrange some lovely outings in the area- but our next pay check was not due in the bank for another four days- we had just enough money to sleep and eat so a pricey trek in the National Park was out of the question. We were stumped for ideas- we had eaten in every restaurant, gone online in the one internet cafe far too many times already and were getting to know all the locals by which shops they owned. We knew the little town like the back of our hands- maybe it was tme to get a job here?!
I don´t think that there has been a single moment in the last 6 months that we culd say we were bored, but for the next two days we certainly came close. The first day was not so bad- having the hotel available for the whole day we indulged in a long lie in, planned further engagement parties and wedding details and lazed in the pretty garden on the comfortable hammock. The greatest adventure came when Laura tried to use the incredibly dangerous gas stove. An appliance that would certainly be banned in the UK- the owner set the huge flame going when he connected a gas bottle to the rusty counter with a very dodgy hose pipe. The appliance hissed into life, and when he dropped the match from a nervous distance the flames rose high enough to take his eyebrows off. Apparently Laura struggled to stir her porridge continuously whilst keeping the skin on her arm intact as the violent heat burnt the oats to the bottom of the visciously bubbling pan. I was calmly relaxing in the garden when she came screaming out to get me to help her control the flames- she had tried to turn the appliance off and the flame burst from the switch she had used, turning the dial into a flame thrower with fire shooting out and almost touching the roof. I shouted for the owner who came running to our aid- threw water across the flames to dispell them for long enough to try and fiddle with the dial and control the seeping gas. When he finally turned the gas bottle of at the other end we collapsed into nervous hysterics as he mutter the understatement "poco peligroso".
The next day was not so easily spent. We had to be out of our room in the morning and could only think of the internet as a distraction- rains through the night had turned the streets to muddy paths and the grey skies and chilly breeze made spending time outside less inviting. Halfway through a long to-do list we had constructed in a hope to make the most of this dead time a girl next to Laura told her she had been on the internet too long and that her friend was waiting- half shocked I apologised and hurried to finish what I was doing, though Laura was a little more frustrated by the rudeness of the girl when we left the internet 5 minutes later- we had been on a productive roll and who was she to tell us we had been there too long?! After wandering around fairly aimlessly and buying another cup of coffee so we might be able to sit in a cafe we really felt time beginning to drag. The following 5 hours passed slowly before we returned to the side of the road and eventually boarded our long anticipated bus to Sucre- it had better be good!!
Friday 5 March 2010
"I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it well"
Glad to escape the devil child we disembarked onto the dusty streets of Samaipata. The first sight of this town gave the impression we had arrived in a tiny little backwater, but a walk around the corner of the cobbled street brought us ti a row of hotels and tour operators. We soon checked into the beautiful Residential Don Jorge where the rooms surrounded a plaza complete with a fruit-laden pomegranate tree (a few of which were picked, eaten and delicious).
A wonder down into the town revealed the pleasant plaza full of trees and monuments to various Bolivian historical figures. The red tiled roofs sat atop sand coloured plastered houses giving views through to the rolling green mountains in which this small town nestles. At 1,800 metres the temperature here has been steadily delightful and the days blessed with blue skies and golden sunshine. It has been easy to enjoy the relaxed and lovely vibe of this beautiful town.
Other than stroll around we did little more on our first day than get information from some helpful German guys that have settled here and run Roadrunners tour agency. Letting us know everything from the tours they run to the best places to eat we headed out to test their theories and took an early night. It had been quite a journey to get here- particularly for Blakey!
The next morning we took a leisurely approach to the day- it really felt like a lazy Sunday. The small collection of ex-pats that have settled here has led to some homely treats, including freshly baked croissants for breakfast. We then took some bread (also freshly baked) with us for a pretty stroll up a nearby hill to the ´Refugio Zoologico´. Nothing in comparison to the Santa Cruz zoo, this tiny refuge held a collection of animals bought injured from the wild whom had become too accustomed to their human carers to be re-released. The animals here have become so accustomed that many are not caged but simply roam free around the small grounds. This led to a little confusion when Blakey, carrying our picnic, was told to be careful as there was a cheetah wondering around that could become aggressive if we didn´t hand food over. We soon realised it was not quite as dangerous as it initially seemed, and that cheetah was actually the name of a monkey!
After a look around the small collection of cages with curious animals that seemed as pleased to see us as we were to see them, we encountered a number of cute little primates. A couple of squirrel monkeys were curled up in a hammock strung up outside the house and two larger monkeys with copious amounts of confidence sprang onto the shoulders of the keepers, curling their long arms and tail around their necks like an elaborate scarf.
We sat and ate our lunch in the pretty spot, looking out across the hills and watching a spider monkey jump around excitedly. We were almost ready to go when the best guide we had met since starting our travels arrived. Dennis was a young French boy, no more than 11 years old, who had moved with his family to a village about an hour away. He had been staying in Samaipata for the week to attend school and the roads were too dangerous after recent rains for him to return for the weekend, so the Swiss family that own the zoo were looking after him. It was clear this was a home for home for him as after politely addressing us in Spanish he switched to English in order to tell us more about the inhabitants of the zoo.
As he finished feeding a caged group of monkeys he put his head to the wire for them to groom him as they do for each other in the wild. As a couple pulled and tugged at his hair he explained that the large female in the cage had given him the deep scar on his cheek, so he was weary of her. Still, he knew it was in their nature and seemed utterly forgiving as the others enjoyed his attention.
After a while he wanted to show us the singing monkey- one of the larger monkeys that had been wondering around. Locating it in a nearby tree Dennis whipped out his mobile phone and started to play Avril Lavigne´s ´´I don´t like your boyfriend´´. To start with the monkey just looked bemused so he climbed the tree to sit with him, at which point the monkey started making the deepest, quite scary guttural sounds. This monkey was a skater boi!
Dennis was enjoying sharing this place with us and wanted to show us the female of the pair- the infamous Cheetah, as well as a coati, one of his favourite animals. Expecting to start searching around he took us straight to one of the cages where he opened the doors and invited us in. His relaxed confidence and enthusiasm for the creatures put us at ease and before we had even stepped through the second door Cheetah was draped around my neck, the coati was greeting Dennis like a puppy with it´s owner and Blakey had a wild pig rubbing his legs and licking his ankles. The animals all swapped their affections a few times with us and our day was made. Thanking Dennis wholeheartedly we started the rambling descent back to town to enjoy our pictures and video footage. This was fast becoming another town on our favourites list.
The next morning we were up early in a bid to phone home, but a long wait at the bank led to a leisurely breakfast and a short wait to ensure Blakey`s Granny would have returned from her birthday lunch for a call from her strapping grandson. After a nice catch up we headed back to town to see the sights surrounding this area. Hopping in a taxi we travelled up a bumpy and steep path to the pre Inca site of El Fuerte. Sat on top of a peak the area was beautifully positioned for views across the distance. Again we wondered peacefully around the large circuit taking in the strange carvings of this huge exposed rock. In hindsight maybe we should have splashed out for a guide as we did not know the significance of what looked like a life sized model village sculpted in the rocks here. Carved rectangles and oblongs represented doors and windows with faded carvings of jaguars and geometric patterns adorning the fake houses. It seemed the rock was solid so the place could not have been functional- we will have to google it when we get home! In addition the sight was surrounded by the remains of walls from an Inca settlement that found El Fuerte and decided it was cool enough to set up camp next to.
That evening, after an email from home about wedding invitations, we had a long discussion about when we would return home and when we would let people know. A few months ago we had to book a return flight and had decided to go for an earlier date then originally planned but did not want to say in case we changed our minds and stayed longer. Now we decided that we would be returning then, and as much as we liked the idea of turning up on our parents doorstep out of the blue to see their faces, we liked the idea of organising parties and ensuring people had the time off work to attend even more. We resolved to call home again the following day and let everyone know.
But when we woke up in the morning we had a day of activities planned first. Having hired bikes from the friendly Roadrunner guys we both took to the saddle to descend 500 metres over 20 kilometres to the nearby ´Cuevas´, a set of waterfalls. Leaving our hostel we both wobbled most ungracefully on the cobbled road in a way that did not bode well. The slightly rusty bikes needed chains oiling as the gears constantly cracked, often changing of their own free will. Blakey`s brakes seemed to cause his bike (with no tire tread left) to veer to the right significantly, where as my brakes just had little effect at all. It was with much trepidation that we took to the dodgy, pothole ridden main road with the infamous Bolivian drivers (thankfully not many, but more often driving huge, wide heavy trucks) that would blare their horns the moment they passed- often making Blakey jump in that special way he always does! The first half hour of the journey was not at all fun as we struggled to control our dodgy bikes as the road rapidly descended. We stopped to wipe the sweat from our brow- not from hard work but from pant-wetting worry that we were going to swerve beneath the wheel s of one of these huge trucks! Thankfully, after discussing how less than ideal the journey was turning out to be we rounded a corner and the road started to run far more flat. The next hour was much more leisurely, allowing us to appreciate the pretty views of the dark green hills and condors flying overhead.
The last part of the route was not well displayed on the map. It looked as though we needed to follow a gravel road for ´Bella Vista´ and turn off for ´Las Cuevas´. We found the road and started to walk up the steep gravel track though it did not seem right. It wasn´t, but we enjoyed the ´Bella Vista´ mountain range ahead, the large pretty butterflies we passed and whirled away the time imagining our own Grand Design inspired by houses we had just cycled by and it`s multitude of features (winning lottery tickets will be required!)
When we had walked far enough to confirm it was not the right way (well over an hour now) we headed back and found the actual entrance to the waterfalls. By comparison the walk along the manicured path was a little tame and the resulting view slightly underwhelming, but we sat with our well earned chocolate bars and enjoyed the view before turning back to start the long journey uphill.
As we peddled up hard we soon began to worry that this was not as achievable as first hoped. Our bikes creaked as we pushed against the pedals with the gears still changing on their own accord with a large clank and sudden alter in tension- OK when it became loose but difficult to control when it felt like we could not push through the cycle. My chain had fallen off 3 times when I started to loose all hope of getting back- especially as I was so keen to call home and let parents know how soon we´d be back with them. We cycled for about an hour and stopped to get refreshments, then a little further still when we sat and enjoyed some more of our drinks along with a stunning view of a church backed by the hills. The church must have been blessed as soon after we were sent a saviour- our taxi driver from the previous day. For just 3 pounds he put his seats down, loaded the bikes and their riders and ferried us up what seemed like a very long and steep distance back to town. Still, Blakey got him to drop us a little further down the road and peddled 50 metres or so to the tour office for a dramatic brake scrunch and impression that we ha d not cheated at all. The owner was utterly shocked- most people bring them back in taxis!
So our last night in Samaipata involved phone calls home that were met with satisfying and touching excitement followed by what felt like a splash out meal in a lovely restaurant. We enjoyed delicious food at our candle lit table with a large jug of fresh lemonade and shared
an indulgent pudding all for 10 pounds. It felt great, to be so excited about going home and yet to have such a brilliant few days in this gorgeous town. We are so lucky to be having so much fun!
A wonder down into the town revealed the pleasant plaza full of trees and monuments to various Bolivian historical figures. The red tiled roofs sat atop sand coloured plastered houses giving views through to the rolling green mountains in which this small town nestles. At 1,800 metres the temperature here has been steadily delightful and the days blessed with blue skies and golden sunshine. It has been easy to enjoy the relaxed and lovely vibe of this beautiful town.
Other than stroll around we did little more on our first day than get information from some helpful German guys that have settled here and run Roadrunners tour agency. Letting us know everything from the tours they run to the best places to eat we headed out to test their theories and took an early night. It had been quite a journey to get here- particularly for Blakey!
The next morning we took a leisurely approach to the day- it really felt like a lazy Sunday. The small collection of ex-pats that have settled here has led to some homely treats, including freshly baked croissants for breakfast. We then took some bread (also freshly baked) with us for a pretty stroll up a nearby hill to the ´Refugio Zoologico´. Nothing in comparison to the Santa Cruz zoo, this tiny refuge held a collection of animals bought injured from the wild whom had become too accustomed to their human carers to be re-released. The animals here have become so accustomed that many are not caged but simply roam free around the small grounds. This led to a little confusion when Blakey, carrying our picnic, was told to be careful as there was a cheetah wondering around that could become aggressive if we didn´t hand food over. We soon realised it was not quite as dangerous as it initially seemed, and that cheetah was actually the name of a monkey!
After a look around the small collection of cages with curious animals that seemed as pleased to see us as we were to see them, we encountered a number of cute little primates. A couple of squirrel monkeys were curled up in a hammock strung up outside the house and two larger monkeys with copious amounts of confidence sprang onto the shoulders of the keepers, curling their long arms and tail around their necks like an elaborate scarf.
We sat and ate our lunch in the pretty spot, looking out across the hills and watching a spider monkey jump around excitedly. We were almost ready to go when the best guide we had met since starting our travels arrived. Dennis was a young French boy, no more than 11 years old, who had moved with his family to a village about an hour away. He had been staying in Samaipata for the week to attend school and the roads were too dangerous after recent rains for him to return for the weekend, so the Swiss family that own the zoo were looking after him. It was clear this was a home for home for him as after politely addressing us in Spanish he switched to English in order to tell us more about the inhabitants of the zoo.
As he finished feeding a caged group of monkeys he put his head to the wire for them to groom him as they do for each other in the wild. As a couple pulled and tugged at his hair he explained that the large female in the cage had given him the deep scar on his cheek, so he was weary of her. Still, he knew it was in their nature and seemed utterly forgiving as the others enjoyed his attention.
After a while he wanted to show us the singing monkey- one of the larger monkeys that had been wondering around. Locating it in a nearby tree Dennis whipped out his mobile phone and started to play Avril Lavigne´s ´´I don´t like your boyfriend´´. To start with the monkey just looked bemused so he climbed the tree to sit with him, at which point the monkey started making the deepest, quite scary guttural sounds. This monkey was a skater boi!
Dennis was enjoying sharing this place with us and wanted to show us the female of the pair- the infamous Cheetah, as well as a coati, one of his favourite animals. Expecting to start searching around he took us straight to one of the cages where he opened the doors and invited us in. His relaxed confidence and enthusiasm for the creatures put us at ease and before we had even stepped through the second door Cheetah was draped around my neck, the coati was greeting Dennis like a puppy with it´s owner and Blakey had a wild pig rubbing his legs and licking his ankles. The animals all swapped their affections a few times with us and our day was made. Thanking Dennis wholeheartedly we started the rambling descent back to town to enjoy our pictures and video footage. This was fast becoming another town on our favourites list.
The next morning we were up early in a bid to phone home, but a long wait at the bank led to a leisurely breakfast and a short wait to ensure Blakey`s Granny would have returned from her birthday lunch for a call from her strapping grandson. After a nice catch up we headed back to town to see the sights surrounding this area. Hopping in a taxi we travelled up a bumpy and steep path to the pre Inca site of El Fuerte. Sat on top of a peak the area was beautifully positioned for views across the distance. Again we wondered peacefully around the large circuit taking in the strange carvings of this huge exposed rock. In hindsight maybe we should have splashed out for a guide as we did not know the significance of what looked like a life sized model village sculpted in the rocks here. Carved rectangles and oblongs represented doors and windows with faded carvings of jaguars and geometric patterns adorning the fake houses. It seemed the rock was solid so the place could not have been functional- we will have to google it when we get home! In addition the sight was surrounded by the remains of walls from an Inca settlement that found El Fuerte and decided it was cool enough to set up camp next to.
That evening, after an email from home about wedding invitations, we had a long discussion about when we would return home and when we would let people know. A few months ago we had to book a return flight and had decided to go for an earlier date then originally planned but did not want to say in case we changed our minds and stayed longer. Now we decided that we would be returning then, and as much as we liked the idea of turning up on our parents doorstep out of the blue to see their faces, we liked the idea of organising parties and ensuring people had the time off work to attend even more. We resolved to call home again the following day and let everyone know.
But when we woke up in the morning we had a day of activities planned first. Having hired bikes from the friendly Roadrunner guys we both took to the saddle to descend 500 metres over 20 kilometres to the nearby ´Cuevas´, a set of waterfalls. Leaving our hostel we both wobbled most ungracefully on the cobbled road in a way that did not bode well. The slightly rusty bikes needed chains oiling as the gears constantly cracked, often changing of their own free will. Blakey`s brakes seemed to cause his bike (with no tire tread left) to veer to the right significantly, where as my brakes just had little effect at all. It was with much trepidation that we took to the dodgy, pothole ridden main road with the infamous Bolivian drivers (thankfully not many, but more often driving huge, wide heavy trucks) that would blare their horns the moment they passed- often making Blakey jump in that special way he always does! The first half hour of the journey was not at all fun as we struggled to control our dodgy bikes as the road rapidly descended. We stopped to wipe the sweat from our brow- not from hard work but from pant-wetting worry that we were going to swerve beneath the wheel s of one of these huge trucks! Thankfully, after discussing how less than ideal the journey was turning out to be we rounded a corner and the road started to run far more flat. The next hour was much more leisurely, allowing us to appreciate the pretty views of the dark green hills and condors flying overhead.
The last part of the route was not well displayed on the map. It looked as though we needed to follow a gravel road for ´Bella Vista´ and turn off for ´Las Cuevas´. We found the road and started to walk up the steep gravel track though it did not seem right. It wasn´t, but we enjoyed the ´Bella Vista´ mountain range ahead, the large pretty butterflies we passed and whirled away the time imagining our own Grand Design inspired by houses we had just cycled by and it`s multitude of features (winning lottery tickets will be required!)
When we had walked far enough to confirm it was not the right way (well over an hour now) we headed back and found the actual entrance to the waterfalls. By comparison the walk along the manicured path was a little tame and the resulting view slightly underwhelming, but we sat with our well earned chocolate bars and enjoyed the view before turning back to start the long journey uphill.
As we peddled up hard we soon began to worry that this was not as achievable as first hoped. Our bikes creaked as we pushed against the pedals with the gears still changing on their own accord with a large clank and sudden alter in tension- OK when it became loose but difficult to control when it felt like we could not push through the cycle. My chain had fallen off 3 times when I started to loose all hope of getting back- especially as I was so keen to call home and let parents know how soon we´d be back with them. We cycled for about an hour and stopped to get refreshments, then a little further still when we sat and enjoyed some more of our drinks along with a stunning view of a church backed by the hills. The church must have been blessed as soon after we were sent a saviour- our taxi driver from the previous day. For just 3 pounds he put his seats down, loaded the bikes and their riders and ferried us up what seemed like a very long and steep distance back to town. Still, Blakey got him to drop us a little further down the road and peddled 50 metres or so to the tour office for a dramatic brake scrunch and impression that we ha d not cheated at all. The owner was utterly shocked- most people bring them back in taxis!
So our last night in Samaipata involved phone calls home that were met with satisfying and touching excitement followed by what felt like a splash out meal in a lovely restaurant. We enjoyed delicious food at our candle lit table with a large jug of fresh lemonade and shared
an indulgent pudding all for 10 pounds. It felt great, to be so excited about going home and yet to have such a brilliant few days in this gorgeous town. We are so lucky to be having so much fun!
Monday 1 March 2010
Cruz-ing on
Getting on board the Expresso Oriental, otherwise known as the Death Train, wasn´t the best sounding mode of transport to enter our next country, Bolivia. It´s not quite clear why it was named this, but from what we heard it´s from a time when passengers would prefer to sit on the roof to avoid links with the dodgy cargo they were smuggling. Back then the train would often be so full of "goods" that it would derail itself and a handful of the passengers would fly to their graves. Looking around at the amusing safety notices it seems that jumping from carriage to carriage via the windows as opposed to the doors isn´t allowed anymore.
If it wasn´t the train that was going to kill us (particularly as we sat obediently in our chairs, in a carriage) then perhaps it was the swarm of smiling mosquitoes trapped inside with us having a feeding frenzy going from one person to the next. After Laura had clapped with extreme precision over the majority of the buzzing bloodsuckers my next fear was that the Julio Iglesias DVD was going to stay on repeat for the entire journey like some form of horrific Chinese torture. After one hour´s worth of the most painfully cheesey budget music videos full of the middle aged crooner surrounded by swarms of attractive teenage girls bursting with emotion (obviously brought forth by the power of his music) it came to an abrupt end and we were subjected to what at first looked like a thrilling British movie. To our disappointment not only was it tragically dubbed but it was strangely drenched in reverb that gave the impression we were travelling through a never ending underground tunnel.
None of the problems mentioned so far were that bad really and we were actually finding it quite pleasurable to be part of such an experience- in fact we were more bemused than anything. The most irritating part of the journey was the rather obese (to put it politely) lady in front of me who reclined in her apparently broken chair to rest her weight nicely on my knee caps. She then took to swaying her hand behind her head which led to me getting touched up every so often inches away from my manhood! I´ll forgive her though, as she did have a very cute, cool baby boy who kept us entertained for a large part of the trip (which we disguised as keeping him amused!). He kept jumping over the seat and pretending to shoot us with his finger and everytime we fell back in our chairs with a look of pain he would laugh hysterically. He was quite the ladies man too as he bashfully looked up at Laura and blew her kisses.
For the rest of the journey the only other niggles were the jolts the train would make as it chugged over what felt like tracks made of rocks and every time we had to stop at a station a group of women would get on board and pace up and down the isle selling sticks of greasy meat that smelt like dog.
I certainly had one night´s sleep that I wouldn´t forget in a long while but the next morning as we pulled up in Santa Cruz station I was just pleased to have lived to tell the tale. Within a couple of minutes walk we had found a hotel charging a delghtful 3 pounds a person for a room that included ensuite and cable TV (including channels full if some very uncensored hardcore afternoon romping!)
Wandering around the streets the nearby neighbour came across a lot more run down and industrial than expected and at first we struggled to find a place to eat breakfast that looked even vaguely appealing. Most street vendors sold their precooked food along the road in plastic cabinets with the odd fly or two gracing the inside. With nothing else on offer we settled for a cafe with a lovely smiling lady stood behind a small collection of tasty looking cakes and fresh egg buns. Two of those egg buns with some chunky mugs of very satisfying cofee later and it had only cost us one pound for the lot! Bolivia might be the first country since Asia where we manage to save some money- or at least stick to our budget!
With not much else to see for now we returned to our hotel and checked our map to find out why there was a distinct lack of attractions around. It appeared we had booked in to accomodation a good taxi ride from the beauty of Santa Cruz´s central plaza. It really didn´t matter and we planned to head for the centre of town for dinner later in the afternoon but first we went for a rest. Laura indulged in a well over due luxurious wash (and, to tell the truth, shave- there are elements to travelling that neither of us find so glamorous!!) I chose to create an impressive lake of saliva on my pillow for the next few hours instead.
That evening we caught a taxi over to a very sophisticated looking part of Bolivia´s largest city. We were greeted with the sight of a pristine plaza overflowing with lush green trees that were shading the locals as they got their shoes shined. The dinner we ate in a cafe right in front of the beautiful cathedral was superb and the evening quickly crept in as we relaxed after our train wreck of a journey here. We decided to walk back and save the one pound taxi fare, having studied the route to get here. After a good hour of wandering round and getting completely lost we found our room and were asleep within minutes.
With everything so far being as cheap as chips we headed out to find out more about a tour to the Jesuit Missions. We waited for a lengthy half hour sat in an office as hot as a sauna to be quoted 160 each for a days trip to see a church. We weren´t sure when we thought it was in Bolivianos (the equivalent of 16 pounds) but had a very quick answer when we were told it was actually US dollars! Instead we left and headed for a park the Lonely Planet had described as being a nice place to relax and paddle boats around the lagoon. We arrived at what looked like a prison yard, filled with concrete, surrounded by a metal cage and swarming with police. It didn´t look like much fun.
Our last hope was to visit the local zoo- but our experience of "animal welfare" in some other underfunded countries meant we weren´t holding our breath. The chance of breathing in any oxygen at all would have been greatly appreciated as we took a micro to the zoo with a driver saving up for something special with the 10p he made from each passenger that boarded the little mini van- the amount of us squeezed in there may have been a world record attempt.
For one pound each we could enter what from outside looked like a little brickhouse that might have some parrots and a couple of snakes if we were lucky. Once we stepped through the gates though it was like entering a tardis- this was going to take us all day to get around. To our delight the zoo had been set up to showcase local South American wildlife and to educate about their welfare and endangered status. The animals looked in great condition wih a decent amount of space to jump, swing or slither around. One of our favourite parts was a truly massive cage that had so much vegetation inside that it disguised the fact we were actually in a zoo. Even better was the mixed collection of wildlife that were allowed to wander freely in our path, leading to some fantastic close encounters. Our first meeting was a fast paced tortoise who kept chasing us and snapping with his mouth when we got to close with our camera. We spotted all types of animals living amongst the greenery from colourful parrots, weird nosed ducks and twig legged flamingoes- though our greatest surprise came when we noticed the amount of wildlife outside the cage. Animals from the wild had chosen to come and live here too, so whilst we stood inside the cage a family of monkeys were swinging from the branches of a nearby tree outside and on to the the high roof of the cage, annoying the parrots. As if that wasn´t enough excitement our first sighting of a sloth crawling eerily above us had is in spasms of joy!
We tore ourselves away from this wonderous tropical area and the moment we stepped outside to walk to the next sight we came face to face with a sloth who was being taken away from a group of rheas it was bothering. Laura asked to take a photo and instead ended up holding this insanely weird creature that wouldn´t look out of place as a Star Wars extra. I too then had my hands under its hairy armpits whilst the sloth swayed its sharp claws around at a snail´s pace. It was a real highlight holding something that I only realised exsisted a few days ago (despite the number of times I have seen Ice Age!)
We spent hours continuing around one of the best zoos we have ever been too getting hyper over seeing anteaters, jaguars and all sorts of animals we hadn´t got to spot during our time in the Pantanal. Eventually we left and after another thoroughly enjoyable dinner bed called. It had been a great day in the end.
We were starting to feel that our adventures in Rio and on safari were catching up with us the next day and Laura had a bit of a cold, so we decided to have a day of doing nothing much other than calling home to wish Bryony a Happy Birthday, catch up on blogs and watch some crappy TV (cable offer English language channels!!)
After a well deserved rest we attempted to get on a bus to Samaipata. It took around two hours of being pointed in different directions to finally find our transport but soon we were on our way. We had the pleasure of sitting next to a gorgeous looking girl with sweety stained teeth and a "I love flowers" Tshirt. This young princess wanted attention and started a nice game of slapping our thighs and kicking our ankles which she found very funny indeed. As the journey progressed she moved from scratching, to pinching and finally to to biting whilst her mum paid not the slightest bit of attention. The naughty girl finally behaved herself after a teenage kid pointed towards his belt and whispered something threatening. Towards the end of the journey we realised that the lady sat near us wasn´t the girl´s mum- she was actually travelling with her grandmother who was sat at the front of the bus making her behaviour far more understandable though no more desirable. I was very grateful to escape her when we finally arrived in Samaipata.
If it wasn´t the train that was going to kill us (particularly as we sat obediently in our chairs, in a carriage) then perhaps it was the swarm of smiling mosquitoes trapped inside with us having a feeding frenzy going from one person to the next. After Laura had clapped with extreme precision over the majority of the buzzing bloodsuckers my next fear was that the Julio Iglesias DVD was going to stay on repeat for the entire journey like some form of horrific Chinese torture. After one hour´s worth of the most painfully cheesey budget music videos full of the middle aged crooner surrounded by swarms of attractive teenage girls bursting with emotion (obviously brought forth by the power of his music) it came to an abrupt end and we were subjected to what at first looked like a thrilling British movie. To our disappointment not only was it tragically dubbed but it was strangely drenched in reverb that gave the impression we were travelling through a never ending underground tunnel.
None of the problems mentioned so far were that bad really and we were actually finding it quite pleasurable to be part of such an experience- in fact we were more bemused than anything. The most irritating part of the journey was the rather obese (to put it politely) lady in front of me who reclined in her apparently broken chair to rest her weight nicely on my knee caps. She then took to swaying her hand behind her head which led to me getting touched up every so often inches away from my manhood! I´ll forgive her though, as she did have a very cute, cool baby boy who kept us entertained for a large part of the trip (which we disguised as keeping him amused!). He kept jumping over the seat and pretending to shoot us with his finger and everytime we fell back in our chairs with a look of pain he would laugh hysterically. He was quite the ladies man too as he bashfully looked up at Laura and blew her kisses.
For the rest of the journey the only other niggles were the jolts the train would make as it chugged over what felt like tracks made of rocks and every time we had to stop at a station a group of women would get on board and pace up and down the isle selling sticks of greasy meat that smelt like dog.
I certainly had one night´s sleep that I wouldn´t forget in a long while but the next morning as we pulled up in Santa Cruz station I was just pleased to have lived to tell the tale. Within a couple of minutes walk we had found a hotel charging a delghtful 3 pounds a person for a room that included ensuite and cable TV (including channels full if some very uncensored hardcore afternoon romping!)
Wandering around the streets the nearby neighbour came across a lot more run down and industrial than expected and at first we struggled to find a place to eat breakfast that looked even vaguely appealing. Most street vendors sold their precooked food along the road in plastic cabinets with the odd fly or two gracing the inside. With nothing else on offer we settled for a cafe with a lovely smiling lady stood behind a small collection of tasty looking cakes and fresh egg buns. Two of those egg buns with some chunky mugs of very satisfying cofee later and it had only cost us one pound for the lot! Bolivia might be the first country since Asia where we manage to save some money- or at least stick to our budget!
With not much else to see for now we returned to our hotel and checked our map to find out why there was a distinct lack of attractions around. It appeared we had booked in to accomodation a good taxi ride from the beauty of Santa Cruz´s central plaza. It really didn´t matter and we planned to head for the centre of town for dinner later in the afternoon but first we went for a rest. Laura indulged in a well over due luxurious wash (and, to tell the truth, shave- there are elements to travelling that neither of us find so glamorous!!) I chose to create an impressive lake of saliva on my pillow for the next few hours instead.
That evening we caught a taxi over to a very sophisticated looking part of Bolivia´s largest city. We were greeted with the sight of a pristine plaza overflowing with lush green trees that were shading the locals as they got their shoes shined. The dinner we ate in a cafe right in front of the beautiful cathedral was superb and the evening quickly crept in as we relaxed after our train wreck of a journey here. We decided to walk back and save the one pound taxi fare, having studied the route to get here. After a good hour of wandering round and getting completely lost we found our room and were asleep within minutes.
With everything so far being as cheap as chips we headed out to find out more about a tour to the Jesuit Missions. We waited for a lengthy half hour sat in an office as hot as a sauna to be quoted 160 each for a days trip to see a church. We weren´t sure when we thought it was in Bolivianos (the equivalent of 16 pounds) but had a very quick answer when we were told it was actually US dollars! Instead we left and headed for a park the Lonely Planet had described as being a nice place to relax and paddle boats around the lagoon. We arrived at what looked like a prison yard, filled with concrete, surrounded by a metal cage and swarming with police. It didn´t look like much fun.
Our last hope was to visit the local zoo- but our experience of "animal welfare" in some other underfunded countries meant we weren´t holding our breath. The chance of breathing in any oxygen at all would have been greatly appreciated as we took a micro to the zoo with a driver saving up for something special with the 10p he made from each passenger that boarded the little mini van- the amount of us squeezed in there may have been a world record attempt.
For one pound each we could enter what from outside looked like a little brickhouse that might have some parrots and a couple of snakes if we were lucky. Once we stepped through the gates though it was like entering a tardis- this was going to take us all day to get around. To our delight the zoo had been set up to showcase local South American wildlife and to educate about their welfare and endangered status. The animals looked in great condition wih a decent amount of space to jump, swing or slither around. One of our favourite parts was a truly massive cage that had so much vegetation inside that it disguised the fact we were actually in a zoo. Even better was the mixed collection of wildlife that were allowed to wander freely in our path, leading to some fantastic close encounters. Our first meeting was a fast paced tortoise who kept chasing us and snapping with his mouth when we got to close with our camera. We spotted all types of animals living amongst the greenery from colourful parrots, weird nosed ducks and twig legged flamingoes- though our greatest surprise came when we noticed the amount of wildlife outside the cage. Animals from the wild had chosen to come and live here too, so whilst we stood inside the cage a family of monkeys were swinging from the branches of a nearby tree outside and on to the the high roof of the cage, annoying the parrots. As if that wasn´t enough excitement our first sighting of a sloth crawling eerily above us had is in spasms of joy!
We tore ourselves away from this wonderous tropical area and the moment we stepped outside to walk to the next sight we came face to face with a sloth who was being taken away from a group of rheas it was bothering. Laura asked to take a photo and instead ended up holding this insanely weird creature that wouldn´t look out of place as a Star Wars extra. I too then had my hands under its hairy armpits whilst the sloth swayed its sharp claws around at a snail´s pace. It was a real highlight holding something that I only realised exsisted a few days ago (despite the number of times I have seen Ice Age!)
We spent hours continuing around one of the best zoos we have ever been too getting hyper over seeing anteaters, jaguars and all sorts of animals we hadn´t got to spot during our time in the Pantanal. Eventually we left and after another thoroughly enjoyable dinner bed called. It had been a great day in the end.
We were starting to feel that our adventures in Rio and on safari were catching up with us the next day and Laura had a bit of a cold, so we decided to have a day of doing nothing much other than calling home to wish Bryony a Happy Birthday, catch up on blogs and watch some crappy TV (cable offer English language channels!!)
After a well deserved rest we attempted to get on a bus to Samaipata. It took around two hours of being pointed in different directions to finally find our transport but soon we were on our way. We had the pleasure of sitting next to a gorgeous looking girl with sweety stained teeth and a "I love flowers" Tshirt. This young princess wanted attention and started a nice game of slapping our thighs and kicking our ankles which she found very funny indeed. As the journey progressed she moved from scratching, to pinching and finally to to biting whilst her mum paid not the slightest bit of attention. The naughty girl finally behaved herself after a teenage kid pointed towards his belt and whispered something threatening. Towards the end of the journey we realised that the lady sat near us wasn´t the girl´s mum- she was actually travelling with her grandmother who was sat at the front of the bus making her behaviour far more understandable though no more desirable. I was very grateful to escape her when we finally arrived in Samaipata.
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