Bolivia

Welcome to Bolivia:

Salar de Uyuni:

We prepared for a tour of the Salt Flats by meeting up with the two others who we would be going with (4 days in a jeep together), eating pizza and getting smashed. There was a blackout in Uyuni following a sand storm so little else to do by candle-light except glug cheap wine and talk crap. Fantastic pizzas though.


The following day we set out with our guide Jimmy (pronounced Himey) and the cook (never got her name). To call Jimmy a guide might be a bit of an exaggeration as he was pretty coy with regard to information. He was quite young and seemed to feel it was a bit uncool to know so much about the regional geography so only tossed us a handful of words over the 4 day period. He loved his jeep though and I saw him clean the engine about 8 times. He was pretty popular with the ladies and wherever we stopped along the route he gravitated towards the local young females - I saw one of the ladies he was chasing leave his room at about 6am on the morning of the third day. He was much more animated in his descriptions that day. While Jimmy was quiet the cook said nothing for 4 days. She communicated principally through differing innotations of an "ah" sound but even with this severe economy of words she managed to express most essential emotions and responses. What she lacked in conversation she made up for in culinary skills.

I´ll let the pictures do the talking for the tour suffice to say that it was an amazing 4 days of bumpy roads and shifting landscapes and we got along really well with Jonny and Flick.

Unfortunately on day 3 I dropped my camera and chipped the lens. Tragedy - is going to require a lot of photoshop action upon return to remove the splodge from the photos. Should be able to get it fixed before then, but still there´s a lot of photos to rehash. Anyway, this is a pretty big album so don´t attempt it on a pc with a slow connection...
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.70xkelp6&x=1&y=-x6n40h


Potosi:

The day after we arrived in Potosi the Bolivian elections were held so the place drifted between deathly quiet and chaos. The winner was some former farmer with the slogan "Death to gringos". Charming.

The primary reason for being in Potosi was for a tour of the local silver / tin / zinc mine. We did this in a group with others that we´d met at the hostel... great bunch of people who we continued to travel with after the tour...

Before entering the mine itself we hit the miners market where our guide explained to us the lives of the miners (brief but well paid relative to the Bolivian average) and we got to try the miners' favourite tipple (a 90% proof liquor - wasn´t too bad actually). We bought gifts of fizzy drinks, bags of coco leaves, cigarettes and dynamite to give to the miners and then headed to the processing plant to see the metals being extracted from the rock. The attention to safety was minimal; we coasted along the slippery production line and were all encouraged to dangle precariously over the massive grinding cogs and peer into the grimy abyss in search of glinting spots below.

We were kitted out with helmets, boots and overalls and then entered the mine - walking along the track that the trolleys run along so frequently having to press ourselves against a wall while a rickety old cart sped past witha couple of miners hanging off the back. Our guide was really informative having himself been a miner for 10 years before somebody made him an offer and he 'escaped'. The other miners didn´t seem to resent his change in status - he said that this was because he now earned half what they did and that they considered him (and mocked him for being) less of a man. Neither did they seem to resent our presence or their being exhibited for someone else´s profit - apparently the gifts that we brought appeased any qualms left over but for the most part they are incredibly proud of their status and job.

Conditions were foul: The heat was intense on most levels; the air was thick with dust and no ventilation system exists there (within miuntes of entering we were coughing and hacking and covering noses and mouths - could see why most miners die of silicosis within 10 years of entering the mine); the tunnels were mostly no more than 5 feet high and in some places we crawled along on elbows, there were no safety measures in place.

After 3 hours we were glad to emerge filthy into the fresh air. Our finale was to creat some bombs using the (feely available and unregulated) dynamite. Then we blew up some rubble.

Photos are here:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.38ar7ky2&x=1&y=t6beb0


La Paz:



I´m not recommending La Paz. I guess it´s a good place to party and Jim and I had a massive night out with some Irish guys that we´d met. 8 of us travelled up together from Potosi after the mine tour and a couple of nights of boozing were enough - it wasn´t long before most of us were feeling some form of illness. A special mention should go to Jeroen our Dutch friend for getting so trashed on his birthday that despite being in bed for 11pm he had to cancel a 2 day mountain hike that he´d booked.

In the couple of days before Christmas I managed to do the Death Road cycle and visit some pre-columbian ruins at a place called Tihuanaca.


The cycle was awesome - probably the biggest adrenalin rush of my life. Over 67k you descend 3000m tearing along a dirt track no wider than a bus at most points. Due to the weather we couldn´t see over the edge when we set out - on the right was the rock face and on the left were banks of cloud obscuring a drop of up to 1000m. We raced without inhibition for the first half only growing more cautious as we dropped below the cloud line. Here we got a better idea of the fate that awaited us if we were to make a mistake and by that point most of us had had a close call of one kind or another.

Looking down into the mist and jungle, one hand on the break, the detritus of fallen trucks and busses was easily visible. About 30 go over per year and nobody bothers to collect them as it´s too much hassle. A couple of weeks before we did the road a French girl had gone over on her bike. We all became more cautious after a collision involving Jim and Red. Most of us had backed off a bit but had they continued to tear each other up until they both came flying off. I rounded a corner to see Jim lying about a foot from the ledge, catatonic. We got him up in the end but he didn´t get back on the bike afterwards. Actually, I should probably say "couldn´t" - he was pretty banged up.

Tihuanaca:

Writing this now I can´t remember whose idea it was to go to Tihuanaca. Anna blames me but I think she was pretty keen too. Max was certainly influential and in hindsight it was probably his fault because he was a turd. So the three of us went (Max and Anna were part of the group who had travelled up from Potosi - the rest had either left by this point or were bed-ridden). 72k out of La Paz, 3 hours by local bus to what will possibly be the next big thing in ruined ancient cities of South America. I can´t confirm that yet because excavation hasn´t really started... So we arrived and paid an extortionate fee for entry to look around a mound (albeit a mound that it is projected will one day be a fascinating traveller´s mecca). Relations were strained on the way back as we discovered that Max, who had previously only been mildly irritating, was actually a total arse.

Pictures from the Death Road and Tihuanaca are here:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.c0t4wcne&x=1&y=z62foe


Christmas:

For Christmas we checked into the 5* Plaza Hotel for 2 nights for a bit of luxury. Did a lot of sleeping and hung out on Chrismas day with Jeroen and Anna drinking "champagne" (it was only 3 quid per bottle) and eating Quality Street and After Eights - the only foodstuffs that we could find that were reminiscent of a traditional family Christmas in the UK.

Argentina again through to Bolivia

Crossing the Andes from Valparaiso:

The night before we left Valparaiso we ended up going out with a couple of people to a bar and blew our remaining pesos (inc. taxi money) on beer. So we had to get up extra early to walk to the bus station on the other side of town. We´d originally booked our tickets for an overnight journey but rescheduled upon advice that crossing the Andes involved spectacular scenery obviously invisible by night. Unfortunately, effects of lager and the late night meant that I slept through most of the journey.

Mendoza:

The area surrounding Mendoza supplies about 90% of Argentina´s wine. Supposedly there´s some good treking and reasonable rafting too but we had limited time so just opted to do a wine tasting tour and spend the other day shopping.

Plastered:

We were lucky to get a decent group for the tasting and had a great time. After visiting a vineyard and then a bodega (place without vineyard where they process grapes) we went to a small cellar for more tasting and a meal. The Argentinians that we´d met were really proud of their produce and we got to taste some award-winning wines, particularly at the first stop vineyard. I won´t pretend to know much about it - as long as it doesn´t make me retch and it isn´t too warm then I´m generally happy. Instructions on tasting just left me a bit confused as I failed to pick up the red berry marmalade, undertones of oregano, wafts of new leather... Anyway, without wanting to sound too churlish we´d knocked off a fair bit of it by the time we tumbled back into the bus so all were happy. Though I´m not sure if the end of an argument with some Dutch people about responsible toursim was entirely amicable.

Salta:

Lovely place - won´t bore with the details. Here are some photos though of Mendoza and Salta:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.52yoi78i&x=1&y=-lv90tj

Salta to Uyuni:

All in all it hasn´t been the experience I was expecting so far as it´s all been a bit easy. (Again, I´m being careful what I wish for.) Have just crossed from Argentina into Bolivia though where the going should be tougher.

After Salta we travelled to a tiny town called Uyuni, the jumping off point for 4 day tour round the salt flats and lagunas and volcanos and stuff. We booked a tour. When done we´re heading up to a place called Potosi for a night just to spend the day visiting a mine - the medieval style mines where the life expectancy is 45 due to poor conditions and alcoholism. So that should be a laugh. They welcome visitors to broaden awareness of their situation. You´re expected to take gifts of dynamite and coco leaves.

Bolivia immediately felt a lot more basic than Argentina. We´re gonna splurge for Chrismas, hopefully will be in La Paz by then and I´m eying up El Hotel Presidente. Might be in a better position to afford it also as it´s dirt cheap here. People seem really friendly and basic is good I guess as it feels a bit more rough and ready. No hot shower for Jim this morning but that´s only ´cos he couldn´t work out how to work it.
Dirt cheap (in pounds):
Yesterday´s lunch for two = 1
Acom (twin room, shared bath) = 2.50
4 day tour of salt flats etc in 4x4 (inc. food, acom) = 40pp

Had a mixed day travelling through from Agrentina. It´s hard to assimilate the amazing things that you see and do with the sometimes extreme lack of comfort. Occasionally you decide that it isn´t worth it (I´m finding this is usually driven by ill-health like a dodgy gut which fortunately I´ve been able to avoid overall) but mostly it all just contributes to the unusual experience. So while it might seem like my description of the events is negative that´s not how it´s lived.

Anyway, up at 4.30 in the rain to get to the bus station in Salta (Argentina). 8 hours on a standard bus (that means that it´s cheap, and there´s no legroom and because it´s cheap it´s the one that all the locals take and it stops everywhere and is full of kids). Arrived at the border just about (had a flat tire for the last couple of hours of journey) and walked across which was surprisingly easy. Bolivian women wear bowler hats and frilly skirts and withouth exception walk with a stoop - a world away from across the border where Argentinian women wear Gucci and walk with poise and grace.

Then started to walk to the train station. Was about 12.30 by then and the only train up to Uyuni for the next 4 days was leaving at 3.30. Anyway, had to abandon walking (is only 1k) because we started to feel sick - discovered later that we´d ascended to nearly 4000m. Got to train station to find ticket office shut but it reopened later and after much hassle we were able to get tickets to a place called Oruro which is actually several hundred k north of Uyuni but they said that we could get off early. They have a strange ticketing system that works by carriage so when the carriage for Uyuni is full you have to buy a ticket to the next destination and then get off early. Not exactly a massive issue as the tickets were only 7 pounds each for the 9 hour journey. This was standard class though - so again destined to be with the locals. And it was pretty rough. They sell tickets for kids under 8 at 60% price if they sit on parents laps so you get a carriage for 30 that actually contains 50 people and half of them are crying and crapping themselves. I wish I was joking. I had an aisle seat at the back and on my right was an old Bolivian man (very friendly but gave up on the chat after he realised that my Spanish isn´t all that) and on my left were two old women with two kids. The kids were really sweet but obviously about as happy to be on the cramped train as we were. Still they didn´t cry or moan that much and didn´t run about screaming like they would in the UK. And they have less issue with personal space and are friendly so Jimbo is sat in front of them and they´re patting his head and dribbling on him and then they´re leaning all over me and trying to poke me in the ear while giggling. I´ve almost made it sound pleasant. It wasn´t. Dragged ourselves off the train at half midnight and were accosted by lady from the hostel that we´d earmarked to stay at which was pretty lucky. Good beds and I feel much better slept now.

All of that said, the scenery between Salta and here is amazing. On the Argentinian side you ascend through the Andes and enormous mulitcoloured rockfaces that shift from lime green to red to white. Barren landscape is punctuated by the occasional cacti field or huddle of llamas being shepherded by kids to some out-of-sight destination. After the border it´s similar but more desolate. Sitting on the train we passed through the area where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid spent their last few weeks pursued by militia. Landscape combines dustball strewn mountains populated by 3m high cacti with lush valleys where they´re growing god-knows-what in abundance. Throughout the journeys you pass these one horse towns that seem to be made of dust, all of the buildings constructed from local clay/mud, some even built into the hills in that kind of Star Wars way, everything is one colour: the hills, the roads, the buildings. No coca cola signs yet.

Chile - Puerto Montt to Valparaiso

Armpit:

We were advised against staying in Puerto Montt - apparently it´s just a grim, semi-industrial hole. So we ended up heading to Pucon, further north in Chile, where someone had recommended climbing Villaricca Volcano and hiking around the lakes. Reading about the climb while on the bus, it began to sound a bit more serious than we had imagined - guide essential, only possible weather permitting, bring own crampons and ice-axe, that kind of thing.

More photos here:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.cp5nwwsy&x=1&y=-j7hikv

Impending doom:

It was a beautiful journey up through Chile´s Lake District, skirting round vast, motionless lakes, through lush farmland and over ragged peaks. It was marred only by repeated screening of Final Destination 2 in the bus. (They showed it 3 times in a row.) For the uninitiated this film revolves around the concept that death has a list and when it´s your time to go it´ll get you but you can cheat it by reading the ´signs´and staying clear of what they predict. It isn´t very good. By the time I got off the bus I was determining prophetic symbols of my demise in every glance from a workman on scaffolding and in every dog´s bark. Lot´s of dogs here. Again, dozily traipsing the streets, nonchalantly stopping traffic and rarely issuing a bark.

Bragger:

We went back to a hostel with with a pleasant chap called Claudio who accosted us in the bus station - he seemed nice and the facilities were ok and it was cheap for Chile. It turned out later that the hostel was full of very odd people, the walls were made of paper and Claudio was a sociopath - it was probably the weirdest place we´ve found so far. As well as running the hostel he was an official tour guide so as soon as we were settled he began his sales patter... "Mine ees not the cheapest climb in the town but ees the best. We have best equipment which ees all new and I am fastest guide so we leave early in the morning and be first to top of volcano. You lucky because ees raining for 2 weeks and there are no tours so you arrive just at the right time but there ees people who are waiting 2 weeks to climb and it will be very busy so ees best to get up fast with me." It might have been this that made the hostel so strange - the people there were going stir-crazy after having waited so long for the climb.

Ignoring Claudio´s guff we went with a cheap and friendly Israeli company who seemed competent enough. Claudio became pretty tetchy when he realised later that we weren´t booking with him. It seemed that everybody else in the hostel had. But we ignored him and got an early night in preparation for the 6am rise to climb. I think that ear plugs are the most useful things that I´ve brought on this trip - while James unfortunately had to listen to the elderly Scandanavian gentlemen in the next room talking at the top of their voices until 1am (one of them also seemed to be marching around the room in boots), I was able to block them out.

Volcanoing:

It was harder than it looked zig-zagging up through the snow and ice, most of the way at a 45-60 degree angle. Started off freezing with no feeling in toes but pretty soon warmed up and shed layers - each tme emitting plumes of steam. It took our group of 8 about 5 hours to reach the summit. We passed Claudio about half way up struggling with a couple of greeting Canadians and we were the first to arrive at the top. Had about 20 mins before others started arriving which allowed us to wonder around in peace and admire the views. The volcano itself wasn´t up to much, just a bit of sulphurous smoking and the occasional burst of lava shooting out of a hole way down below. By the time we´d had lunch there were about 100 people milling around on the top. We headed down through thin clouds gathering about the volcano.

Descending was a bit quicker as our guide, Hernan, handed out rubber trousers and demonstrated how to slide down using the ice axe as a break. This was a lot of fun. The brake was essentially useless and only really served to start you spinning round. Either that or it ended up dug too far into the ice, almost wrenched your arm out or the socket and you lost it as you sped down. He took every run first and half the time just disappeared into mist from where you´d here a "next". So we just rattled down and generally managed to stop before toppling over anything too dangerous so that we could pick ourselves up and walk to the next downhill run. I was soaked through by the time we reached the bottom an hour later but contemplated doing the climb again for the sake of another descent.

Back at the hostel Claudio returned a couple of hours after us looking very red in the face. He´d neglected to use any protection and the sun was fierce all day (added to that there´s not much ozone layer down here). The rest of the hostel dwellers had similarly suffered, it looked pretty painful. I was ok with only a slightly burned left ear and a blistering burn on my right wrist that must have been caused by lava or something. Jim´s sunglasses had failed him and he´d burned his eyeballs. Judging from his description of the sensation it is as sore as it sounds.

Valparaiso:

We got a bus up to Valpariaso which is supposed to be the cultural capital of Chile. It´s a port, about half way up the country, set into the Andean foothills. It used to be thriving and grew rapidly until they opened the Panama canal when it went into decline. We spent a couple of fairly uneventful days there wondering around the suburbs (shanty towns) and eating home cooked meals comprised essentially of tomato, pasta and garlic. The highlight of the stay was probably a visit to Pablo Neruda´s house which was pleasant enough.

View more photos here (though they are a bit dull):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.96i97fde&x=1&y=-jl6zwi

Cruising

Booze Cruise:

We boarded the Navimag "party boat" in the evening on Thursday 24th and had a night on board before setting off up the coast early the next morning. That first night was pretty tame as people sussed out the surrounds and established sea legs. Jim and I had both opted for bottom bunks in the dorm of 22. We were expecting the worst - one big room with 22 rickety bunk beds and no space for luggage, one open bathroom to 44 people, grimey sheets - not sure why, just pesimists I guess. Actually it wasn't so bad as all the dorms were split into sections and you had 4 beds to a section which was a bit like a room without a door. There were lockers at the end of the beds and super viewing possibilities from the porthole, curtains across the open sides of the spotless beds. All good really if a little cramped but actually I quite like that. I´ve always fancied staying in one of those pod hotels in Japan...

Rabbit warren:

The bags had been taken onto the boat earlier by porters and when we got to our allocated spaces only our bags were sitting in the 4-bed space. So we assumed that we're hit the jackpot and bagged a section to ourselves as no one had wanted to take the upper bunks that we'd left free. After a wonder around the boat and quick drink in the "pub" we headed off to bed and were disappointed to find an old, bearded Spaniard unpacking. James was more put out than I was as the guy seemed to have assumed his lower bunk. I argued with him for a while but he spoke no English and the conversation was tough. He was adamant that Jim's bed was his and also claimed that there was some Australian girl in the bed that I occupied. Chance would be a fine thing, I thought. Have picked up some cuss words and was about to make first use of them or just kick his smug, hairy face when Jim pointed out that we were in the wrong dorm. There was a general spirit of friendship on the boat with everyone getting along but he didn't speak to us again for the whole trip despite the giggling apology that I issued as we shuffled off to try to find the right dorm. I never really got to grips with the layout of the boat - 4 identical dorms in a row with little signposting. Was a great relief to get to our beds and discover nobody else had moved in. Anyway, there was a point to all that - the layout of the boat was confusing.

Routine:

The schedule for the next few days was fairly repetitive. Breakfast 8-9, Lunch 1230-1330, Dinner 1930-2030. A few organised activities in between like documentaries about Chile and movies, plus bingo on the last night. Otherwise we pretty much just read and slept and played cards. Did a fair bit of drinking too but the boat didn't exactly live up to its reputation as party central.

It rained nearly constantly so the opportunities to get out on deck were limited. Felt a bit weird being on deck anyway as there were freights on the back of the boat carrying cattle and horses so while drifting peacefully through the fjords and along past icebergs and glaciers you couldn´t escape the feeling that you were on a farm. Having said that, this was the first time in weeks that we hadn´t been pursued by dogs everywhere we went.

The boat docked once, on the second morning, for us to get off and visit what would appear to be the final resting place of a once thriving indigineous community. They´d shown a documentary about them the previous day. The community currently stands at 12 pure-blood individuals after a century of turmoil prompted by Spanish colonisation, decimation of their way of life and environment, subsequent despair and alcoholism... cheery stuff.

Hello Sailor:

What might have otherwise have been a pretty event-free journey was made more "interesting" by an Aussie couple that we met. Sheila and Bruce (not their real names) joined us just before dinner on the first day and we played cards with them while drinking. It turned out that Sheila was the Australian girl that the bearded Spaniard (apparently a big snorer) had been referring to during the argument. They said that he didn't speak to them either. Anyway, we got pretty trashed and had a fun night. I think there might have been some dancing. I staggered to bed around half one, paralytic.

I was woken up by Sheila climbing into my bed. I was confused at first what with her having a boyfriend somewhere nearby and me having made my situation clear. Plus, it wasn´t like there had been any flirting and I didn´t find her attractive so can´t imagine that I was unwittingly emitting a subconscious vibe or whatever.

I was about to issue a stern rebuke when I remembered the mistake that I'd made previously with the wrong dorm and the fact that her bed was in the same spot. This time I was pretty sure that I had the right bed because I was lying on my book so I figured the error must be hers. Those thoughts crossed my mind quickly and I think I was about to verbally confirm my conclusion and suggest that she reassess her environs when she tried to put her tongue in my mouth. Be careful what you wish for, I thought.

I resisted and she persisted for a while. We had a small wrestle, and then she was gone. A few seconds later I started doubting that it had happened. I dropped off again and awoke to much the same a bit later. This time I was really confused, like maybe she´d mistaken my attempts to push her off and twist away as passion-fuelled fumbling. I half expected her to say "Be gentle with me darling".

The next day it took me a while to remember and even then I wasn´t sure of myself. Later Sheila apologised. But she was quite full-on for the rest of the journey and made everyone feel uncomfortable. Eventually, on the last evening, Bruce had had enough and by the time we got off in the morning he wasn't speaking to her. Shame as he seemed like a really nice guy. I got the impression this was a familiar situation for them both. Still, it made my journey an edgy one as I tried to evade comely glances and conversation. We exchanged email addresses but probably won´t keep in touch.


Wish I´d taken more photos of the boat and stuff but there was nothing too inspirational to prompt me. Here are a few...
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=9s5mjjy.93ymu00i&x=1&y=-ysx8jg