After 22 hours on a bus - albeit in relative comfort and having had much more sleep than in the previous several days (heating will do that for you) - I was amped to get out and off to my CS friend's house in Santiago. But first to check the internet for news on my flight home.
The volcanic ash in Chile had been making things difficult for me and a whole lot of other people, and I did not want another barrier preventing me from getting home. The whole ordeal with the borders in Bolivia had made me very keen indeed to get back to my family and friends, and feel the security of a 1st world country once again. I never thought I'd say this, but I missed home.
I was already at my wit's end... everything was tipping me over the edge. The poor English fella that was with me on the bus from Calama - Santiago had to deal with this. First stop, the internet cafe. Where I found out my flight was cancelled. 100%. Not flying. That was the first setback. I spent half an hour on hold with the flight company while a nice man tried to find me space on an alternative flight. With no luck. I was to call back later.
Then I called my CS friend, who said she would come to the bus station to pick me up. Finally, a stroke of good fortune! So me and M waited at the ticket area where we had arranged to meet, and grabbed a pretty friggin good burger to fill our famished bellies (there is only so much several 'snack packs' can do during a 22 hour bus ride). So we waited. And kept waiting. After some unsuccessful calls to O's phone, I started getting worried. Then we found out there were 2 bus terminals. Hmm.
Once at the OTHER bus terminal, me thoroughly sick of life, I tried to call from a public phone my CS friend, and eventually she ordered me a cab to her house. This meant I still had no address for her and just had to blindly wait on the street corner for someone to tap me on the shoulder and lead me to their car. Highly safe behaviour. There were already enuf freaky men staring at me. Which is funny because I thought such a civilised part of South America would warrant slightly more subtle behaviour from pervy men.
After waiting an extended period of time, I finally received the tap, and British M bid me farewell - I wonder if he also thought it strange to walk off with a random man to a random car destined for an unknown address? Well, if he did he didn't show it!
The ride to O's house was not entirely smooth sailing. He got us completely lost and when he eventually found the correct house, I was again on the verge of losing it. That's what made the welcome even warmer at O's... her Belgian BF Y took my bag straight away and ushered me into the kitchen, where they were all just finishing off burridos and beer. Oh, the comforts of a family home! I devoured a burrido and downed a beer, and some wine, and managed to only cry once in front of them. I was doing pretty good.
I tried the airline again, but it was constantly busy, so I headed to the shower instead... oh, sweet mercy that shower was good. I must have smelt something savage when I walked in the door, and to be able to wash my body... oh, just those simple things in life can be so rewarding when you are deprived of them... And then I crawled into bed, set my alarm for 5am to call the airline again, and fell promptly to sleep.
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Kissing Chilean soil
Yet another early wake-up greeted us as we prepared to catch the 6:30ish bus to the border. The night before we had worried it wouldn´t have space so we had forced the agency to call ahead and warn the bus it had 11 tourists to pick up in this random village, and so they went off and returned promising it would have space.
Well, it didn´t.
All of us freezing to bits (again) out the front of the hostel, me pissed off from the fucking witch who owned the hostel trying to charge me an insane exchange rate because "it was difficult" for her to change US dollars. Like our fucking situation was any less difficult! Try to tell me to be more prepared next time, won´t you... What a cow.
So the bus is completely full. They start shaking their heads at us, telling us "no, we thought it was 6 people, 5 people, 3 people..." More lies. Most of us girls just stand there crying. At one point the bus staff suggest we could put the backpacks on the roof and us in the luggage compartment - what a joke - and then FINALLY they relent and let us stand in the aisle. The Brazilians stay behind, hoping to get a lift from a random old man from the village. I didn´t feel bad. I needed to get to Chile. Stat.
The people on the bus were pissed off we wasted so much of their time faffing around outside, but once they saw our tear-stained, exhausted, desperate faces, they softened a little. I was given the "seat" in the aisle from one lady, who then sat on her mother instead, and I heard R´s gf J discussing her plight with the ladies that worked on the bus. We were fast earning sympathy. And so we should, they charged us fucking double fare to be standing there.
At the border, it was a quick stamp n pay to get out of Bolivia, then onwards and upwards to Chile. Except that we waited what seemed like forever for the bus to arrive and then leave, it sorting out where to put baggage at the very last moment in true Bolivian style. Finally we were on the move, anxious to get out of no man´s land where we really had no identity, and into a more civilised country like Chile.
At the Chilean border, there were checks for fruits and animals parts, so I declared my favourite feather earring to no protest, and they took out the top 2 items of my backpack in their thorough search of all things illegal. Finding nothing, and probably tainting their own clothes with the stench of mine, they moved me on and I went back to the bus. Then I remembered about my moler tooth I still have in my handbag. I do wonder how that will go down once I reach Australian customs.
But before I boarded the bus, I kissed the ground. Just as I promised I would.
Then it was several more hours drive to Calama, where I hoped to get a bus straight to Santiago. The bus, as with the Jeep the day before, had not protection from the dust and so I was forced to breathe through my jumper most of the ride. I could feel a cough already from the English man in La Paz, I knew this dust would do nothing to stave it off.
We got to Calama around 5:30pm, with another gringo to the pack (an English guy also wanting to get to Santiago), and set off for the cash machines pronto. There, I found I had lost my UK debit card - fantastic - and it was too late to get money manually withdrawn from my account. More tears.
I hoped to be able to pay for my bus ticket with credit card, so I headed - with the Japanese lady, I, in our border-crossing group and English M in tow - to the other bus terminal. We got there and found tickets for a 10pm bus, going from another terminal still (how many terminals are needed in this friggin tiny town, I ask) and then relaxed. M paid me cash for using my card to pay for both tickets, so I now had money to eat with. But it was certainly not Bolivia anymore. This was civilisation. And civilisation meant more money. Dammit. The honeymoon period was over.
We ate and then headed to the other terminal to wait and find the internet. There, I checked my UK bank account, and it looked like the miniscule amount I had left had not been stolen so I now think I just forgot the card in the machine and it had been swallowed again. Nicely done, moron. But now I need to get another card to withdraw that last bit in Australia. What a mission.
And then we settled into our Salon Cama, first class, and boy-did-we-pay-for-it bus. We were in the special section at the bottom, away from the crying kids, bad smelling feet (although it was probably us that smelt) and a far cry from the -15 temps of the previous days. Comfort felt good. And it was to feel good for 22 hours. Even the Spanish dubbing of English films like The Gods Must Be Crazy 2 satisfied me. Nothing like a bit of education while I relaxed. Annnnnd lights out.
Well, it didn´t.
All of us freezing to bits (again) out the front of the hostel, me pissed off from the fucking witch who owned the hostel trying to charge me an insane exchange rate because "it was difficult" for her to change US dollars. Like our fucking situation was any less difficult! Try to tell me to be more prepared next time, won´t you... What a cow.
So the bus is completely full. They start shaking their heads at us, telling us "no, we thought it was 6 people, 5 people, 3 people..." More lies. Most of us girls just stand there crying. At one point the bus staff suggest we could put the backpacks on the roof and us in the luggage compartment - what a joke - and then FINALLY they relent and let us stand in the aisle. The Brazilians stay behind, hoping to get a lift from a random old man from the village. I didn´t feel bad. I needed to get to Chile. Stat.
The people on the bus were pissed off we wasted so much of their time faffing around outside, but once they saw our tear-stained, exhausted, desperate faces, they softened a little. I was given the "seat" in the aisle from one lady, who then sat on her mother instead, and I heard R´s gf J discussing her plight with the ladies that worked on the bus. We were fast earning sympathy. And so we should, they charged us fucking double fare to be standing there.
At the border, it was a quick stamp n pay to get out of Bolivia, then onwards and upwards to Chile. Except that we waited what seemed like forever for the bus to arrive and then leave, it sorting out where to put baggage at the very last moment in true Bolivian style. Finally we were on the move, anxious to get out of no man´s land where we really had no identity, and into a more civilised country like Chile.
At the Chilean border, there were checks for fruits and animals parts, so I declared my favourite feather earring to no protest, and they took out the top 2 items of my backpack in their thorough search of all things illegal. Finding nothing, and probably tainting their own clothes with the stench of mine, they moved me on and I went back to the bus. Then I remembered about my moler tooth I still have in my handbag. I do wonder how that will go down once I reach Australian customs.
But before I boarded the bus, I kissed the ground. Just as I promised I would.
Then it was several more hours drive to Calama, where I hoped to get a bus straight to Santiago. The bus, as with the Jeep the day before, had not protection from the dust and so I was forced to breathe through my jumper most of the ride. I could feel a cough already from the English man in La Paz, I knew this dust would do nothing to stave it off.
We got to Calama around 5:30pm, with another gringo to the pack (an English guy also wanting to get to Santiago), and set off for the cash machines pronto. There, I found I had lost my UK debit card - fantastic - and it was too late to get money manually withdrawn from my account. More tears.
I hoped to be able to pay for my bus ticket with credit card, so I headed - with the Japanese lady, I, in our border-crossing group and English M in tow - to the other bus terminal. We got there and found tickets for a 10pm bus, going from another terminal still (how many terminals are needed in this friggin tiny town, I ask) and then relaxed. M paid me cash for using my card to pay for both tickets, so I now had money to eat with. But it was certainly not Bolivia anymore. This was civilisation. And civilisation meant more money. Dammit. The honeymoon period was over.
We ate and then headed to the other terminal to wait and find the internet. There, I checked my UK bank account, and it looked like the miniscule amount I had left had not been stolen so I now think I just forgot the card in the machine and it had been swallowed again. Nicely done, moron. But now I need to get another card to withdraw that last bit in Australia. What a mission.
And then we settled into our Salon Cama, first class, and boy-did-we-pay-for-it bus. We were in the special section at the bottom, away from the crying kids, bad smelling feet (although it was probably us that smelt) and a far cry from the -15 temps of the previous days. Comfort felt good. And it was to feel good for 22 hours. Even the Spanish dubbing of English films like The Gods Must Be Crazy 2 satisfied me. Nothing like a bit of education while I relaxed. Annnnnd lights out.
Salt Flats extended...pt 1
Our driver had promised to meet us at 7:30am - the first of many lies - so we all got up and readied ourselves in the cold. Having still had no running water and having to flush the toilet with icicle-thick water despite paying the kind of money you´d expect more for, none of us were washed or in any way content with life, but we threw on more layers and breathed in for the onset of cold that was set to greet us as soon as we stepped out of our beds.
Then we waited. Grew anxious. And waited some more. The hostel owner told us not to expect much before the border opened for business, first 9am then 10am, then it was closed for the day. But wait, maybe not. Was that... oh, no...uhhh.... shit. Communication at an absolute minimum out here in the middle of NOWHERE, we were at the complete mercy of these drivers who seemed even more clueless than all of us put together. A great feeling.
We walked to the nearby refuge to talk with our driver, who still hadn´t materialised after promising the early morning departure (if not for one frontier, for the other next to Argentina). He was chilling nonchalantly in the warmth of the kitchen, having no reason to go into the cold to update us. While we were there we got a radio update, which was really pointless, basically saying that they hoped to open by the afternoon but that a car had crashed and that was now causing more blockage to the queue waiting to get through. More great feeling.
We trudged back to the others, 3 London lawyers now feeling well n truly put out, and tried to think of the next step in our fast-failing mission across borders. Some Jeeps passed through, unsuccessfully trying for the border, and I begged the driver of one with a spare seat to let me come back for the ride to Uyuni, feeling a little too close for comfort with my flight looming ahead. He basically didn´t want to take me, and made up some excuse about my bag being too big to take on. That was it. I lost it, threw up my hands in exasperation and ran inside as the tears started.
The English girls comforting me, I was lost in a hopeless world of no more options. Our drivers insisted on staying put to wait until the new information at 6pm, no other car would take us and in fact no other car was passing since the few left in the morning... I never thought I would see the other side of that border. The mountains, in all their natural splendour, started to mock me with their beauty. The icy lagoon swallowed every inch of hope I had left in my body. And the wind smacked the door closed on its way out.
That was it. R, the Swiss guy, went back to the refuge to have Spanish words with our driver. 5 minutes later we heard a commotion outside and were told VAMOS, we were going to the other border, about 6 hours driver away.
The plan was to drive until a little village about 2 hours from the border, sleep there and wake early to drive across and into the town closest to the Chilean side of the border.
But what did I say about false hope? It´s a bitch.
After a semi-satisfying dinner, our driver returned with some news. Apparently the 2 drivers were heading back early morning to the other border because it had actually opened at 6pm the day we left (of course). They had people to collect that had paid much more money than us to do a 3 day salt flats tour - so of course they got priority. Which displeased the English lawyers. Greatly.
After unsuccessfully demanding another car be sent from the agency, they were forced to make a choice - go back to the other border and risk being stuck again or go on a public bus to the border and another bus to San Pedro, their original destination. They chose the latter, basically due to lack of better options. I of course hadn´t paid anything yet so I was fine to go by public bus, if it got me out of Bolivia. I would´ve in fact ridden a donkey if it got me there too.
So that was what we were left to sleep on. More hope. Or lack thereof. I longed for a shower. I longed for Chile. I longed for anything but this.
Then we waited. Grew anxious. And waited some more. The hostel owner told us not to expect much before the border opened for business, first 9am then 10am, then it was closed for the day. But wait, maybe not. Was that... oh, no...uhhh.... shit. Communication at an absolute minimum out here in the middle of NOWHERE, we were at the complete mercy of these drivers who seemed even more clueless than all of us put together. A great feeling.
We walked to the nearby refuge to talk with our driver, who still hadn´t materialised after promising the early morning departure (if not for one frontier, for the other next to Argentina). He was chilling nonchalantly in the warmth of the kitchen, having no reason to go into the cold to update us. While we were there we got a radio update, which was really pointless, basically saying that they hoped to open by the afternoon but that a car had crashed and that was now causing more blockage to the queue waiting to get through. More great feeling.
We trudged back to the others, 3 London lawyers now feeling well n truly put out, and tried to think of the next step in our fast-failing mission across borders. Some Jeeps passed through, unsuccessfully trying for the border, and I begged the driver of one with a spare seat to let me come back for the ride to Uyuni, feeling a little too close for comfort with my flight looming ahead. He basically didn´t want to take me, and made up some excuse about my bag being too big to take on. That was it. I lost it, threw up my hands in exasperation and ran inside as the tears started.
The English girls comforting me, I was lost in a hopeless world of no more options. Our drivers insisted on staying put to wait until the new information at 6pm, no other car would take us and in fact no other car was passing since the few left in the morning... I never thought I would see the other side of that border. The mountains, in all their natural splendour, started to mock me with their beauty. The icy lagoon swallowed every inch of hope I had left in my body. And the wind smacked the door closed on its way out.
That was it. R, the Swiss guy, went back to the refuge to have Spanish words with our driver. 5 minutes later we heard a commotion outside and were told VAMOS, we were going to the other border, about 6 hours driver away.
The plan was to drive until a little village about 2 hours from the border, sleep there and wake early to drive across and into the town closest to the Chilean side of the border.
But what did I say about false hope? It´s a bitch.
After a semi-satisfying dinner, our driver returned with some news. Apparently the 2 drivers were heading back early morning to the other border because it had actually opened at 6pm the day we left (of course). They had people to collect that had paid much more money than us to do a 3 day salt flats tour - so of course they got priority. Which displeased the English lawyers. Greatly.
After unsuccessfully demanding another car be sent from the agency, they were forced to make a choice - go back to the other border and risk being stuck again or go on a public bus to the border and another bus to San Pedro, their original destination. They chose the latter, basically due to lack of better options. I of course hadn´t paid anything yet so I was fine to go by public bus, if it got me out of Bolivia. I would´ve in fact ridden a donkey if it got me there too.
So that was what we were left to sleep on. More hope. Or lack thereof. I longed for a shower. I longed for Chile. I longed for anything but this.
Salt Flats Day 3: Swap an Aussie for a tyre
The earliest rise yet. 5am. I felt like I had finally fallen asleep when I heard the knock on our dorm door from the driver and his wandering lazy eye.
We had lots to do, he´d told us the night before as we downed the wine, so a 5am wake-up call was necessary. I parked up particularly when I heard the border to Chile was open now, having been closed earlier due to dangerous snow on the road. So it was looking like I was finally getting to Chile, where my flight home (home... sweet home) was due to leave in a few days. "Vamos vamos" you could hear me cry, as the others begrudgingly packed their backpacks and stuffed breakfast pancakes in their mouths.
Freezing cold, we piled into the Jeep and tried to regain feeling in our extremities. Task almost done, we stopped at our first site to see how sulphur geysers spraying hot air (thank the heavens!), then to a lagoon with a small thermal pool in front. There was nothing stopping me from going in there. Not even massive wind gusts and what I am pretty sure was still below zero temps.
Stripping down to my bikini and running from the bathroom to the pool with my poncho on top, I had the Bolivians in military regala laughing at me and the rest of my tour group shaking their heads at my craziness. Except the kooky French couple, the man of which was in the water with the woman taking pics. Running back to the bathroom brought on the beginning stages of hypothermia, and I wondered for a moment as a shivered back into my many layers why I chose to expose myself so recklessly. Ahh well, only live once eh.
Then we went onto Laguna Verde, which sits in front of an inactive volcano also topped with snow... a picture perfect sight if ever there was one. But of course still with ice-cold wind, we continued to freeze.
Our driver didn´t take me to the border after all, because apparently it was now closed. So we headed back towards Uyuni, with me sulking in the back because we had been within 5 minutes of the Chilean border and were now driving 9 hours back into Bolivia. Getting to my flight was proving more difficult than first thought. And that was before we even encountered the Jeep heading to the border...
Said Jeep was broken down when we first saw it, trying to change its tyre that I soon found out had broken 3 times already that day. While the driver scratched his head, my driver struck a deal and had soon offloaded me to the broken vehicle. They were headed to the frontier, I wanted to go, they needed a new tyre and so instead they got a tyre and an Aussie girl. I was literally swapped for a Jeep tyre.
Elated I was finally going to the border, which was apparently now open, I chatted away to the Swiss guy in my new car while the somber group of English girls slightly dampened the mood. I was soon to find out why... they had started towards the frontier the night before, staying in a random village before starting out at 4am that morning to make it to the border by 11am. That was about the time I ran into them on the road, having had 4 tyre punctures and made considerably slower progress than hoped.
We got to the border without any more tyre problems, but found ourselves waiting at the dodgy-looking immigration office while our driver and the police officer from immigration drove the car up a hill for phone signal. We watched in confusion as they, with all our possessions still in the car, faffed around for a while and finally returned with somber faces.
We can´t cross the border today, they said, because of the snow. Hmm. So why didn´t we know this earlier? And what the hell are we meant to do now? We had 2 options, we were told. First, stay in the nearby refuge overnight and hope the situation improves tomorrow. Second, walk 7 hours with our backpacks to San Pedro. Well, I know which one is absolutely fucking ridiculous. Especially considering the time - 4pm - and then the time after 7 hours of walking. We would freeze to death.
So the refuge it was. Except the refuge had no food, snow in the toilet and insufficient blankets to shield us against the howling wind and unforgiving night cold. So we chose the other hostel near the national park guard, and had to pay inflated prices for a bed and dinner. The first of many Bolivians to take advantage of us in our predicament.
There were more people in the same situation as us, from Brazil, and we all sat around the window trying to absorb the last rays of light before it disappeared and we were forced to wear all our clothes to keep our limbs from going numb. Dinner warmed us for a brief moment, but there is only so much packet pasta and tomato paste sauce can do for a thawing one´s body.
We settled into our dorm giggling like school girls, I think a little delirious and incredulous from the day´s events but hopeful a solucion would come to pass tomorrow. Hoping. Hope. A word soon to scratch at my throat like a cat possessed.
We had lots to do, he´d told us the night before as we downed the wine, so a 5am wake-up call was necessary. I parked up particularly when I heard the border to Chile was open now, having been closed earlier due to dangerous snow on the road. So it was looking like I was finally getting to Chile, where my flight home (home... sweet home) was due to leave in a few days. "Vamos vamos" you could hear me cry, as the others begrudgingly packed their backpacks and stuffed breakfast pancakes in their mouths.
Freezing cold, we piled into the Jeep and tried to regain feeling in our extremities. Task almost done, we stopped at our first site to see how sulphur geysers spraying hot air (thank the heavens!), then to a lagoon with a small thermal pool in front. There was nothing stopping me from going in there. Not even massive wind gusts and what I am pretty sure was still below zero temps.
Stripping down to my bikini and running from the bathroom to the pool with my poncho on top, I had the Bolivians in military regala laughing at me and the rest of my tour group shaking their heads at my craziness. Except the kooky French couple, the man of which was in the water with the woman taking pics. Running back to the bathroom brought on the beginning stages of hypothermia, and I wondered for a moment as a shivered back into my many layers why I chose to expose myself so recklessly. Ahh well, only live once eh.
Then we went onto Laguna Verde, which sits in front of an inactive volcano also topped with snow... a picture perfect sight if ever there was one. But of course still with ice-cold wind, we continued to freeze.
Our driver didn´t take me to the border after all, because apparently it was now closed. So we headed back towards Uyuni, with me sulking in the back because we had been within 5 minutes of the Chilean border and were now driving 9 hours back into Bolivia. Getting to my flight was proving more difficult than first thought. And that was before we even encountered the Jeep heading to the border...
Said Jeep was broken down when we first saw it, trying to change its tyre that I soon found out had broken 3 times already that day. While the driver scratched his head, my driver struck a deal and had soon offloaded me to the broken vehicle. They were headed to the frontier, I wanted to go, they needed a new tyre and so instead they got a tyre and an Aussie girl. I was literally swapped for a Jeep tyre.
Elated I was finally going to the border, which was apparently now open, I chatted away to the Swiss guy in my new car while the somber group of English girls slightly dampened the mood. I was soon to find out why... they had started towards the frontier the night before, staying in a random village before starting out at 4am that morning to make it to the border by 11am. That was about the time I ran into them on the road, having had 4 tyre punctures and made considerably slower progress than hoped.
We got to the border without any more tyre problems, but found ourselves waiting at the dodgy-looking immigration office while our driver and the police officer from immigration drove the car up a hill for phone signal. We watched in confusion as they, with all our possessions still in the car, faffed around for a while and finally returned with somber faces.
We can´t cross the border today, they said, because of the snow. Hmm. So why didn´t we know this earlier? And what the hell are we meant to do now? We had 2 options, we were told. First, stay in the nearby refuge overnight and hope the situation improves tomorrow. Second, walk 7 hours with our backpacks to San Pedro. Well, I know which one is absolutely fucking ridiculous. Especially considering the time - 4pm - and then the time after 7 hours of walking. We would freeze to death.
So the refuge it was. Except the refuge had no food, snow in the toilet and insufficient blankets to shield us against the howling wind and unforgiving night cold. So we chose the other hostel near the national park guard, and had to pay inflated prices for a bed and dinner. The first of many Bolivians to take advantage of us in our predicament.
There were more people in the same situation as us, from Brazil, and we all sat around the window trying to absorb the last rays of light before it disappeared and we were forced to wear all our clothes to keep our limbs from going numb. Dinner warmed us for a brief moment, but there is only so much packet pasta and tomato paste sauce can do for a thawing one´s body.
We settled into our dorm giggling like school girls, I think a little delirious and incredulous from the day´s events but hopeful a solucion would come to pass tomorrow. Hoping. Hope. A word soon to scratch at my throat like a cat possessed.
Salt Flats Day 2: Spooning the random Argo
When a tour agency says "basic", they mean basic. And that´s precisely what led to having to spoon with the random Argentinian guy in my Jeep for the second night of my tour. It was that cold.
Having left the salt flatty area of the salt flats, we woke early to drive to the pretty lagoons famed for their pink flamingos (although most of these flamingos had flown to warmer waters in Chile), and enjoyed the changing scenery of the desert, its snow-capped mountains and natural rock formations. It really is breathtaking the desert out there, but it was getting increasingly colder as the day wore on.
We had grabbed a few bottles of wine in anticipation of the coldness to come at night, wanting anything to warm us (and basically we are drunks, at the end of it all) and not particularly looking forward to anything involving 6 blankets and/or a sleeping bag (the latter which I do not travel with).
With the wind whipping wildly around us, and the temperature dropping with every rising breath, we pulled into the "basic" hotel. Thin walls. Cracked window in the bedroom. Stinky bathroom. Definitely no hot water. In fact, hardly any water at all in the taps. But thankfully a small furnace in the main eating area (the corridor). Oh, how I crave the simple things in life now.
We polished off the 5 bottles of wine we had with dinner without blinking, and by this stage it was an open invitation to I, the Argo, to join blankets and beds for the evening. The rest of the group thought it was pretty funny, but for me it was a matter of survival. And hey, if I can borrow a cute Buenos Aires boy (how rare they are) for the evening, I most certainly will.
He was a good cucharita (spoon). However, as good as he was, I was still tossing n turning all night... various things getting in my way, such as another girl in my tour group vomiting from what I assume was altitude sickness (the food seemed fine) and me running around trying to help while also freezing to death. I wonder how much sleep the Argo got next to me. What a shit bed partner I am.
Having left the salt flatty area of the salt flats, we woke early to drive to the pretty lagoons famed for their pink flamingos (although most of these flamingos had flown to warmer waters in Chile), and enjoyed the changing scenery of the desert, its snow-capped mountains and natural rock formations. It really is breathtaking the desert out there, but it was getting increasingly colder as the day wore on.
We had grabbed a few bottles of wine in anticipation of the coldness to come at night, wanting anything to warm us (and basically we are drunks, at the end of it all) and not particularly looking forward to anything involving 6 blankets and/or a sleeping bag (the latter which I do not travel with).
With the wind whipping wildly around us, and the temperature dropping with every rising breath, we pulled into the "basic" hotel. Thin walls. Cracked window in the bedroom. Stinky bathroom. Definitely no hot water. In fact, hardly any water at all in the taps. But thankfully a small furnace in the main eating area (the corridor). Oh, how I crave the simple things in life now.
We polished off the 5 bottles of wine we had with dinner without blinking, and by this stage it was an open invitation to I, the Argo, to join blankets and beds for the evening. The rest of the group thought it was pretty funny, but for me it was a matter of survival. And hey, if I can borrow a cute Buenos Aires boy (how rare they are) for the evening, I most certainly will.
He was a good cucharita (spoon). However, as good as he was, I was still tossing n turning all night... various things getting in my way, such as another girl in my tour group vomiting from what I assume was altitude sickness (the food seemed fine) and me running around trying to help while also freezing to death. I wonder how much sleep the Argo got next to me. What a shit bed partner I am.
Salt Flats Day 1: Too tired for salt
I was not looking forward to the bus ride to Uyuni. Famed for being the coldest journey in all of Bolivia, the night ride is also 12 hours long and unforgiving when it comes to bumps. However, in some sheer stroke of uncommon Bolivian luck I was given the seat above the engine. Sure, it was a little louder but it blasted hot fucking air onto my body for the whole journey. And for that I am thankful. Got off the bus and proclaimed how good the "heating" was without knowing... oh, the envy in the other passengers´ eyes...
Found another girl, from Belgium, wanting to book the Salar tour for that morning and we both got into the car of a woman from an agency booking said tours. We didn´t have to book with her but the offer of a warm (and free) ride to the central plaza was a pretty good one at 5:30am in the morning. Yes, the bus was early, the second inappropriately bus I have caught in South America (the other arriving early at the Argentinian border before it opened). Amazing how the buses are never early arriving in the afternoon, or in the evening... can you tell I´m getting a little frustrated with this continent??
So we got to the plaza where nothing much was open, joined the others from our bus to a place for an expensive breakfast that also came with heating (bonus) and waited for the agencies to open. The one that had picked us up looked appealing but I wanted to shop around.
Gladly I was right, as it appeared I could get the tour better and cheaper elsewhere, and another agency downright pointed the finger at my first agency for having drunk drivers. So I didn´t go with the first agency. Or the one that pointed the finger, just for being bitchy. That one I went with was super cheap, and I still maintain to this day that it is the cheapest price I have ever heard for this tour. Boom. And the wind blows in my direction.
The first day of the salt flats tour takes in the actual salt flats - the biggest in the world I think - so it was all about bright white and dry skin. But it was spectacular. I was still getting to know my car - a kooky French couple, 2 cute Bolivian girls and a typically crazy guy from Buenos Aires - and we were all speaking Spanish so at least that was good practice.
After my last days in La Paz and then the bus ride to Uyuni, I was feeling pretty tired and even though the view was fantastic out my Jeep window, I could not help but fall asleep. So I drove through most of the salt flats with my eyes closed. Nicely done.
We stopped for lunch - again along with the rest of the Salt Flats tour crowd, much to my disappointment - at a nice Island with lots of cacti on it. One was about 9m tall and reportedly over 900 years old! Good effort. Lunch was nice except for the meat being so tough it almost ripped my other moler out. I went crazy with the dental floss after that puppy.
Accommodation for the first night was in a salt hotel, made as the name suggests entirely from salt. You had to walk the floor with shoes on since it was loose salt (and no one wants to be a wrinkly prune), the beds were basically hard slabs of salt with a mattress and the walls were constructed with bricks made of salt. The furnishings were mostly dried out, hollow cactus trunks that make for great lamp shades because of the little holes where spikes used to be... and when it wasn´t salt or cactus, it was alpaca. I felt right at home in my poncho.
As it was, I roomed in a double with the Argo boy who I was beginning to think was quite cute, but I was so tired by the end of dinner that I basically just downed a glass of wine and retired to the warmth of my bed. The shower had no hot water until the next morning anyway so I was sleeping salty and dusty. As was to become the norm in the coming days...
Found another girl, from Belgium, wanting to book the Salar tour for that morning and we both got into the car of a woman from an agency booking said tours. We didn´t have to book with her but the offer of a warm (and free) ride to the central plaza was a pretty good one at 5:30am in the morning. Yes, the bus was early, the second inappropriately bus I have caught in South America (the other arriving early at the Argentinian border before it opened). Amazing how the buses are never early arriving in the afternoon, or in the evening... can you tell I´m getting a little frustrated with this continent??
So we got to the plaza where nothing much was open, joined the others from our bus to a place for an expensive breakfast that also came with heating (bonus) and waited for the agencies to open. The one that had picked us up looked appealing but I wanted to shop around.
Gladly I was right, as it appeared I could get the tour better and cheaper elsewhere, and another agency downright pointed the finger at my first agency for having drunk drivers. So I didn´t go with the first agency. Or the one that pointed the finger, just for being bitchy. That one I went with was super cheap, and I still maintain to this day that it is the cheapest price I have ever heard for this tour. Boom. And the wind blows in my direction.
The first day of the salt flats tour takes in the actual salt flats - the biggest in the world I think - so it was all about bright white and dry skin. But it was spectacular. I was still getting to know my car - a kooky French couple, 2 cute Bolivian girls and a typically crazy guy from Buenos Aires - and we were all speaking Spanish so at least that was good practice.
After my last days in La Paz and then the bus ride to Uyuni, I was feeling pretty tired and even though the view was fantastic out my Jeep window, I could not help but fall asleep. So I drove through most of the salt flats with my eyes closed. Nicely done.
We stopped for lunch - again along with the rest of the Salt Flats tour crowd, much to my disappointment - at a nice Island with lots of cacti on it. One was about 9m tall and reportedly over 900 years old! Good effort. Lunch was nice except for the meat being so tough it almost ripped my other moler out. I went crazy with the dental floss after that puppy.
Accommodation for the first night was in a salt hotel, made as the name suggests entirely from salt. You had to walk the floor with shoes on since it was loose salt (and no one wants to be a wrinkly prune), the beds were basically hard slabs of salt with a mattress and the walls were constructed with bricks made of salt. The furnishings were mostly dried out, hollow cactus trunks that make for great lamp shades because of the little holes where spikes used to be... and when it wasn´t salt or cactus, it was alpaca. I felt right at home in my poncho.
As it was, I roomed in a double with the Argo boy who I was beginning to think was quite cute, but I was so tired by the end of dinner that I basically just downed a glass of wine and retired to the warmth of my bed. The shower had no hot water until the next morning anyway so I was sleeping salty and dusty. As was to become the norm in the coming days...
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Early morning Inca shminca
After my episode with the head-tackling freak in the street, I was taking no chances about going out in places full of drunk Bolivianos by myself. So I booked onto the gringo tour of Tiwanaku, said to be the most important sacred sight of Inca ruins in South America. This day, however, was also the new year of the Incas and there was to be a ceremony featuring President Evo Morales during which they welcomed the new sun.
The new sun, as most of you know, arrives at dawn each day and therefore one must rise extremely early to catch it. I´m talking 3am. This, of course, attaches with it the need to battle the extreme cold of Tiwanaku as well as any drunkards who had been partying since the night before. We piled onto the bus, which circled the centre of town for what seemed like hours before actually getting on the way, and I slowly froze limb by limb under my newly purchased alpaca poncho (and several other heavy articles of clothing). In fact, I was basically the human representative of the alpaca clothing industry - with my socks, poncho and bag - what a way to blend in.
We shuffled along in the "etranjeros" entry line, while watching the locals line get a bit rowdy with drunken pushing n shoving. I was a little wary... no longer trust these drinking miniatures. Our guide kept disappearing and forgetting to hold his white flag up, and so it was a guessing game of Where´s Wally most the time. Quite funny, actually.
After our stuff-around with the pickups, we JUST made it in time and found ourselves waiting and waiting while the sun - clearly up already and lighting the land - hid behind clouds and refused to come out for quite a while. What an effort - for a lazy sun!! Then the President came out, although we weren´t sure who was who from where we were standing. "The President is the black man", our guide helpfully explained. Right...
Everyone put their hands up to absorb the energy of the sun - us mostly complaining that that just made them colder - and the President shuffled around down below amongst the ruins doing something or rather important with the tradition. I know I am being blaise about the whole thing, but I really had no idea what was going on. And the guide, Freddy, kept babbling on in Spanish (which I only half understood) and then giving basically 1 sentence translations in English.
Breakfast could not have come earlier - after the ceremony, we were allowed into the ruins (the President having disappeared via helicopter) and ferried around with explanations of what was what. Not that that helped much. Our group suddenly expanded to about 100 people, mostly local hangers-ons that wanted a bit of free guidance. Did I see you pay 200bs?? I don´t think so. One cheeky bugger even interviewed our guide for his TV station. Move, bitch, get out the way!
There seemed to be lots of waiting time during this day. We waited for breakfast, we waited after breakfast, we had several hours free time between breakfast and lunch to wait, then we waited after lunch... it was not the best organisation.
I made an American friend, who also didn´t want to pay the entrance fee to the Inca museum like me, and we strolled until we found a bench. My idea was to sleep on it, but J was more interested in keeping awake and occupied. I won the battle, basically just lying down and forcing her to sleep also due to lack of conversation.
We clock-watched a little and also people-watched, quite entertaining when most of them are still drinking from the night before etc etc. At one point, some teenage boys came over and offered their drinks to us - sweet dessert wine and some hideously flat mix of Sprite and some spirit. Oh, to be a teenager again. Wait, didn´t I do the same thing just a few nights ago in La Paz??
We were promised another ceremony, just for us (although by this stage most of us just wanted to go back to bed) and so after lunch (and more waiting) we found ourselves on a random hill amongst crowds of dancing, singing, drinking and playing cholas and cholitas. This part of the new year celebrations no doubt, I felt a bit like an intruder, pulling up in our massive white bus and getting out with cameras poised... But it was good to see anyway.
One local man did a ceremony for blessings in the new year, which included the burning of sweets, fruit, tinsel representing gold and silver, and llama foetuses. Eww. I was surprised at how much focus was given to the wish for money, and would have thought other things in life were given priority in such a religion - but then again, I know so little about Inca...
Burning done, we thankfully boarded the big bus again and vamosed to La Paz. It was a quiet journey home. Back in town, I had a couple of hours to get myself ready for the overnight bus trip to Uyuni. I popped my head into Sol & Luna, seeing none of the guys to say goodbye to (except the slightly crazy Bolivian girl from the other night, who of course said she will miss me ha!), and so left alone... and such is an appropriate ending to my gypsy travels in La Paz.
The new sun, as most of you know, arrives at dawn each day and therefore one must rise extremely early to catch it. I´m talking 3am. This, of course, attaches with it the need to battle the extreme cold of Tiwanaku as well as any drunkards who had been partying since the night before. We piled onto the bus, which circled the centre of town for what seemed like hours before actually getting on the way, and I slowly froze limb by limb under my newly purchased alpaca poncho (and several other heavy articles of clothing). In fact, I was basically the human representative of the alpaca clothing industry - with my socks, poncho and bag - what a way to blend in.
We shuffled along in the "etranjeros" entry line, while watching the locals line get a bit rowdy with drunken pushing n shoving. I was a little wary... no longer trust these drinking miniatures. Our guide kept disappearing and forgetting to hold his white flag up, and so it was a guessing game of Where´s Wally most the time. Quite funny, actually.
After our stuff-around with the pickups, we JUST made it in time and found ourselves waiting and waiting while the sun - clearly up already and lighting the land - hid behind clouds and refused to come out for quite a while. What an effort - for a lazy sun!! Then the President came out, although we weren´t sure who was who from where we were standing. "The President is the black man", our guide helpfully explained. Right...
Everyone put their hands up to absorb the energy of the sun - us mostly complaining that that just made them colder - and the President shuffled around down below amongst the ruins doing something or rather important with the tradition. I know I am being blaise about the whole thing, but I really had no idea what was going on. And the guide, Freddy, kept babbling on in Spanish (which I only half understood) and then giving basically 1 sentence translations in English.
Breakfast could not have come earlier - after the ceremony, we were allowed into the ruins (the President having disappeared via helicopter) and ferried around with explanations of what was what. Not that that helped much. Our group suddenly expanded to about 100 people, mostly local hangers-ons that wanted a bit of free guidance. Did I see you pay 200bs?? I don´t think so. One cheeky bugger even interviewed our guide for his TV station. Move, bitch, get out the way!
There seemed to be lots of waiting time during this day. We waited for breakfast, we waited after breakfast, we had several hours free time between breakfast and lunch to wait, then we waited after lunch... it was not the best organisation.
I made an American friend, who also didn´t want to pay the entrance fee to the Inca museum like me, and we strolled until we found a bench. My idea was to sleep on it, but J was more interested in keeping awake and occupied. I won the battle, basically just lying down and forcing her to sleep also due to lack of conversation.
We clock-watched a little and also people-watched, quite entertaining when most of them are still drinking from the night before etc etc. At one point, some teenage boys came over and offered their drinks to us - sweet dessert wine and some hideously flat mix of Sprite and some spirit. Oh, to be a teenager again. Wait, didn´t I do the same thing just a few nights ago in La Paz??
We were promised another ceremony, just for us (although by this stage most of us just wanted to go back to bed) and so after lunch (and more waiting) we found ourselves on a random hill amongst crowds of dancing, singing, drinking and playing cholas and cholitas. This part of the new year celebrations no doubt, I felt a bit like an intruder, pulling up in our massive white bus and getting out with cameras poised... But it was good to see anyway.
One local man did a ceremony for blessings in the new year, which included the burning of sweets, fruit, tinsel representing gold and silver, and llama foetuses. Eww. I was surprised at how much focus was given to the wish for money, and would have thought other things in life were given priority in such a religion - but then again, I know so little about Inca...
Burning done, we thankfully boarded the big bus again and vamosed to La Paz. It was a quiet journey home. Back in town, I had a couple of hours to get myself ready for the overnight bus trip to Uyuni. I popped my head into Sol & Luna, seeing none of the guys to say goodbye to (except the slightly crazy Bolivian girl from the other night, who of course said she will miss me ha!), and so left alone... and such is an appropriate ending to my gypsy travels in La Paz.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Surviving the Death Road
We started extra early for the Death Road because the tour operators were unsure if the roads would be blockaded as part of the transport strike in Bolivia, yet my hostel failed to inform me of the time change and I was almost ready when I got a knock on the door. The guide says, "Sorry, but breakfast is..." "Ready?" I ask hopefully. "No, finished". Mother fucker!
It wasn´t finished, in the end, but very nearly, and I gulped down some bread and tea before we all readied ourselves with our super sexy bikeriding gear... Tight lycra riding shirt, orange and green windcheater, coral blue (only for me) 80s trackpants, helmet, arm pads and knee pads (the last optional but I thought it better not to tempt fate).
We set off in 2 minibuses, bikes on the roof, and before I knew it we were pulling over and given instructions about what to do. The first part of the road was not officially the Death Road, so it gave us time to get used to our bikes and established somewhat of a pecking order for the group. I tried to stay away from the couple of people I already found annoying, and was consistently somwhere in the middle of the pack.
Before long, the track turned from ashpalt to gravel and dirt, and the holes we had been avoiding earlier pailed in comparison to the bump n grind of this section. Stopping every 5 minutes or so, and always going downhill, our bodies never had a chance to feel the full grunt of the track (although several of the bikes had problems with their suspension and even my double hydraulic suspension didn`t save me from all the impact) and it was a pretty pleasant ride.
But the view... WOW. We were instructed carefully not to look at it, and just concentrate on the road ahead, but sometimes it was just so hard not to! The track fell away some 450m below us, so looking out there for too long did kinda creep me out... but the mountains, streams, tracks, they all combined to make the most romantic setting I`ve ever seen for a Sunday drive. It`s just a shame so many people actually died on such a drive before they finally finished the safer, much more expensive alternative road. Hence the name Death Road.
We passed several memorials and crosses, and our guide dutifully informed us of some places where several people had slipped over the cliff or falling from their bike at a standstill. That instilled some confidence into us. Hooray. But no one was hurt, not even close. We may have almost given ourselves heart attacks at the last uphill bit, but we survived.
Lunch was served in a lovely valley where some people swam in the pool, we all had showers (promised hot but of course freezing cold) and I stupidly didn`t put my shoes back on for a while, allowing the insects to make a 3 course meal out of my feet. I swear I have never seen a foot so covered in bites in my life. And they are itchy as hell!!
A couple of spliffs later and we were back in the bus, heading back to La Paz pooped but happy about the day. Then it was a case of organising my things YET AGAIN, and trying to get sleep before the 3am pickup for Tiwanaku the next morning. But of course my body wouldn`t let me sleep, would it... Argh, hideous.
It wasn´t finished, in the end, but very nearly, and I gulped down some bread and tea before we all readied ourselves with our super sexy bikeriding gear... Tight lycra riding shirt, orange and green windcheater, coral blue (only for me) 80s trackpants, helmet, arm pads and knee pads (the last optional but I thought it better not to tempt fate).
We set off in 2 minibuses, bikes on the roof, and before I knew it we were pulling over and given instructions about what to do. The first part of the road was not officially the Death Road, so it gave us time to get used to our bikes and established somewhat of a pecking order for the group. I tried to stay away from the couple of people I already found annoying, and was consistently somwhere in the middle of the pack.
Before long, the track turned from ashpalt to gravel and dirt, and the holes we had been avoiding earlier pailed in comparison to the bump n grind of this section. Stopping every 5 minutes or so, and always going downhill, our bodies never had a chance to feel the full grunt of the track (although several of the bikes had problems with their suspension and even my double hydraulic suspension didn`t save me from all the impact) and it was a pretty pleasant ride.
But the view... WOW. We were instructed carefully not to look at it, and just concentrate on the road ahead, but sometimes it was just so hard not to! The track fell away some 450m below us, so looking out there for too long did kinda creep me out... but the mountains, streams, tracks, they all combined to make the most romantic setting I`ve ever seen for a Sunday drive. It`s just a shame so many people actually died on such a drive before they finally finished the safer, much more expensive alternative road. Hence the name Death Road.
We passed several memorials and crosses, and our guide dutifully informed us of some places where several people had slipped over the cliff or falling from their bike at a standstill. That instilled some confidence into us. Hooray. But no one was hurt, not even close. We may have almost given ourselves heart attacks at the last uphill bit, but we survived.
Lunch was served in a lovely valley where some people swam in the pool, we all had showers (promised hot but of course freezing cold) and I stupidly didn`t put my shoes back on for a while, allowing the insects to make a 3 course meal out of my feet. I swear I have never seen a foot so covered in bites in my life. And they are itchy as hell!!
A couple of spliffs later and we were back in the bus, heading back to La Paz pooped but happy about the day. Then it was a case of organising my things YET AGAIN, and trying to get sleep before the 3am pickup for Tiwanaku the next morning. But of course my body wouldn`t let me sleep, would it... Argh, hideous.
La Paz just won`t let me leave!!!
There is something annoying about getting up in the morning, ready to start the next chapter in your travel journey, and then being told it´s not possible. Like taking candy from a baby, this exact thing happened to me on Sunday because of the bloody strikes - and it was not the first time. The week before we had tried to go to Copacabana on the day of nationwide transport strikes and had to stay another night - I had another mini tantrum.
So this time I walked to the bus terminal to get a ticket around lunchtime, thinking that was plenty of space before the night bus, but when I arrived I was told there was either no space, no service or no answer from the limited number of companies that serviced the La Paz - Uyuni route. Grrr.
Once I got over my annoyance, I thought I would make the most of the extra time - considering the strikes were not even confirmed and indeed not confirmed to run an undisclosed amount of time as first thought - and do the Death Road the next day. Everyone else who did it highly recommewnded it to me, so I was bummed I dind`t think I had time... now it seems I was meant to do it after all.
Thinking through my schedule, I also started to realise that just one extra day would mean I could go to the ruins at Tiwanaku on the same day the Incas celebrated their new year and the birth of the new sun. So I haggled a discounted price for both activities from the travel agent, still no doubt getting ripped off, and was thoroughly satisfied that I would not have to spend my last days in La Paz twiddling my thumbs and spending money I didn´t have.
Dutch K left that night on a bus to Sucre, sad times for us as the group was starting to dwindle. We played a little more pool, as is the norm, and then I called it a night early to prepare for the extra early start for the Death Road the next morning.
So this time I walked to the bus terminal to get a ticket around lunchtime, thinking that was plenty of space before the night bus, but when I arrived I was told there was either no space, no service or no answer from the limited number of companies that serviced the La Paz - Uyuni route. Grrr.
Once I got over my annoyance, I thought I would make the most of the extra time - considering the strikes were not even confirmed and indeed not confirmed to run an undisclosed amount of time as first thought - and do the Death Road the next day. Everyone else who did it highly recommewnded it to me, so I was bummed I dind`t think I had time... now it seems I was meant to do it after all.
Thinking through my schedule, I also started to realise that just one extra day would mean I could go to the ruins at Tiwanaku on the same day the Incas celebrated their new year and the birth of the new sun. So I haggled a discounted price for both activities from the travel agent, still no doubt getting ripped off, and was thoroughly satisfied that I would not have to spend my last days in La Paz twiddling my thumbs and spending money I didn´t have.
Dutch K left that night on a bus to Sucre, sad times for us as the group was starting to dwindle. We played a little more pool, as is the norm, and then I called it a night early to prepare for the extra early start for the Death Road the next morning.
Monday, 20 June 2011
Random assault in La Paz
Saturday woke me with the beat of a thousand drums (probably just 1 but multiplied in my hungover head), fresh from the streets of La Paz´s annual fiesta. Don`t ask me what it is about, all I know is that they closed down the main streets, dressed up in tiny dresses (for the girls) and crazy space cowboy outfits with bells on the boots (for the boys) and paraded down the street, drinking and singing until late into the night.
This, of course, would have been a brilliant tourist experience for us (the group staying at M´s consisting of myself, English R and Dutch S) had we not been feeling extremely sorry for ourselves after last night`s efforts. Somehow, and I can`t remember exactly because this part of the day was a daze, we collected a couple of the other guys along the way and we all went to see the parade in the street.
To view the parade from a seat, you had to pay. So clearly there was none of that for us. Instead, we walked down as PART of the parade (which was allowed), keeping to one side of the street while passing cops who clearly weren`t doing anything there except checking out the girls in short dresses.
Eventually, we got to the end of the parade where there was a park basically outfitted for the locals to get even more drunk and dance to some marching bands. It was an awesome sight, all the cholitas in their best cholita dresses, sparkles and bright colours everywhere, everyone in good spirits.
Well, that was the daytime.
Night soon engulfed the celebrations and I - even thought feeling much better after a short siesta - was in no mood to deal with drunkards, in a club or on the street. As it turns out, however, I had to in the end. After just one alcoholic drink at Oliver´s, I called it a night and on the walk back to the hostel - less than 3 BLOCKS from the bar - I felt an eery sense of danger around me. Of course, my women instincts were correct and no sooner had I felt that was I tackled around the head by a random guy and my hair pulled from its bunch. I screamed and fought him off, succeeding in getting him away while he just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off like nothing had happened.
At first I thought he was distracting me to rob me, which would have been shit considering I had JUST visited the bank, but when I got back to the hostel I found I had everything still in my bag. Hmm... so he was just a random weirdo wanting to head-tackle a random gringo in the street. Nicely done. Good work, chap. Hope you enjoy telling all your mates about thiat one.
So now I am OVER risking myself in La Paz. I am booking gringo tours and I am not feeling bad about it. I want safety. They can all get FUCKED if my last 10 days in South America are fraught with danger. I am coming home alive!
This, of course, would have been a brilliant tourist experience for us (the group staying at M´s consisting of myself, English R and Dutch S) had we not been feeling extremely sorry for ourselves after last night`s efforts. Somehow, and I can`t remember exactly because this part of the day was a daze, we collected a couple of the other guys along the way and we all went to see the parade in the street.
To view the parade from a seat, you had to pay. So clearly there was none of that for us. Instead, we walked down as PART of the parade (which was allowed), keeping to one side of the street while passing cops who clearly weren`t doing anything there except checking out the girls in short dresses.
Eventually, we got to the end of the parade where there was a park basically outfitted for the locals to get even more drunk and dance to some marching bands. It was an awesome sight, all the cholitas in their best cholita dresses, sparkles and bright colours everywhere, everyone in good spirits.
Well, that was the daytime.
Night soon engulfed the celebrations and I - even thought feeling much better after a short siesta - was in no mood to deal with drunkards, in a club or on the street. As it turns out, however, I had to in the end. After just one alcoholic drink at Oliver´s, I called it a night and on the walk back to the hostel - less than 3 BLOCKS from the bar - I felt an eery sense of danger around me. Of course, my women instincts were correct and no sooner had I felt that was I tackled around the head by a random guy and my hair pulled from its bunch. I screamed and fought him off, succeeding in getting him away while he just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off like nothing had happened.
At first I thought he was distracting me to rob me, which would have been shit considering I had JUST visited the bank, but when I got back to the hostel I found I had everything still in my bag. Hmm... so he was just a random weirdo wanting to head-tackle a random gringo in the street. Nicely done. Good work, chap. Hope you enjoy telling all your mates about thiat one.
So now I am OVER risking myself in La Paz. I am booking gringo tours and I am not feeling bad about it. I want safety. They can all get FUCKED if my last 10 days in South America are fraught with danger. I am coming home alive!
Both sides of the slutty coin
Friday and we´re back in La Paz. The fumes, the noise, the hecticness - yep, we´re back in the big city. Not entirely the environment I wanted after such a relaxing few days but it had to be done. And it`s Friday after all, the clubs would simply be empty without us!
Speaking of which, it was the bday of a girl who worked at the bar we frequent so we were all getting excited for that. Having to get several forms of transport back from Isla del Sol then Copacabana meant we didn`t arrive til the afternoon, at which time we promptly faffed around until I finally made it into a shower (none on Isla del Sol because I was scared of the bathroom), and primped myself up for a night on the town.
Not that I knew what a night this would end up being.
We started the drinking at the local gringo haunts, and R the English guy from one of them was on his last night so coming out as well. This was gonna be big. A group of about 15 of us tried for one club and were refused because not everyone had ID, so we just went to the one next door which served mixed drinks in this hideously long cannister with its own pourer. That got us well on the way.
At one point, I realised one of the cutie Bolivian girls was giving me a little more attention than I was used to, and despite her being totally straight I was feeling a certain familiar vibe from her which meant I could have a somewhat more interesting night if I played my cards right. And that I did. Short time later, we were making out on the dancefloor and then she was by my side every moment. Nice one bruvva.
When we got sick of that bar, we went to some local market-place type place where people were standing around eating kebabs sticks of cow heart and drinking litre bottles of beer. Beer hasn`t really appealed to me since I lost my moler, something about the yeasty texture isn`t really going down right, so I said no to the beer and unknowingly no to the cow heart. At the time, I didn`t want to eat anything and they were asking me in Spanish so it was pure luck I said no. Hideous.
Last stop for the night was M`s place, from another bar, which we crash-packed into one taxi after another (and piled into the taxis too, always too many for the seats they had but who knows, when in La Paz...), and I didn`t waste any time finding the spare room. Bada bing bada bam. Haha...
Coming back into the main room, everyone reacted appropriately of course and we were thrown into some random drinking game of no hands, all mouth with a hideous concoction of rum and coke or something.
Next thing I knew I was trying to convince English boy not to go home, instead to "show him the spare room he could sleep in". Sigh. How do I find myself in these predicaments?? Said predicament, however, turned out rather swell and I enjoyed the end of my night swimmingly (although looking over my shoulder the whole time fearing a crazy, newly-lesbian Boliviana coming crashing through the door.) Another English guy bites the dust, eh. What is it about them...
Speaking of which, it was the bday of a girl who worked at the bar we frequent so we were all getting excited for that. Having to get several forms of transport back from Isla del Sol then Copacabana meant we didn`t arrive til the afternoon, at which time we promptly faffed around until I finally made it into a shower (none on Isla del Sol because I was scared of the bathroom), and primped myself up for a night on the town.
Not that I knew what a night this would end up being.
We started the drinking at the local gringo haunts, and R the English guy from one of them was on his last night so coming out as well. This was gonna be big. A group of about 15 of us tried for one club and were refused because not everyone had ID, so we just went to the one next door which served mixed drinks in this hideously long cannister with its own pourer. That got us well on the way.
At one point, I realised one of the cutie Bolivian girls was giving me a little more attention than I was used to, and despite her being totally straight I was feeling a certain familiar vibe from her which meant I could have a somewhat more interesting night if I played my cards right. And that I did. Short time later, we were making out on the dancefloor and then she was by my side every moment. Nice one bruvva.
When we got sick of that bar, we went to some local market-place type place where people were standing around eating kebabs sticks of cow heart and drinking litre bottles of beer. Beer hasn`t really appealed to me since I lost my moler, something about the yeasty texture isn`t really going down right, so I said no to the beer and unknowingly no to the cow heart. At the time, I didn`t want to eat anything and they were asking me in Spanish so it was pure luck I said no. Hideous.
Last stop for the night was M`s place, from another bar, which we crash-packed into one taxi after another (and piled into the taxis too, always too many for the seats they had but who knows, when in La Paz...), and I didn`t waste any time finding the spare room. Bada bing bada bam. Haha...
Coming back into the main room, everyone reacted appropriately of course and we were thrown into some random drinking game of no hands, all mouth with a hideous concoction of rum and coke or something.
Next thing I knew I was trying to convince English boy not to go home, instead to "show him the spare room he could sleep in". Sigh. How do I find myself in these predicaments?? Said predicament, however, turned out rather swell and I enjoyed the end of my night swimmingly (although looking over my shoulder the whole time fearing a crazy, newly-lesbian Boliviana coming crashing through the door.) Another English guy bites the dust, eh. What is it about them...
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Chasing the sun
It was an early rise for us on our first morning on Isla del Sol. The reports of the sunrises there were just too good to pass up, so I made sure I was the human alarm clock for everyone else. The patio of our hostel catered perfectly for such endeavours, and before we knew it, we were huddled around trying not to lose feeling in our limbs while waiting for the sun to grace us with its presence.
Well, I can safely say it was worth it. We watched as the sea, first a menacing navy blue, gradually pulled in the energy of the glowing sky and ruffled out a silvery trail on its smooth surface, like a path directly to heaven. A donkey bayed in the distance, apparently discontent that its view was being obscured by yet another early start going up and down the hills carrying water for the cholitas. What a slap in the face that would be.
After the sunrise, we were energised but not energised enuf to face the 3-hour trek from the south to the north side of the island. So we opted for a private boat, still only a few dollars each to take, and in about half an hour we were in the north. It was indeed more chilled and I kinda prefered it - ESPECIALLY the lack of massive hill directly at port - but I had left all my things (including my warmer clothes) in the south so I couldn`t switch sides. I had, however, left myself open to stay another night when all the others were determined to make it a one-night voyage... so I knew I had time.
While we faffed around in the north, it became apparent that we would much prefer more time to see the pre-Incan ruins and see the much more picturesque (is that even possible??) side of the north, before returning on our planned boat to the south. The original group was staying another day! So the Aussie guys we met said goodbye and trekked back for the boat, wanting to get to Peru as soon as possible given the border dramas at the moment, and the original group of myself, the Turkish brother sister combo, K the Dutch guy and M the English guy were left to walk the 3 hours back.
What a mission. The track itself wasn`t so hard, at times quite hilly, but it just seemed to go on on and on and on. And then we had a whinging Englishman at the back reminding us of this. Haha... nah it was quite funny, I don`t really think he knew what he got himself into by saying yes to the idea. And worse still, every time we got to the "top" of a hill, we saw another behind it - AND we soon learnt that the "welcome banners" at some of these hills were in fact ticket stops where another region of the island had decided to charge us to pass through. Hmph! Should have heard what the Englishman had to say about that one!
Eventually, we had our town in our sights but it wasn`t over yet. We decided to trek to the top of the highest hill to actually catch the sunset this time, since we had another day to enjoy it now, and we set about trying to find a way up. Well, that was a HARD track. Really steep. Had to take unfit breathers every few seconds. Wow, I am bad. BUT not the worst, might I add haha...
At the top, we started wrapping our underprepared bodies with what warmth we could find and waited impatiently for the sun to disappear. And of course there were fucking clouds, weren´t there. All that effort for clouds. Grr.. We did see some of the sunset, though, but bailed pretty much before it was finished because it was getting darn cold. Then on our way home we glanced back at a brilliant purple/blue/pink flash bidding farewell just before being swallowed by the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Bewwwwwdiful.
After the day´s efforts, we were all understandingly tired so we were in bed shortly after 8pm. Even a hot Columbian guy couldn`t keep me up. Sigh. He was beautiful. 1.5 hours later I get a tap on the window to find French F shivering in the cold, having just finished about 12 hours of walking and needing somewhere to stay. Well, I am not good at being woken up, so I was probably a little bitchier than I needed to be to the poor guy, basically yelling that he needed to make a decision - in or out - but that he should just CLOSE THE DOOR. I was freezing. But imagine him! Poor little tucker...
Unsurprisingly, he chose outside instead of sharing my single bed, and then made friends with the Columbians who gave him a sleeping bag and some of their floor. Bless. Meanwhile, I tossed n turned in bed trying to regain the warmth I had before the wakeup and battling against a raging pain in my tooth. This is not normal. I need to see the dentist again.
Well, I can safely say it was worth it. We watched as the sea, first a menacing navy blue, gradually pulled in the energy of the glowing sky and ruffled out a silvery trail on its smooth surface, like a path directly to heaven. A donkey bayed in the distance, apparently discontent that its view was being obscured by yet another early start going up and down the hills carrying water for the cholitas. What a slap in the face that would be.
After the sunrise, we were energised but not energised enuf to face the 3-hour trek from the south to the north side of the island. So we opted for a private boat, still only a few dollars each to take, and in about half an hour we were in the north. It was indeed more chilled and I kinda prefered it - ESPECIALLY the lack of massive hill directly at port - but I had left all my things (including my warmer clothes) in the south so I couldn`t switch sides. I had, however, left myself open to stay another night when all the others were determined to make it a one-night voyage... so I knew I had time.
While we faffed around in the north, it became apparent that we would much prefer more time to see the pre-Incan ruins and see the much more picturesque (is that even possible??) side of the north, before returning on our planned boat to the south. The original group was staying another day! So the Aussie guys we met said goodbye and trekked back for the boat, wanting to get to Peru as soon as possible given the border dramas at the moment, and the original group of myself, the Turkish brother sister combo, K the Dutch guy and M the English guy were left to walk the 3 hours back.
What a mission. The track itself wasn`t so hard, at times quite hilly, but it just seemed to go on on and on and on. And then we had a whinging Englishman at the back reminding us of this. Haha... nah it was quite funny, I don`t really think he knew what he got himself into by saying yes to the idea. And worse still, every time we got to the "top" of a hill, we saw another behind it - AND we soon learnt that the "welcome banners" at some of these hills were in fact ticket stops where another region of the island had decided to charge us to pass through. Hmph! Should have heard what the Englishman had to say about that one!
Eventually, we had our town in our sights but it wasn`t over yet. We decided to trek to the top of the highest hill to actually catch the sunset this time, since we had another day to enjoy it now, and we set about trying to find a way up. Well, that was a HARD track. Really steep. Had to take unfit breathers every few seconds. Wow, I am bad. BUT not the worst, might I add haha...
At the top, we started wrapping our underprepared bodies with what warmth we could find and waited impatiently for the sun to disappear. And of course there were fucking clouds, weren´t there. All that effort for clouds. Grr.. We did see some of the sunset, though, but bailed pretty much before it was finished because it was getting darn cold. Then on our way home we glanced back at a brilliant purple/blue/pink flash bidding farewell just before being swallowed by the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Bewwwwwdiful.
After the day´s efforts, we were all understandingly tired so we were in bed shortly after 8pm. Even a hot Columbian guy couldn`t keep me up. Sigh. He was beautiful. 1.5 hours later I get a tap on the window to find French F shivering in the cold, having just finished about 12 hours of walking and needing somewhere to stay. Well, I am not good at being woken up, so I was probably a little bitchier than I needed to be to the poor guy, basically yelling that he needed to make a decision - in or out - but that he should just CLOSE THE DOOR. I was freezing. But imagine him! Poor little tucker...
Unsurprisingly, he chose outside instead of sharing my single bed, and then made friends with the Columbians who gave him a sleeping bag and some of their floor. Bless. Meanwhile, I tossed n turned in bed trying to regain the warmth I had before the wakeup and battling against a raging pain in my tooth. This is not normal. I need to see the dentist again.
Saturday, 18 June 2011
To the island of the sun...
Isla del Sol, aptly called such because Inkas believe it was the birthplace of the sun (or something), is a must-see destination for tourists in Bolivia. Nestled between the frontiers of Bolivia and Peru, and close to Copacabana in Bolivia, the island is famed for its sunrises, sunsets and vast blanket of stars in the night. Sounded pretty enticing for me. So I went.
With a group of 8, including nationalities from around the world, we set off on the boat from Copacabana to Isla del Sol after a somewhat disappointing hostel breakfast during which M almost had a fist fight with the asshole waiter who refused us a cup of hot water at 9:55am. "NO MAS DESAYUNO!!" He needs to get laid.
The boat took us to the south side, the side we were told was more commercial and not as chilled out. What we weren´t told about was the HILL. Dear god, that thing was a monster. Thankfully, Dutch boy K volunteered to carry my enormous backpack up for me, then crazily came back down for M´s as well! Wow. What a trooper.
Everything we needed was up that hill, but when we got there, things were a little easier. We settled on a hostel with an INCREDIBLE view of the sunrise and it was quite cheap (won´t find that in Santorini!). Once we dumped the backpacks, we took a stroll to some pre-Inca ruins which were not really that impressive - impressive was the view getting there and back. The first of many stunning views to come on this island.
The sun was fading fast, so we tried to get up to a high vantage point to see it set, but were off target a little and instead saw the colours ink the sky behind another island close by. Still, pretty amazing. We chose one of the many pizzerias, a small and humble shack run by an adorable eldery couple that pretty much was full once we arrived. They could only cook one pizza at a time anyway so I think it would have been impossible to have any more customers. French boy F ran into us as well, the first of many times on the island.
The pizza came in jumbo size, biggest things I have ever seen, and was almost all devoured in no time. The rest of the pieces were stored for the sunrise the next morning. The island had turned cold very quickly - once that sun goes down, it is you against nature out there. So we hurried back to the hostel and chilled there for a bit before going to sleep. It had been a big day. But tomorrow would be even bigger.
With a group of 8, including nationalities from around the world, we set off on the boat from Copacabana to Isla del Sol after a somewhat disappointing hostel breakfast during which M almost had a fist fight with the asshole waiter who refused us a cup of hot water at 9:55am. "NO MAS DESAYUNO!!" He needs to get laid.
The boat took us to the south side, the side we were told was more commercial and not as chilled out. What we weren´t told about was the HILL. Dear god, that thing was a monster. Thankfully, Dutch boy K volunteered to carry my enormous backpack up for me, then crazily came back down for M´s as well! Wow. What a trooper.
Everything we needed was up that hill, but when we got there, things were a little easier. We settled on a hostel with an INCREDIBLE view of the sunrise and it was quite cheap (won´t find that in Santorini!). Once we dumped the backpacks, we took a stroll to some pre-Inca ruins which were not really that impressive - impressive was the view getting there and back. The first of many stunning views to come on this island.
The sun was fading fast, so we tried to get up to a high vantage point to see it set, but were off target a little and instead saw the colours ink the sky behind another island close by. Still, pretty amazing. We chose one of the many pizzerias, a small and humble shack run by an adorable eldery couple that pretty much was full once we arrived. They could only cook one pizza at a time anyway so I think it would have been impossible to have any more customers. French boy F ran into us as well, the first of many times on the island.
The pizza came in jumbo size, biggest things I have ever seen, and was almost all devoured in no time. The rest of the pieces were stored for the sunrise the next morning. The island had turned cold very quickly - once that sun goes down, it is you against nature out there. So we hurried back to the hostel and chilled there for a bit before going to sleep. It had been a big day. But tomorrow would be even bigger.
Friday, 17 June 2011
The Accusation.
In the morning, there was still no sign of M. K came in to see if I was ready and I started telling him I was sick of M’s drama and I had no idea where he went – in fact, if he was going to keep bringing drama with him wherever he went, I would be happy not having him in Copacabana with us. Then I hear his voice from the room NEXT DOOR, and he’s all in a huff. Pretty much grunts when I ask him about leaving the room open while I slept, and walked out of the hostel. Hmmm.
K and I went to a nearby place for breakfast and I see M waiting on the other side of the road. So I go over to ask him where he’s going. Short conversation later and I start to realise he didn’t lock himself in another room to avoid the cleaning staff, but to avoid ME. Yep, he blatantly accused me of stealing his cap and money. “There was a small moment when you were in the room without me…” etc etc.
For STARTERS, there was no such moment in my memory REGARDLESS of the fact I would NEVER steal from a friend, despite how long I have known them. To have that seed of doubt planted in his brain made me so, so sad. Is that really how I come across to people?? Do I really look like the type to betray someone like that?? Also, the same fucking thing had happened to me just 2 nights before at the club, so why would I purposely inflict the same pain on someone else?? We are all in the same moneyless boat here…
So I reassured him there was no way he was right, and he said I would have to be pretty stone-cold to be able to look someone in the eye and say that with such conviction. I basically told him I didn’t care whether he thought I was stone-cold or not, I was telling the truth and it was up to him to make his own decision about me. However, if he was going to come with us and still treat me like a thief, I would prefer him not joining us. Although in the end it was his choice. And with that I walked away, because I did not want him to see me cry.
I was pretty upset for a while there, all through the extended breakfast we were forced to take by the slow, shitty breakfast place we’d chosen… and then finally on the bus to Copacabana, I started to cheer up. The thought of being in such a beautiful place – Isla del Sol as well – couldn’t help but take over my dark mood. I just wanted to stay away from The Accuser. For a little while. In fact, I didn’t even want to join in conversation with him… by this stage I was just ANGRY at being accused!
We got to Copacabana (of the Bolivian variety) about 4 hours later - including a short ride on a boat across Lake Titicaca while the boat was rowed across on a barge - and went about finding accommodation. We had befriended 3 more Aussies by this stage, so the group of 8 of us walked into a hostel and confidently got a group discount. The place was nice and it ended up being one of the nicest sleeps I had had in ages. Of course it helped that I was blind drunk when my head hit the pillow.
Said drunkenness occurred thanks to a cheeky little Chilean who persuaded us to drink in his bar down the road... and before we knew it, we were all drunk monkeys on 2 for 1 cocktails. Dammit. I owned the dancefloor (considering no one else wanted it) and me and the Chilean danced up a storm, him slowly falling for my culo grande, and me enjoying the attention.
Then the cops came in. So I danced with them too. They were hilarious. Then I found out they were student cops that basically just strolled the streets checking out chicks. Haha... classic. Well, I felt safe.
At one point, my fave artesan came into the bar and I decided I wanted to go to my hotel room with him. However, when I got back I realised I was indeed too drunk for that kind of behaviour and so swiftly threw him out, complaining of a bad stomach. Haha... poor thing. But let's be honest... I would have been shit in the sack.
K and I went to a nearby place for breakfast and I see M waiting on the other side of the road. So I go over to ask him where he’s going. Short conversation later and I start to realise he didn’t lock himself in another room to avoid the cleaning staff, but to avoid ME. Yep, he blatantly accused me of stealing his cap and money. “There was a small moment when you were in the room without me…” etc etc.
For STARTERS, there was no such moment in my memory REGARDLESS of the fact I would NEVER steal from a friend, despite how long I have known them. To have that seed of doubt planted in his brain made me so, so sad. Is that really how I come across to people?? Do I really look like the type to betray someone like that?? Also, the same fucking thing had happened to me just 2 nights before at the club, so why would I purposely inflict the same pain on someone else?? We are all in the same moneyless boat here…
So I reassured him there was no way he was right, and he said I would have to be pretty stone-cold to be able to look someone in the eye and say that with such conviction. I basically told him I didn’t care whether he thought I was stone-cold or not, I was telling the truth and it was up to him to make his own decision about me. However, if he was going to come with us and still treat me like a thief, I would prefer him not joining us. Although in the end it was his choice. And with that I walked away, because I did not want him to see me cry.
I was pretty upset for a while there, all through the extended breakfast we were forced to take by the slow, shitty breakfast place we’d chosen… and then finally on the bus to Copacabana, I started to cheer up. The thought of being in such a beautiful place – Isla del Sol as well – couldn’t help but take over my dark mood. I just wanted to stay away from The Accuser. For a little while. In fact, I didn’t even want to join in conversation with him… by this stage I was just ANGRY at being accused!
We got to Copacabana (of the Bolivian variety) about 4 hours later - including a short ride on a boat across Lake Titicaca while the boat was rowed across on a barge - and went about finding accommodation. We had befriended 3 more Aussies by this stage, so the group of 8 of us walked into a hostel and confidently got a group discount. The place was nice and it ended up being one of the nicest sleeps I had had in ages. Of course it helped that I was blind drunk when my head hit the pillow.
Said drunkenness occurred thanks to a cheeky little Chilean who persuaded us to drink in his bar down the road... and before we knew it, we were all drunk monkeys on 2 for 1 cocktails. Dammit. I owned the dancefloor (considering no one else wanted it) and me and the Chilean danced up a storm, him slowly falling for my culo grande, and me enjoying the attention.
Then the cops came in. So I danced with them too. They were hilarious. Then I found out they were student cops that basically just strolled the streets checking out chicks. Haha... classic. Well, I felt safe.
At one point, my fave artesan came into the bar and I decided I wanted to go to my hotel room with him. However, when I got back I realised I was indeed too drunk for that kind of behaviour and so swiftly threw him out, complaining of a bad stomach. Haha... poor thing. But let's be honest... I would have been shit in the sack.
Cholita Wrestling. That is all.
THIS POST IS IN THE WRONG ORDER... THIS HAPPENED BEFORE THE LAST POST!!
One of the last things I did before jumping into a cab at 6:30am Sunday morning was to arrange another meet-up with the new group of friends for Cholita Wrestling the next afternoon. Now for those of you unfamiliar with the Cholita, let me spell it out for you... These women, as I have previously mentioned in my blog, are the staple of Bolivian tradition. Dressed in a matching costume of long, black plaits, 3/5 length skirt, bowler hat of some description, with a coloured handmade rug slung over the back packed with goods and usually with a baby on the tit (or in the rug).
These women are EVERYWHERE in Bolivia. And after a while, you don't even notice them pass by. But if you stopped to look at one and try to imagine her pulling the plaits of another inside a WWF-style wrestling ring, you may have a little difficulty. Which is why I was so intrigued when I saw an ad for this very scenario on my city map. We had to go.
So us 5 piled into a regular sized cab (a mean feat with a giant Dutch man in the group) and circled up and up and up towards the Alto, a place not famed for its fair and safe practices. Several times on the way up we were convinced the driver was sending us into the mouths of the La Paz mafia, but eventually we got there and boy, was it worth it.
First, we had to endure REALLY bad acting from male wrestlers like The Cobra, The Commando... and THEN they came out. It was definitely the pinnacle of the evening. All the gringos - sat around the ring in special "tourist" seating with their little souvenir and free popcorn on entry - were soaked by water thrown by one crazy cholita, as they dodged the pair falling over the railing and jumping all over each other... it was hilarious. I have the videos to prove it.
Afterwards, we opted instead for the local minibus to get back into town and then went back to the same bar we always went to. We had a few drinks but I took it easy, thinking we would be heading to Copacabana the next morning, but me and M still didn't make it back to the hostel until about 1am. For the second night in a row, we had to knock madly for quite a while before the night watchman came to let us in. Oops.
One of the last things I did before jumping into a cab at 6:30am Sunday morning was to arrange another meet-up with the new group of friends for Cholita Wrestling the next afternoon. Now for those of you unfamiliar with the Cholita, let me spell it out for you... These women, as I have previously mentioned in my blog, are the staple of Bolivian tradition. Dressed in a matching costume of long, black plaits, 3/5 length skirt, bowler hat of some description, with a coloured handmade rug slung over the back packed with goods and usually with a baby on the tit (or in the rug).
These women are EVERYWHERE in Bolivia. And after a while, you don't even notice them pass by. But if you stopped to look at one and try to imagine her pulling the plaits of another inside a WWF-style wrestling ring, you may have a little difficulty. Which is why I was so intrigued when I saw an ad for this very scenario on my city map. We had to go.
So us 5 piled into a regular sized cab (a mean feat with a giant Dutch man in the group) and circled up and up and up towards the Alto, a place not famed for its fair and safe practices. Several times on the way up we were convinced the driver was sending us into the mouths of the La Paz mafia, but eventually we got there and boy, was it worth it.
First, we had to endure REALLY bad acting from male wrestlers like The Cobra, The Commando... and THEN they came out. It was definitely the pinnacle of the evening. All the gringos - sat around the ring in special "tourist" seating with their little souvenir and free popcorn on entry - were soaked by water thrown by one crazy cholita, as they dodged the pair falling over the railing and jumping all over each other... it was hilarious. I have the videos to prove it.
Afterwards, we opted instead for the local minibus to get back into town and then went back to the same bar we always went to. We had a few drinks but I took it easy, thinking we would be heading to Copacabana the next morning, but me and M still didn't make it back to the hostel until about 1am. For the second night in a row, we had to knock madly for quite a while before the night watchman came to let us in. Oops.
La Paz... Dislocated
After the violent events of the previous day, it was no surprise that we had another accident-related incident after checking out of our hostel, en route to meet the others and head to Copacabana. While eating a delicious and ridiculously cheap fruit salad with M’s crush from the hostel, a young girl fell off the see-saw behind us and dislocated her elbow. I will never forget the look of terror on her poor face as she looked up at me and saw my look of horror at her hideously bent limb.
I was shell-shocked, taking a complete step back to avoid the girl seeing my face again and panicking further, while M and his crush sprung into action. Luckily there was a police station just next to us so they whisked her away and called an ambulance. Hectic.
Getting to Copabacana, however, was an entirely more complicated process than getting a young girl to hospital. We had heard from our hostel people that Bolivia was on a one-day transport strike and there was – along with a strike from drivers – actual blockades around La Paz that prevented anyone from going anywhere. So we were grounded. We tried to think of other options, but even using a private taxi we were told would cause protesters to throw rocks at our vehicle as we passed the main problem area.
I had checked into the same hostel as the Turkish brother/sister combo, not wanting to walk the hill again with my backpack, and left M at the other hostel meeting us the next morning. However, with him stressed that he wouldn’t get up in time, I found him in the foyer of my new hostel asking which room I was in. Now I was fine with that, but sharing a bed with him I found a little annoying – he doesn’t believe in deodarant and also doesn’t shower all that often. Luckily, after some haggling with the bitchy owner, we changed to a room with 2 double beds and all was forgiven.
So we resigned ourselves to staying another day in hectic La Paz, and used our time to check out the markets. I had started to become obsessed with buying an alapaca/llama poncho, and also wanted to see prices for some other handmade items I wanted to buy. Some bday money had arrived in my account courtesy of the olds so I was feeling a little more generous with my wallet. At fucking last, I say!
Before we knew it, it was getting late and I almost missed the second interview I had set up with the Caribbean chick about work. So I settled myself into the local bar we’d started to call our meeting point (still having bought nothing – thought it best to wait until the very end to lug it around), and waited. And waited. And waited. About half an hour after our arranged time, I called it quits, frustrated that for the second time this lady had bailed on me. But, remembering she lived on a tiny island, I forgave her for her tardiness and awaited her repentence.
I knew it would be an early start so I laid off too much booze – also I was feeling a bit funny from the medicine I was taking for my tooth, and tired from everything from the day. So I basically laid my head on K’s lap while the others played pool and drank a few, and then we called it a night.
Back at the hostel, M and I came back to the room and he starts madly scavenging around his bag. I ask him what is wrong, and he tells me his cap is missing… OK, not cool, I think. Then he tells me inside the cap was 300 Argentinian pesos. Definitely not cool. He never finds it, obviously gets annoyed about it, and I fall asleep to him rummaging around.
At 5:30am, my alarm went off for my medicine and I noticed the room was empty besides me and my things. I had no idea where M went, but I noticed the door was left unlocked. Something a little amiss, given there was clearly a thief around that could even get in with a key… so I was naturally a bit annoyed. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for what went down the next morning…
I was shell-shocked, taking a complete step back to avoid the girl seeing my face again and panicking further, while M and his crush sprung into action. Luckily there was a police station just next to us so they whisked her away and called an ambulance. Hectic.
Getting to Copabacana, however, was an entirely more complicated process than getting a young girl to hospital. We had heard from our hostel people that Bolivia was on a one-day transport strike and there was – along with a strike from drivers – actual blockades around La Paz that prevented anyone from going anywhere. So we were grounded. We tried to think of other options, but even using a private taxi we were told would cause protesters to throw rocks at our vehicle as we passed the main problem area.
I had checked into the same hostel as the Turkish brother/sister combo, not wanting to walk the hill again with my backpack, and left M at the other hostel meeting us the next morning. However, with him stressed that he wouldn’t get up in time, I found him in the foyer of my new hostel asking which room I was in. Now I was fine with that, but sharing a bed with him I found a little annoying – he doesn’t believe in deodarant and also doesn’t shower all that often. Luckily, after some haggling with the bitchy owner, we changed to a room with 2 double beds and all was forgiven.
So we resigned ourselves to staying another day in hectic La Paz, and used our time to check out the markets. I had started to become obsessed with buying an alapaca/llama poncho, and also wanted to see prices for some other handmade items I wanted to buy. Some bday money had arrived in my account courtesy of the olds so I was feeling a little more generous with my wallet. At fucking last, I say!
Before we knew it, it was getting late and I almost missed the second interview I had set up with the Caribbean chick about work. So I settled myself into the local bar we’d started to call our meeting point (still having bought nothing – thought it best to wait until the very end to lug it around), and waited. And waited. And waited. About half an hour after our arranged time, I called it quits, frustrated that for the second time this lady had bailed on me. But, remembering she lived on a tiny island, I forgave her for her tardiness and awaited her repentence.
I knew it would be an early start so I laid off too much booze – also I was feeling a bit funny from the medicine I was taking for my tooth, and tired from everything from the day. So I basically laid my head on K’s lap while the others played pool and drank a few, and then we called it a night.
Back at the hostel, M and I came back to the room and he starts madly scavenging around his bag. I ask him what is wrong, and he tells me his cap is missing… OK, not cool, I think. Then he tells me inside the cap was 300 Argentinian pesos. Definitely not cool. He never finds it, obviously gets annoyed about it, and I fall asleep to him rummaging around.
At 5:30am, my alarm went off for my medicine and I noticed the room was empty besides me and my things. I had no idea where M went, but I noticed the door was left unlocked. Something a little amiss, given there was clearly a thief around that could even get in with a key… so I was naturally a bit annoyed. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for what went down the next morning…
Monday, 13 June 2011
La Paz delivers EPIC
First night out in La Paz = EPIC.
I woke on Saturday on a mission, determined not to disappoint myself again with the failure to see the inside of a La Paz nightclub during my stay here. Again, I was woken by my bearded French friend, who I had told to come at 11am to get me up. Sure enuf, in he floated on his little legs and I thanked the stars he came when I had the room to myself. I had been looking forward to feeling better for this particular visit...
A short while later (ahem), I was ready to get up and go, mildly disappointed by the day's happenings given the amazingness of previous similar occasions. If you get my cryptic rumblings, you should feel sorry for me.
We went to his hostel to collect his friends and then had a reasonably pricey (for Bolivia) lunch, at which I had soup again. Fantastic. Afterwards, we arranged to meet at the lookout to see the sun set (how very romantic) before which I would sneak in a siesta. Not wanting to tempt fate again, that is...
Post-siesta, I roped in a couple of friends from my dorm to come along to the lookout and so we - armed with some beers - went along and got some beautiful pics of the sun setting over the city... I just love that place. My French friend didn't come til after the sun came down, useless, but then we planned on meeting at his hostel (closer to the nightlife action) later on. And we parted ways.
Next order of business, for a Saturday night in La Paz, is to get some party favours... which we did down the road by walking into a random doorway, me waiting outside and then seeing the others return 2 mins later. Deal done. It was pretty strong stuf, I didn't have too much before going out but I was buzzing - almost skipping - down the hills to my mate's hostel... and when we didn't find him there, we skipped down to a nearby bar.
At said bar, we befriended a Dutch guy and his assortment of traveling friends... henceforth we went from bar to bar, the first couple a little gringoish for my liking but then to the most popular bar for both tourists and locals, Tiko's. Had a good boogie there, took a lot of local delight, and checked constantly for my wallet in my pocket. Between one of those checks, the wallet disappeared and I was bummed.
120bs down (a day's budget for me really!) and I was still looking around for at least my wallet... when abracadabra, there it appears in front of my feet, sin dinero, even without the friggin coins, greedy buggers. Money in the bra from now on. The condom was still there, though, so their priorities clearly didn't stretch to preventing the spread of sexual disease and unwanted pregnancies. Not that the latter has even seemed to cross the minds of people here... there are babies EVERYWHERE. Sometimes I almost step on them.
But I digress. Was glad to have my wallet back, and also happy I wasn't the only one stupid enuf to get myself robbed. Along with a bunch of wallets going missing, apparently one Belgian guy found his tobacco pouch also in front of his feet without the tobacco. Cheapskates!! Can you believe it...
Then came Route 36. The most random place in La Paz. ONLY for gringos, this 24 hour hellhole was introduced to us by the Dutch guy and his Bolivian friend (who could get in because he knew people)... but the 2 hot Bolivian girls spent 1.5 hours outside trying to get in purely because they were local. The place moves every 2 weeks because it is highly illegal and neighbours complain... and rightly so. Would you want that kind of scene near you??
They sold coke over the counter and then allowed you to do it whenever and wherever you wanted, in full view or otherwise, with the only rule that you needed to do the coke you bought from them. Ha! Definitely a memorable experience, that one.
So after it was passed around, I found myself watching as people paired off to begin insanely deep yet profoundly uninteresting conversations about next to nothing, and I myself began to notice that I was doing exactly the same. Ho hum.
At one point, I got up and announced that it was time to go, and M and I waited until a cab arrived so we could swish away secretly... only to be locked out of our hostel for about 15 minutes while we banged at the door for someone to let us in. It was to be the first of 2 nights of this for us... I was impatient because my tooth had started to hurt again (I failed to bring my tablets out with me). And 7am rolled around.
As I said, EPIC.
I woke on Saturday on a mission, determined not to disappoint myself again with the failure to see the inside of a La Paz nightclub during my stay here. Again, I was woken by my bearded French friend, who I had told to come at 11am to get me up. Sure enuf, in he floated on his little legs and I thanked the stars he came when I had the room to myself. I had been looking forward to feeling better for this particular visit...
A short while later (ahem), I was ready to get up and go, mildly disappointed by the day's happenings given the amazingness of previous similar occasions. If you get my cryptic rumblings, you should feel sorry for me.
We went to his hostel to collect his friends and then had a reasonably pricey (for Bolivia) lunch, at which I had soup again. Fantastic. Afterwards, we arranged to meet at the lookout to see the sun set (how very romantic) before which I would sneak in a siesta. Not wanting to tempt fate again, that is...
Post-siesta, I roped in a couple of friends from my dorm to come along to the lookout and so we - armed with some beers - went along and got some beautiful pics of the sun setting over the city... I just love that place. My French friend didn't come til after the sun came down, useless, but then we planned on meeting at his hostel (closer to the nightlife action) later on. And we parted ways.
Next order of business, for a Saturday night in La Paz, is to get some party favours... which we did down the road by walking into a random doorway, me waiting outside and then seeing the others return 2 mins later. Deal done. It was pretty strong stuf, I didn't have too much before going out but I was buzzing - almost skipping - down the hills to my mate's hostel... and when we didn't find him there, we skipped down to a nearby bar.
At said bar, we befriended a Dutch guy and his assortment of traveling friends... henceforth we went from bar to bar, the first couple a little gringoish for my liking but then to the most popular bar for both tourists and locals, Tiko's. Had a good boogie there, took a lot of local delight, and checked constantly for my wallet in my pocket. Between one of those checks, the wallet disappeared and I was bummed.
120bs down (a day's budget for me really!) and I was still looking around for at least my wallet... when abracadabra, there it appears in front of my feet, sin dinero, even without the friggin coins, greedy buggers. Money in the bra from now on. The condom was still there, though, so their priorities clearly didn't stretch to preventing the spread of sexual disease and unwanted pregnancies. Not that the latter has even seemed to cross the minds of people here... there are babies EVERYWHERE. Sometimes I almost step on them.
But I digress. Was glad to have my wallet back, and also happy I wasn't the only one stupid enuf to get myself robbed. Along with a bunch of wallets going missing, apparently one Belgian guy found his tobacco pouch also in front of his feet without the tobacco. Cheapskates!! Can you believe it...
Then came Route 36. The most random place in La Paz. ONLY for gringos, this 24 hour hellhole was introduced to us by the Dutch guy and his Bolivian friend (who could get in because he knew people)... but the 2 hot Bolivian girls spent 1.5 hours outside trying to get in purely because they were local. The place moves every 2 weeks because it is highly illegal and neighbours complain... and rightly so. Would you want that kind of scene near you??
They sold coke over the counter and then allowed you to do it whenever and wherever you wanted, in full view or otherwise, with the only rule that you needed to do the coke you bought from them. Ha! Definitely a memorable experience, that one.
So after it was passed around, I found myself watching as people paired off to begin insanely deep yet profoundly uninteresting conversations about next to nothing, and I myself began to notice that I was doing exactly the same. Ho hum.
At one point, I got up and announced that it was time to go, and M and I waited until a cab arrived so we could swish away secretly... only to be locked out of our hostel for about 15 minutes while we banged at the door for someone to let us in. It was to be the first of 2 nights of this for us... I was impatient because my tooth had started to hurt again (I failed to bring my tablets out with me). And 7am rolled around.
As I said, EPIC.
Moler = 1, Me = 0
I`ve always hated the whole "fail" phase in recent social networking history, but I feel my first Friday night in La Paz was decidedly deserving of this label. I don`t know if it was too much sun, too many painkillers, too much walking, not enuf water... but whatever it was, it thoroughly and completely stopped me from leaving the hostel with the group of hot artesans I had befriended in the hostel. Why, oh why???
Let me start at the beginning. I woke early to try and catch the lady in the Caribbean wanting a Skype interview with me for this job come September, only to find I had misread the email and she wanted to meet in the afternoon. Oh well. So I headed next straight to the bank district to try and sort out my card issues. I ended up having to withdraw from my credit card, messing up all my budgeting but hey, I am not complaining with the dinero in my pocket. I was worried there for a second.
Back at the hostel, I found F who had lent me the money for my tooth operation and finally settled that debt - hate the feeling of owing people! She was sitting on the rooftop patio with the other artesans, making arm bands and juggling etc... I kinda like that vibe so I stayed there a while. In the beautiful sun.
Then I left with the Spanish girl M to walk to the lookout, soooo beautiful... it really showed La Paz sitting snugly in its little valley, then spreading slowly but surely up the hills in between some cliffs and around arid mountains. And in the background, the most stunning snow-capped mountain makes for an almost unbelievable comparison as we sat under the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. My camera was well utilised at this moment.
Later in the day, I returned to the lookout for sunset, although it was a little late and we only got there for the faint glow of the disappearing sun across the valley. Still beautiful. I vowed to be less tardy the next day.
I had more miscommunication with my French boy and after much effort, eventually wrote him a message outlining the 3 choices he had in meeting me again. I was SICK of those fucking hills from his hostel to mine - I climbed them TWICE to no avail this day. I love La Paz, but it is literally an uphill battle most of the time!
To my surprise, when I was having a siesta before going out with the hippies, I saw a little bearded face pop into my blurry, sleepy vision in my dark room saying in his cute little French accent, "Oh so you are sleeping again?!" It took a little encouraging to get me out of bed, me being incredibly cold despite having about 6 blankets on top of me and not feeling 100%.
I was literally waiting downstairs for everyone to be ready when I went to the bathroom, almost fainted and decided it was best to give this one to the sleeping gods. Tomorrow, I promise to fulfill my partying destiny in La Paz. My brother would be oh so disappointed if I didn`t.
Let me start at the beginning. I woke early to try and catch the lady in the Caribbean wanting a Skype interview with me for this job come September, only to find I had misread the email and she wanted to meet in the afternoon. Oh well. So I headed next straight to the bank district to try and sort out my card issues. I ended up having to withdraw from my credit card, messing up all my budgeting but hey, I am not complaining with the dinero in my pocket. I was worried there for a second.
Back at the hostel, I found F who had lent me the money for my tooth operation and finally settled that debt - hate the feeling of owing people! She was sitting on the rooftop patio with the other artesans, making arm bands and juggling etc... I kinda like that vibe so I stayed there a while. In the beautiful sun.
Then I left with the Spanish girl M to walk to the lookout, soooo beautiful... it really showed La Paz sitting snugly in its little valley, then spreading slowly but surely up the hills in between some cliffs and around arid mountains. And in the background, the most stunning snow-capped mountain makes for an almost unbelievable comparison as we sat under the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. My camera was well utilised at this moment.
Later in the day, I returned to the lookout for sunset, although it was a little late and we only got there for the faint glow of the disappearing sun across the valley. Still beautiful. I vowed to be less tardy the next day.
I had more miscommunication with my French boy and after much effort, eventually wrote him a message outlining the 3 choices he had in meeting me again. I was SICK of those fucking hills from his hostel to mine - I climbed them TWICE to no avail this day. I love La Paz, but it is literally an uphill battle most of the time!
To my surprise, when I was having a siesta before going out with the hippies, I saw a little bearded face pop into my blurry, sleepy vision in my dark room saying in his cute little French accent, "Oh so you are sleeping again?!" It took a little encouraging to get me out of bed, me being incredibly cold despite having about 6 blankets on top of me and not feeling 100%.
I was literally waiting downstairs for everyone to be ready when I went to the bathroom, almost fainted and decided it was best to give this one to the sleeping gods. Tomorrow, I promise to fulfill my partying destiny in La Paz. My brother would be oh so disappointed if I didn`t.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
The sweet (free) sounds of classical La Paz
This morning was to be the first of many mornings would wake up by alarm at 5 to take my painkillers for my tooth. Ho hum. I must look forward to a week more of that. But anyway, the pills are keeping away the pain so I mustn`t bitch.
It was a lazy day... After trying several cash machines unsuccessfully, I went to visit my friends from France in their hostel and ended up having lunch with me (me eating simple soup), and then arranging to meet the French boy later at my hostel. Well, later was never for him, and so I went out with a Columbian girl L and an Argentinian guy N from my room, to what we hoped was some free theatre in town.
Well, nothing is ever free is it... so we moved on from that place and stumbled instead upon some free classical music inside a museum, which was quite beautiful actually. The courtyard was open so the night air crept in and kept things fresh, as is always the case in high altitude La Paz, but the music warmed me a little (awww) and I got to have a taste of something purely for the locals (I didn`t see any other gringos in there).
Afterwards, we were hungry but I was still sensitive, however after much walking around we settled on pizza. Another meal I ate slowly until it was freezing cold. Awesomeness. Then it was back to the hostel and sleepsies sleepsies sleepsies.
Sidenote: Bolivia loves a good marching band. I hear them rehearsing every single day. It`s odd.
It was a lazy day... After trying several cash machines unsuccessfully, I went to visit my friends from France in their hostel and ended up having lunch with me (me eating simple soup), and then arranging to meet the French boy later at my hostel. Well, later was never for him, and so I went out with a Columbian girl L and an Argentinian guy N from my room, to what we hoped was some free theatre in town.
Well, nothing is ever free is it... so we moved on from that place and stumbled instead upon some free classical music inside a museum, which was quite beautiful actually. The courtyard was open so the night air crept in and kept things fresh, as is always the case in high altitude La Paz, but the music warmed me a little (awww) and I got to have a taste of something purely for the locals (I didn`t see any other gringos in there).
Afterwards, we were hungry but I was still sensitive, however after much walking around we settled on pizza. Another meal I ate slowly until it was freezing cold. Awesomeness. Then it was back to the hostel and sleepsies sleepsies sleepsies.
Sidenote: Bolivia loves a good marching band. I hear them rehearsing every single day. It`s odd.
Friday, 10 June 2011
Moley moley FUCKING MOLER
So I am in La Paz. The biggest city, though not the capital, of Bolivia. I wasn`t expecting great things, and the fumes and traffic that greeted me confirmed it was indeed going to be a hectic few days. Well, I planned for it to only be 1 night and then to head to Coroico towards the Amazon... but then there was my tooth. My fucking moler.
I walked to the hostel recommended by my friend, who said it was a "really cool, cheap hippie place" so on that, I was pretty keen to check it out. The hostel that my amigovio was staying at was a bit further to walk with my backpack, and a bit more expensive. Also had hideous reviews online so...
No problems about a room with no reservation, there was plenty of space and even a bed with my friend. For 25bs a night, I really couldn`t complain BUT I didn`t really have a reason to complain... the rooms were super cool, painted top to tail in graffiti from previous guests and with an open courtyard and relaxed vibe in general. I knew I would find it pretty easy to stay here...
I had a pill like Zanex from my friend in order to get some sleep, and after a few hours of zonked-outness, I woke to be invited to go to the Valley of the Moon. Some place on the city fringe. Sweet, sounds good. We got into one of the many minivans that serve as buses here (there are also buses but they are less common) and rode up one of the many mountains to the valley. These buses are so funny, every time they slow down a person yells out the door where they go and anyone going the same way just jumps in. At first I thought they were just yelling obscenities at me but alas... it was just work.
Bought some more pills at a pharmacy, which also didn`t work, and tried not to think about the pain while we were at the valley. The valley... WOW. Amazing formations of clay in deep gorges, stalictyte-like statuettes, just like the crater of a moon - hence the name. But the biggest problem was that they charged an entry fee to see the main part.
Not a problem for us. We just found where the fence stopped and walked in that way. I did feel kinda mean so I just stayed on the perimeter with cute little artesan F from Argentina, but the others walked all the way in and then stupidly walked out the entrance, when they got stopped by the guards asking why they didn`t pay. Blah blah blah, not my problem - IDIOTS.
By this stage, I was in a lot of pain and needed a dentist - pronto. F came with me back to the centre and we walked around until we found the cheap area for dentists, and she helped to translate what I needed. First we had to wait in a specific dentist for a radiograph, then take that radiograph to another dentist, and then they had to make the decision.
Well, at it turned out, the decision was to remove the moler altogether. Fun times. So I was plonked into a chair, with not much choice about the matter if it meant the pain would stop, and promised "20 minutes". Yeah, RIGHT! Over 2 hours later, I was squirming and squealing about the whole situation, feeling very little because I demanded more more MORE anaesthetic, but ultimately scared out of my wits because this shouldn`t take so long. No way. And the way they were pulling at the tooth... it was a horrendous sound.
Safe to say, that was the most horrible experience of my entire 3 hours of traveling, and I am glad it is over. And that I came out alive. I just hope all this medication they`ve lumped onto me actually works and nothing more comes of it. Just gotta get the stitches out next week and all is dandy.
I think I will stay until after the weekend now, because it should be quite a party, and then leave Sunday or Monday. Although I found out there is cholita wrestling, which is the traditional Bolivian women actually wrestling like WWF. Sounds bloody entertaining to me. And it`s on Sunday. So...hmmm...
So needless to say, this was an early night for me. I couldn`t even walk up the hills back to the hostel, had to get a cab, and couldn`t find any banks to take my card and pay back F for the operation. This was to be a continuing problem in the ensuing days... hijo de puta.
I walked to the hostel recommended by my friend, who said it was a "really cool, cheap hippie place" so on that, I was pretty keen to check it out. The hostel that my amigovio was staying at was a bit further to walk with my backpack, and a bit more expensive. Also had hideous reviews online so...
No problems about a room with no reservation, there was plenty of space and even a bed with my friend. For 25bs a night, I really couldn`t complain BUT I didn`t really have a reason to complain... the rooms were super cool, painted top to tail in graffiti from previous guests and with an open courtyard and relaxed vibe in general. I knew I would find it pretty easy to stay here...
I had a pill like Zanex from my friend in order to get some sleep, and after a few hours of zonked-outness, I woke to be invited to go to the Valley of the Moon. Some place on the city fringe. Sweet, sounds good. We got into one of the many minivans that serve as buses here (there are also buses but they are less common) and rode up one of the many mountains to the valley. These buses are so funny, every time they slow down a person yells out the door where they go and anyone going the same way just jumps in. At first I thought they were just yelling obscenities at me but alas... it was just work.
Bought some more pills at a pharmacy, which also didn`t work, and tried not to think about the pain while we were at the valley. The valley... WOW. Amazing formations of clay in deep gorges, stalictyte-like statuettes, just like the crater of a moon - hence the name. But the biggest problem was that they charged an entry fee to see the main part.
Not a problem for us. We just found where the fence stopped and walked in that way. I did feel kinda mean so I just stayed on the perimeter with cute little artesan F from Argentina, but the others walked all the way in and then stupidly walked out the entrance, when they got stopped by the guards asking why they didn`t pay. Blah blah blah, not my problem - IDIOTS.
By this stage, I was in a lot of pain and needed a dentist - pronto. F came with me back to the centre and we walked around until we found the cheap area for dentists, and she helped to translate what I needed. First we had to wait in a specific dentist for a radiograph, then take that radiograph to another dentist, and then they had to make the decision.
Well, at it turned out, the decision was to remove the moler altogether. Fun times. So I was plonked into a chair, with not much choice about the matter if it meant the pain would stop, and promised "20 minutes". Yeah, RIGHT! Over 2 hours later, I was squirming and squealing about the whole situation, feeling very little because I demanded more more MORE anaesthetic, but ultimately scared out of my wits because this shouldn`t take so long. No way. And the way they were pulling at the tooth... it was a horrendous sound.
Safe to say, that was the most horrible experience of my entire 3 hours of traveling, and I am glad it is over. And that I came out alive. I just hope all this medication they`ve lumped onto me actually works and nothing more comes of it. Just gotta get the stitches out next week and all is dandy.
I think I will stay until after the weekend now, because it should be quite a party, and then leave Sunday or Monday. Although I found out there is cholita wrestling, which is the traditional Bolivian women actually wrestling like WWF. Sounds bloody entertaining to me. And it`s on Sunday. So...hmmm...
So needless to say, this was an early night for me. I couldn`t even walk up the hills back to the hostel, had to get a cab, and couldn`t find any banks to take my card and pay back F for the operation. This was to be a continuing problem in the ensuing days... hijo de puta.
Tooth pain and greedy Bolivian women
My last day with R - it was sad times. We packed our bags and I, carrying the weight of my shitty toothache as well as my backpack, moved out into the storage room - really a corridor to somewhere guarded by a broken padlock. I had forced myself to have a shower, limb by limb in the freezing water, and at least felt a little more clean.
Before I go on, I will just say that Sucre LOVES sweet things. I have seen a lot of sweet things in Bolivia, but Sucre is the most obsessed. Maybe this is why every woman ends up the same rotund shape, or maybe it is because of this that they eat so much shit, and then it is an ongoing cycle of depressive eating. Who knows. I tried some things, they were OK but mostly dry, and I missed the desserts of Argentina... where for art thou dulce de leche???
I thought R was leaving early, but we ended up being energetic and going lots more than planned before she eventually got a bus in the afternoon. We went to a museum and looked around without paying somehow. We also hiked up the hill to the mirador, the lookout, which was the perfect place to be on such a faultless blue day. We were well n truly puffed by the time we got up - still not used to the altitude - and rested for a little while before heading back down. Talked momentarily to a ginger that ended up being from Chile and a darker, Pharrell Williams type from Peru. I wonder if that is where Pharrell comes from?
Afterwards, R decided it was finally time to leave and together we went to the bus terminal to get her a bus. She was going to Potosi again to meet someone, or do something, I dunno... I needed to find out times n prices for my journey to La Paz via Oruro that night. That was pretty easy - I knew what price I wanted to pay so I didn`t settle for less and before I knew it, I had a ticket in my hand and only 30bs out of pocket. Sweetness.
After a sad farewell, I hopped onto a bus and headed back into town to find a beautician that did bikini waxing. Much easier said than done. Fuck`s sake, only 2 of them did it and actually finding a salon with the waxist there was another problem altogether. Eventually, I found one - cheapest yet around the world - and all was merry. I was looking forward to seeing my amigovio in La Paz the next day so I needed to be prepared...
Also visited a dentist to see what the deal was with my tooth pain, and he said I needed a radiograph to see the problem, and maybe to take out the tooth altogether. Well, considering I had my ticket for La Paz already, I was not sticking around for that, so he wrote out an explanation for the dentist in La Paz, and I paid him to give me teeth a good clean to try and reduce the inflammation just for the moment. Didn`t really work that well. But at least my teeth were clean.
I faffed around until my bus at 9:30, wasting time in the terminal talking to a Bolivian woman in full traditional garbar (known as Cho, and losing my black nail polish in translation when I asked if she wanted to paint her nails, and her saying, "No, later" and stuffing it into her black shawl. Hmmm. That wasn`t precisely my plan, bitch.
The bus ride was pretty bad - mainly because I couldn`t sleep due to the pain in my gums. I had bought some pain pills prescribed by the dentist, which did jackshit, so I just shifted around my seats (thankfully I had 2 to myself) and tried unsuccessfully to cover my entire body with a short jacket from the cold. Forever with at least one major limb frozen, it was a losing battle on my part. Winter = 1, Me = 0.
FIIIIIINALLY, after 8 hours of no sleep, we arrived at Oruro at 5:20am. I had been told the buses to La Paz were plentiful no matter the hour, but the terminal looked mighty empty to me. Not until I crossed through to the other side did I see the craziness that was Oruro bus terminal on an early weekday morning. "LA PAZ LA PAZ LA PAZ LA PAZ" Si, si, 10bs? Si, si, bueno. Deal done. 40bs all up to get the 11 hours from Sucre to La Paz (about $6) in middle class. Nice one. And certainly better than the 150 quoted to me by the tour agent. Gringo price me, why don`t you!
Before I go on, I will just say that Sucre LOVES sweet things. I have seen a lot of sweet things in Bolivia, but Sucre is the most obsessed. Maybe this is why every woman ends up the same rotund shape, or maybe it is because of this that they eat so much shit, and then it is an ongoing cycle of depressive eating. Who knows. I tried some things, they were OK but mostly dry, and I missed the desserts of Argentina... where for art thou dulce de leche???
I thought R was leaving early, but we ended up being energetic and going lots more than planned before she eventually got a bus in the afternoon. We went to a museum and looked around without paying somehow. We also hiked up the hill to the mirador, the lookout, which was the perfect place to be on such a faultless blue day. We were well n truly puffed by the time we got up - still not used to the altitude - and rested for a little while before heading back down. Talked momentarily to a ginger that ended up being from Chile and a darker, Pharrell Williams type from Peru. I wonder if that is where Pharrell comes from?
Afterwards, R decided it was finally time to leave and together we went to the bus terminal to get her a bus. She was going to Potosi again to meet someone, or do something, I dunno... I needed to find out times n prices for my journey to La Paz via Oruro that night. That was pretty easy - I knew what price I wanted to pay so I didn`t settle for less and before I knew it, I had a ticket in my hand and only 30bs out of pocket. Sweetness.
After a sad farewell, I hopped onto a bus and headed back into town to find a beautician that did bikini waxing. Much easier said than done. Fuck`s sake, only 2 of them did it and actually finding a salon with the waxist there was another problem altogether. Eventually, I found one - cheapest yet around the world - and all was merry. I was looking forward to seeing my amigovio in La Paz the next day so I needed to be prepared...
Also visited a dentist to see what the deal was with my tooth pain, and he said I needed a radiograph to see the problem, and maybe to take out the tooth altogether. Well, considering I had my ticket for La Paz already, I was not sticking around for that, so he wrote out an explanation for the dentist in La Paz, and I paid him to give me teeth a good clean to try and reduce the inflammation just for the moment. Didn`t really work that well. But at least my teeth were clean.
I faffed around until my bus at 9:30, wasting time in the terminal talking to a Bolivian woman in full traditional garbar (known as Cho, and losing my black nail polish in translation when I asked if she wanted to paint her nails, and her saying, "No, later" and stuffing it into her black shawl. Hmmm. That wasn`t precisely my plan, bitch.
The bus ride was pretty bad - mainly because I couldn`t sleep due to the pain in my gums. I had bought some pain pills prescribed by the dentist, which did jackshit, so I just shifted around my seats (thankfully I had 2 to myself) and tried unsuccessfully to cover my entire body with a short jacket from the cold. Forever with at least one major limb frozen, it was a losing battle on my part. Winter = 1, Me = 0.
FIIIIIINALLY, after 8 hours of no sleep, we arrived at Oruro at 5:20am. I had been told the buses to La Paz were plentiful no matter the hour, but the terminal looked mighty empty to me. Not until I crossed through to the other side did I see the craziness that was Oruro bus terminal on an early weekday morning. "LA PAZ LA PAZ LA PAZ LA PAZ" Si, si, 10bs? Si, si, bueno. Deal done. 40bs all up to get the 11 hours from Sucre to La Paz (about $6) in middle class. Nice one. And certainly better than the 150 quoted to me by the tour agent. Gringo price me, why don`t you!
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Oh what big feet you dinosaurs have...
Second day in Sucre and it was time to jump on board the tourist bus to the dinosaur park, famed for having the largest collection of dinosaur footprints in the world. After jumping off the tourist bus and seeing all the local buses parking up behind us (great, another waste of money), we were shepherded into the park and pretty much forced to join the guided tour (which I couldn´t understand much of since it was in Spanish). Seriously, if we didn´t move along quick enuf, they had a security guard ambling along behind the group.
The park itself was pretty small, existing solely of reconstructions of the dinosaur featuring on the wall and also some other random creatures. I had to pay 5bs extra to take photos, so along with being charged 3x the price for being foreign and taking the tourist bus, we were feeling a bit ripped off. But the footprints were impressive, I will admit, and R loved it because she has always loved dinosaurs. Myself, I took the opportunity to do stupid poses in front of the statues to stave off my boredom.
The drive at least, back into town, was a good way to see the city. It really is beautiful, with the mountains all around... I wonder if the people living here think the same. Probably not, considering the large number of them that don´t even have shoes for the onset of winter.
Back in town, we found Z, the Uruguian from yesterday, who we had arranged to meet for the dinosaur park. Except that he misunderstood our plans and only arrived when we came back. So me and R walked around a bit, sitting in the park for a while with the kids running around us, and then headed back to sort ourselves out for R´s departure to Potosi. Well, she ended up staying another night (rude not to, really), and that meant I was not alone yay! She really is a lovely girl and I hope I see her again someday after this.
After another cheap meal at the markets opposite our hostel, we went to Z´s room and had a chat with him, before going to find a cheap place to eat. Except it wasn´t that easy... so me and R obstained from another meal and Z ate in solace. I was beginning to feel a lot of pain in my left moler, so life was becoming unpleasant and I was a little unsociable, especially given the effort I needed to understand them speaking Spanish.
It was another earlyish night for us - this time sans fuckers in the next room - and I bought the strongest thing to try and stave off my tooth pain. That worked - to get to sleep - but then I woke in the middle of the night to have it return, and found the second pill did absolutely jackshit. I had to do something about this.
The park itself was pretty small, existing solely of reconstructions of the dinosaur featuring on the wall and also some other random creatures. I had to pay 5bs extra to take photos, so along with being charged 3x the price for being foreign and taking the tourist bus, we were feeling a bit ripped off. But the footprints were impressive, I will admit, and R loved it because she has always loved dinosaurs. Myself, I took the opportunity to do stupid poses in front of the statues to stave off my boredom.
The drive at least, back into town, was a good way to see the city. It really is beautiful, with the mountains all around... I wonder if the people living here think the same. Probably not, considering the large number of them that don´t even have shoes for the onset of winter.
Back in town, we found Z, the Uruguian from yesterday, who we had arranged to meet for the dinosaur park. Except that he misunderstood our plans and only arrived when we came back. So me and R walked around a bit, sitting in the park for a while with the kids running around us, and then headed back to sort ourselves out for R´s departure to Potosi. Well, she ended up staying another night (rude not to, really), and that meant I was not alone yay! She really is a lovely girl and I hope I see her again someday after this.
After another cheap meal at the markets opposite our hostel, we went to Z´s room and had a chat with him, before going to find a cheap place to eat. Except it wasn´t that easy... so me and R obstained from another meal and Z ate in solace. I was beginning to feel a lot of pain in my left moler, so life was becoming unpleasant and I was a little unsociable, especially given the effort I needed to understand them speaking Spanish.
It was another earlyish night for us - this time sans fuckers in the next room - and I bought the strongest thing to try and stave off my tooth pain. That worked - to get to sleep - but then I woke in the middle of the night to have it return, and found the second pill did absolutely jackshit. I had to do something about this.
Sucre: the town of homosexual dogs
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Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Potosi and all its yoghurty goodness
Now that my horseriding was ticked off the list, I had no real reason to stay in Tupiza. The town was not that big and the dust n car/truck fumes were starting to get to me. My nose felt constantly molested and my poor little sensitive blue eyes were also starting to water. I prayed this was not the same in every town I visited in Bolivia.
I now had a travel companion to Potosi, R from Argentina, so that eased the prospective journey somewhat. As it was, we got a bus a little better than the norm, paying a bit extra but with seats at the front of the top level - ie BUENAVISTA!!!! It is probably the prettiest journey I will take by bus, and the sun was HOT on my feetsies, a welcome change to the coldness I had felt in previous destinations. But oh, my feet are GROSS at the moment. Que grosero...
We arrived without a reservation at a hostel so we jumped off the bus near the centre and found we had an uphill climb to the central plaza. With our backpacks. Q horrendo... The altitude was KILLING me, and my backpack was twice the size of R`s so I was lagging. Constantly. Eventually, we gave up and had a meal break at a random chicken shop. It was to be the first of many random chicken shops in Bolivia.
Energised and full of greasy food, we charge up the remainder of the hill and basically stopped at the first hostel we found. It wasn`t too exy, esp for a private room but the bathrooms were gross (flip flops please) and they had a curfew, like the one in Tupiza. Seriously, what`s the deal??
We ignored the curfew like the rebels that we are, and headed into town to see what it had to offer us on a Saturday night. Well, not much, it would seem. First stop was a call shop where R tried to call her sister, while I tried to buy a drink from a shop outside. We both failed miserably, me especially since I only got a drink in the back of my head, not in my mouth, thanks to some fucking ignoramus in the street that didn`t like the fact I couldn`t understand his question. And it was drinking yoghurt. In my rastas. En serio.
R was a lovely girl, cleaning me up as I sulked in a chair. We then headed to a local bar and got chatting to some drunk locals, who told us the reason we couldn`t see any tourists around was cos it was super dangerous for us types around this area. Geez, thanks for that piece of info, hostel reception man. They made us promise to get a taxi back to the hostel, all of 5 blocks, but we ended up just walking. Fuck it, I was already covered with drinking yoghurt, how much worse could it get??
So that was it. We were tired from our travels and not particularly enamoured with Potosi, the town famed for its mines (and subsequent tours, which I was NOT inclined to take as a semi-claustrophobic). It smelled strongly of urine near our hostel and the people didn`t seem particularly friendly towards us. So much for Bolivians being the nicest in South America. Mi culo they are.
I now had a travel companion to Potosi, R from Argentina, so that eased the prospective journey somewhat. As it was, we got a bus a little better than the norm, paying a bit extra but with seats at the front of the top level - ie BUENAVISTA!!!! It is probably the prettiest journey I will take by bus, and the sun was HOT on my feetsies, a welcome change to the coldness I had felt in previous destinations. But oh, my feet are GROSS at the moment. Que grosero...
We arrived without a reservation at a hostel so we jumped off the bus near the centre and found we had an uphill climb to the central plaza. With our backpacks. Q horrendo... The altitude was KILLING me, and my backpack was twice the size of R`s so I was lagging. Constantly. Eventually, we gave up and had a meal break at a random chicken shop. It was to be the first of many random chicken shops in Bolivia.
Energised and full of greasy food, we charge up the remainder of the hill and basically stopped at the first hostel we found. It wasn`t too exy, esp for a private room but the bathrooms were gross (flip flops please) and they had a curfew, like the one in Tupiza. Seriously, what`s the deal??
We ignored the curfew like the rebels that we are, and headed into town to see what it had to offer us on a Saturday night. Well, not much, it would seem. First stop was a call shop where R tried to call her sister, while I tried to buy a drink from a shop outside. We both failed miserably, me especially since I only got a drink in the back of my head, not in my mouth, thanks to some fucking ignoramus in the street that didn`t like the fact I couldn`t understand his question. And it was drinking yoghurt. In my rastas. En serio.
R was a lovely girl, cleaning me up as I sulked in a chair. We then headed to a local bar and got chatting to some drunk locals, who told us the reason we couldn`t see any tourists around was cos it was super dangerous for us types around this area. Geez, thanks for that piece of info, hostel reception man. They made us promise to get a taxi back to the hostel, all of 5 blocks, but we ended up just walking. Fuck it, I was already covered with drinking yoghurt, how much worse could it get??
So that was it. We were tired from our travels and not particularly enamoured with Potosi, the town famed for its mines (and subsequent tours, which I was NOT inclined to take as a semi-claustrophobic). It smelled strongly of urine near our hostel and the people didn`t seem particularly friendly towards us. So much for Bolivians being the nicest in South America. Mi culo they are.
Monday, 6 June 2011
Horseriding: Bolivia style
I woke excited to remember I had booked another horseride - this time 5 hours - in Tupiza, the little town famed for its rides through the desert landscape. I got even more excited when I picked up my cowboy boots from the old bootmaker I randomly stumbled upon late the night before, who had replaced my soles with no dramas at all. By this stage they were absolutely fucked - a hole all the way through on one of them - but when I had tried to fix them in London I was told they were beyond repair. Well, $7.50 took care of that theory!
So me, my new boots and my new friends grabbed a quick fix of empanada before the ride - a food we can only buy in the morning here because nothing is heated at night for some reason - and congregated with countless Israelis and other tourists we had all booked together with. After much confusion about who was going where, we eventually got piled into a bus to the horse place down the road, where more confusion ensued about who was riding which horses.
EVENTUALLY, we were all on board and I found myself at the front of the pack on a spritely little horse I later learnt was just 2 years old (common practice for South America, breaking in this early). The other horses were max 4 years old. I found myself wondering what happened to all the others older than this. I stopped the thought midway.
I had told them sternly I wanted a horse with energy and that they gave me. Kicking was not necessary for Rosilo, he huffed n puffed his way along the track as my arms formed new muscles with the force of holding him back. When the occasion came that I felt the need to run a little faster, he went from walk to full gallop instantly. I discovered he had just 2 speeds - pacing (trot/walk) and galloping. Fine with me! They are just lucky I had the ability to stop him (although that said, my method was basically just to hurtle him towards a cactus).
The guides were all young boys, although not as young as they looked, and they didn`t really give a shit. But we still had fun, the horses weren`t emancipated as I thought they would be, and I was cordened off with 3 other guys - the hot Swiss, the hot Dutch and another nice Dutch guy slightly less hot. Still, the odds were indeed stacked in my favour here. At least I was grateful not to have the group of screaming Israeli girls.
We stopped a couple of times in canyons and gullies, all the while snapping picture after picture of the beautiful scenery around us. Again with the red rock mountains and desert flora, but I just can`t get sick of it. Not yet. Ask me again after Bolivia.
All in all, the actual riding time was probably about 4 hours, not 5, but I was happy to pay for 5 if it meant the horses got such long breaks. It was HOT out there! I felt a bit bad that there were no places to let them drink. But they had energy the entire ride, so I gotta give them snaps for that.
We ended at a random place on the side of the road, after a slight bolt-off completely caused by our young guide who started cantering towards home on the final stretch. IDIOT! None of the boys had ridden ever before, and so of course they all almost lost complete control and I was of course bolting off ahead not knowing it wasn`t allowed. Stop stop, he yells! Well maybe think twice about cantering home then, fool. We got off at this random place, not knowing what was happening, until he said, "you`re ok to walk back to the hotel, right?" Uhh, I guess so. Where are we?
I didn`t tip the guide.
I came back to my hostel to take my beer bottles back to the shop for my deposit and found they had been taken by someone, so I lost the deposit which - when converted - is not that much, but at the same time could have been my next bus ticket, meal or hostel. So I was pissed. Tried to sort something out with the hostel, considering it was obvious the cleaner took them, but no such luck. In the end, figured it was just a tip for the staff for their FANTASTIC service. Go figure.
Later that day, the town was beginning its preparations for the centenary of Tupiza, which happened to be at the exact time of my visit, so there were people selling balloons and fairy floss, kids running around everywhere, students in full uniform, marching bands (rehearsing all morning in the hall NEXT to our hostel) and all the rest that generally comes with these types of celebrations.
The sun went down, I ate dinner with the lovely (and hot) Dutch guy from horseriding, and then the group of us found ourselves searching for somewhere to buy beer to drink on the street. Except something odd was going on. There were no such places. No one was drinking. At all. After enjoying some of the (sober) activities around the plaza, we opted for the bar we had walked past earlier and sat down to share a bottle of Singani, the local alcohol. Like Tequila, they said, but I don`t think so... add some ginger ale and we`re good to go.
After a small episode with a drunk local, which saw us lose 2 of our drinks to his clumsy hand, we moved onto another place... one of the clubs. On the way, I drunkenly invited some local boys (and I mean boys - 18 mostly) to the club too and we all sat around the empty space, drinking and waiting for the "rush" to come. Well, it didn´t come and we got sick of waiting. So we moved back towards the plaza to find something else to do.
That something else ended up being going halves in a massive (10lt or something) bottle of mixed drink - a super sweet concoction of something alcoholic and basically sugar - which we started to consume before realising we were not actually 18 anymore and we didn`t need to hide in the plaza away from the cops and share a massive bottle of hideously pubescent substances. Next!
So we broke off from the young`uns, pretending to be tired, and headed back to a place I like to call "El calle de los borrachos". Now THIS was where the drunks were... So we fitted right in. By this stage, it was just me, the hot Swiss and the hot Dutch - again, I was feeling pretty happy about this situation.
We started mingling with the locals - memory gets a little hazy by this stage - and drinking some local drink served warm (or with milk), and at one point found myself being promised a free horseride with one of the neighbours at 11am the next day. Well, that never happened, but it was worth a try.
We were hungry - again - by some hour of the morning so we huddled around the fire of a choripan man, and ate sausage with thick skin that went down an absolute treat. Then we swayed back down the road to our hostel and I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. Still managed to wake up to Swiss boy, T, screaming German in his sleep again. Ahh, still makes me laugh, every time.
So me, my new boots and my new friends grabbed a quick fix of empanada before the ride - a food we can only buy in the morning here because nothing is heated at night for some reason - and congregated with countless Israelis and other tourists we had all booked together with. After much confusion about who was going where, we eventually got piled into a bus to the horse place down the road, where more confusion ensued about who was riding which horses.
EVENTUALLY, we were all on board and I found myself at the front of the pack on a spritely little horse I later learnt was just 2 years old (common practice for South America, breaking in this early). The other horses were max 4 years old. I found myself wondering what happened to all the others older than this. I stopped the thought midway.
I had told them sternly I wanted a horse with energy and that they gave me. Kicking was not necessary for Rosilo, he huffed n puffed his way along the track as my arms formed new muscles with the force of holding him back. When the occasion came that I felt the need to run a little faster, he went from walk to full gallop instantly. I discovered he had just 2 speeds - pacing (trot/walk) and galloping. Fine with me! They are just lucky I had the ability to stop him (although that said, my method was basically just to hurtle him towards a cactus).
The guides were all young boys, although not as young as they looked, and they didn`t really give a shit. But we still had fun, the horses weren`t emancipated as I thought they would be, and I was cordened off with 3 other guys - the hot Swiss, the hot Dutch and another nice Dutch guy slightly less hot. Still, the odds were indeed stacked in my favour here. At least I was grateful not to have the group of screaming Israeli girls.
We stopped a couple of times in canyons and gullies, all the while snapping picture after picture of the beautiful scenery around us. Again with the red rock mountains and desert flora, but I just can`t get sick of it. Not yet. Ask me again after Bolivia.
All in all, the actual riding time was probably about 4 hours, not 5, but I was happy to pay for 5 if it meant the horses got such long breaks. It was HOT out there! I felt a bit bad that there were no places to let them drink. But they had energy the entire ride, so I gotta give them snaps for that.
We ended at a random place on the side of the road, after a slight bolt-off completely caused by our young guide who started cantering towards home on the final stretch. IDIOT! None of the boys had ridden ever before, and so of course they all almost lost complete control and I was of course bolting off ahead not knowing it wasn`t allowed. Stop stop, he yells! Well maybe think twice about cantering home then, fool. We got off at this random place, not knowing what was happening, until he said, "you`re ok to walk back to the hotel, right?" Uhh, I guess so. Where are we?
I didn`t tip the guide.
I came back to my hostel to take my beer bottles back to the shop for my deposit and found they had been taken by someone, so I lost the deposit which - when converted - is not that much, but at the same time could have been my next bus ticket, meal or hostel. So I was pissed. Tried to sort something out with the hostel, considering it was obvious the cleaner took them, but no such luck. In the end, figured it was just a tip for the staff for their FANTASTIC service. Go figure.
Later that day, the town was beginning its preparations for the centenary of Tupiza, which happened to be at the exact time of my visit, so there were people selling balloons and fairy floss, kids running around everywhere, students in full uniform, marching bands (rehearsing all morning in the hall NEXT to our hostel) and all the rest that generally comes with these types of celebrations.
The sun went down, I ate dinner with the lovely (and hot) Dutch guy from horseriding, and then the group of us found ourselves searching for somewhere to buy beer to drink on the street. Except something odd was going on. There were no such places. No one was drinking. At all. After enjoying some of the (sober) activities around the plaza, we opted for the bar we had walked past earlier and sat down to share a bottle of Singani, the local alcohol. Like Tequila, they said, but I don`t think so... add some ginger ale and we`re good to go.
After a small episode with a drunk local, which saw us lose 2 of our drinks to his clumsy hand, we moved onto another place... one of the clubs. On the way, I drunkenly invited some local boys (and I mean boys - 18 mostly) to the club too and we all sat around the empty space, drinking and waiting for the "rush" to come. Well, it didn´t come and we got sick of waiting. So we moved back towards the plaza to find something else to do.
That something else ended up being going halves in a massive (10lt or something) bottle of mixed drink - a super sweet concoction of something alcoholic and basically sugar - which we started to consume before realising we were not actually 18 anymore and we didn`t need to hide in the plaza away from the cops and share a massive bottle of hideously pubescent substances. Next!
So we broke off from the young`uns, pretending to be tired, and headed back to a place I like to call "El calle de los borrachos". Now THIS was where the drunks were... So we fitted right in. By this stage, it was just me, the hot Swiss and the hot Dutch - again, I was feeling pretty happy about this situation.
We started mingling with the locals - memory gets a little hazy by this stage - and drinking some local drink served warm (or with milk), and at one point found myself being promised a free horseride with one of the neighbours at 11am the next day. Well, that never happened, but it was worth a try.
We were hungry - again - by some hour of the morning so we huddled around the fire of a choripan man, and ate sausage with thick skin that went down an absolute treat. Then we swayed back down the road to our hostel and I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. Still managed to wake up to Swiss boy, T, screaming German in his sleep again. Ahh, still makes me laugh, every time.
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Enter Bolivia
The bus to La Quiaca - the frontier town before the Bolivian border in Argentina - arrived early. Of course, the only bus to arrive EARLY in Argentina is this one, at 6:40am Argentina time, giving us a little extra waiting time in the hideous bus terminal of La Quiaca before the sun came up and the border opened for business.
I say "we" because I had, by this stage, congregated with the other gringos on the bus (there weren`t many) - 3 English gap yeaaaars and a hot Swiss guy - and we waited together sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the indigenous Bolivians wrapped in blankets squatting on the floor, chairs, window sills etc... staring at us. Always staring. Didn`t help that we were all blonde.
Finally we were on the move, were overcharged by the taxi that took us a few blocks to the border where we could have easily walked had we understood the directions properly. At the border, I met an Israeli guy who I had previously run into first in Iguazu, then Bs As, then Salta and again at this border. Stop stalking me! haha... So our group continued to grow...
No hassled through either border - they didn`t even look at my friggin Yellow Fever certificate!! - and we were in Villazon, officially Bolivia. It was still early, given the time had gone back an hour, so we had plenty of choice in which form of transport to get. There was just 1 bus in the morning and 1 in the evening, so we opted for the buses and puffed n panted the whole 5 blocks to the terminal. Damn you, high altitude!
Well, at the terminal it was a whole `nother experience altogether! I ended up being the person with the most Spanish skills in the group (go figure - the English girls had been in South America for almost 3 months and still couldn`t count to 10), so I was stuck fending off the vendors who were trying to push us into private cabs, or buses, or whatever was going at the time.
To be honest, the prices were not that bad no matter what form of transport, but considering it was 30 bs (over $4) for a private taxi, I figured it would be much cheaper for the public bus. We ended up getting a discount even on that and so, 10 bs later (about $1.30) we were on the way to Tupiza.
The bus was reasonably comfy, we all fell asleep for at least a small portion of it, but my body was CRAVING something better and my muscles had started to ache. The bumpy road didn`t help either. A few hours later, of course more than we had been promised, we arrived in Tupiza and headed into "town".
The people here are all indigenous, and it being the first place most people see coming from Argentina, you would be forgiven in thinking all people in Bolivia looked like this. Apparently not, however, as most of the population are white and live in La Paz. And there is some major divides between the two. Not something I wanna get into while I`m here!
But the people I saw looked nice enuf... the women all in their traditional get-up of knee-length skirt, kinda apron thing, long black hair in 2 plaits, black bowler hat pinned on top of their heads, and usually with a big, colourful bag slung over their backs - I grew to learn most of these contained babies, so I became a little more careful when passing them on a crowded passage.
The place basically exists for people wanting to do the salt flats tour or go horseriding in the desert amongst the cacti and red mountains. So if you`re not into either of that, well then you had better leave Tupiza. I, luckily, was entirely looking forward to throwing my leg over and riding out into the mountains with a Bolivian romeo by my side.
Well, things are never quite as you dream, now are they. It seemed way too difficult for the tour companies to organise me a multi-day trek so I, in the end, opted to join the bigger group - the much cheaper way - and do 5 hours the next day. Seriously, the prices they were quoting me for 4, 5 days were just staggering. Obviously it was easier to just give me one day.
We lived like kings the first day, eating lunch AND dinner in restaurants and not even seeing the inside of our hostel kitchen. Oh, and our hostel... I ended up rooming with the Israeli and the Swiss, in a house next to the actual hostel it belonged to, therefore the very cheapest option we could have had.
Just 20 bs later (just over $3), we were set with a room and also the freedom to move in and out as we pleased - better than the 11:30pm curfew set for those in the more expensive rooms next door. Seriously, does no one want us to party in this town? Answer: no. The town is the most conservative I have seen yet.
After dinner, we wanted to keep drinking but our only option seemed to be buying beer and drinking it on the sofas in the main area of our hostel/house. So that we did. Talked with some French guys staying in the same house, and then bailed for bed. After all, we had horseriding to do the next day!!
I say "we" because I had, by this stage, congregated with the other gringos on the bus (there weren`t many) - 3 English gap yeaaaars and a hot Swiss guy - and we waited together sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the indigenous Bolivians wrapped in blankets squatting on the floor, chairs, window sills etc... staring at us. Always staring. Didn`t help that we were all blonde.
Finally we were on the move, were overcharged by the taxi that took us a few blocks to the border where we could have easily walked had we understood the directions properly. At the border, I met an Israeli guy who I had previously run into first in Iguazu, then Bs As, then Salta and again at this border. Stop stalking me! haha... So our group continued to grow...
No hassled through either border - they didn`t even look at my friggin Yellow Fever certificate!! - and we were in Villazon, officially Bolivia. It was still early, given the time had gone back an hour, so we had plenty of choice in which form of transport to get. There was just 1 bus in the morning and 1 in the evening, so we opted for the buses and puffed n panted the whole 5 blocks to the terminal. Damn you, high altitude!
Well, at the terminal it was a whole `nother experience altogether! I ended up being the person with the most Spanish skills in the group (go figure - the English girls had been in South America for almost 3 months and still couldn`t count to 10), so I was stuck fending off the vendors who were trying to push us into private cabs, or buses, or whatever was going at the time.
To be honest, the prices were not that bad no matter what form of transport, but considering it was 30 bs (over $4) for a private taxi, I figured it would be much cheaper for the public bus. We ended up getting a discount even on that and so, 10 bs later (about $1.30) we were on the way to Tupiza.
The bus was reasonably comfy, we all fell asleep for at least a small portion of it, but my body was CRAVING something better and my muscles had started to ache. The bumpy road didn`t help either. A few hours later, of course more than we had been promised, we arrived in Tupiza and headed into "town".
The people here are all indigenous, and it being the first place most people see coming from Argentina, you would be forgiven in thinking all people in Bolivia looked like this. Apparently not, however, as most of the population are white and live in La Paz. And there is some major divides between the two. Not something I wanna get into while I`m here!
But the people I saw looked nice enuf... the women all in their traditional get-up of knee-length skirt, kinda apron thing, long black hair in 2 plaits, black bowler hat pinned on top of their heads, and usually with a big, colourful bag slung over their backs - I grew to learn most of these contained babies, so I became a little more careful when passing them on a crowded passage.
The place basically exists for people wanting to do the salt flats tour or go horseriding in the desert amongst the cacti and red mountains. So if you`re not into either of that, well then you had better leave Tupiza. I, luckily, was entirely looking forward to throwing my leg over and riding out into the mountains with a Bolivian romeo by my side.
Well, things are never quite as you dream, now are they. It seemed way too difficult for the tour companies to organise me a multi-day trek so I, in the end, opted to join the bigger group - the much cheaper way - and do 5 hours the next day. Seriously, the prices they were quoting me for 4, 5 days were just staggering. Obviously it was easier to just give me one day.
We lived like kings the first day, eating lunch AND dinner in restaurants and not even seeing the inside of our hostel kitchen. Oh, and our hostel... I ended up rooming with the Israeli and the Swiss, in a house next to the actual hostel it belonged to, therefore the very cheapest option we could have had.
Just 20 bs later (just over $3), we were set with a room and also the freedom to move in and out as we pleased - better than the 11:30pm curfew set for those in the more expensive rooms next door. Seriously, does no one want us to party in this town? Answer: no. The town is the most conservative I have seen yet.
After dinner, we wanted to keep drinking but our only option seemed to be buying beer and drinking it on the sofas in the main area of our hostel/house. So that we did. Talked with some French guys staying in the same house, and then bailed for bed. After all, we had horseriding to do the next day!!
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