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!!

Ridin´ high? No, ridin´ drunk.

On Sunday, we had arranged to go horseriding with a group from the hostel, but I´m not really sure why... none of us got home before 7am and the receptionist was on a night shift so we were well n truly fucked come the 9am wakeup. However, in my typical "up n at ´em" style, I was awake and ready in about 2 minutes, having prepared my things 2 hours earlier before collapsing into bed. The others... not so prompt. The hot Bs As guy from my room couldn´t even get out of bed. Well, he did, but then he just went to the toilet and crawled back in there.

Oh well, we still had a respectable sized group of Germans, Brazilians, Australians and Argentinians to enjoy the day. We trundled along in the car and got to our little town about 40 mins out of Salta, and the horses were all there waiting for us. I was given the half polo/half criollo horse R had told me about the night before, and it was good from the get-go.

Still mostly being drunk, the other Australian lady almost fell off the horse trying to get on, and I myself had the usual flexibility issues... after talking myself up all the night before... Still so embarrassing. But it was cold... oh, so cold. Well, I was OK but the poor little Brazilian girl was chattering her teeth off.

We set off in reasonable spirits, a good effort all considering... and enjoyed a nice ride through the forest, up and down the mountain, cantering, trotting, walking, nothing was a problem for these horses... with the gaucho playing sweet songs on his little recorder. Ahhh, how´s the serenity.

Then came the asado (Argentinian for BBQ). Set in the "house" of the only man who lives in the valley, we were surrounded by beautiful mountains (which we couldn´t really see through the clouds that day, unfortunately), geese, goats, cows, dogs, cats and of course, horses.

The vino came out and while we were waiting - and indeed consuming - the asado we dug in with fervour. This meant, of course, that there was much dancing around the fire to the music the gaucho played on his recorder and guitar. There is something so romantic about a gaucho with a good set of pipes. Sigh.

We were understandably more animated on the ride back to the town, and after some classic pics with L backward on his horse, us riding 2 people on the horse and me basically refusing to use my hands for the entire trip back, it was at the very least entertaining. The guides just hung back and let us do our thing at the front, and occasionally yelled for us to WAIT.

A momentarily panic happened on the way home, when the gaucho let his horse go to go for a piss, and it BOLTED home, the saddled slipping under it and totally freaking it out. I jumped off to help and then when all was settled, changed horse for the last strip with R for her Peruvian horse. It was MUCH more comfortable, not that I thought Colarado was uncomfortable, and I had a nice gallop on him.

All in all, an awesome day and for the mega discount I got from L, a MASSIVE bargain. SUPER SWEET.

Useless men pt. 692

Saturday. My headache returns with an anger I feel is usually reserved for the likes of Osama Bin Laden or George Bush - or both in the same room. I hear a knock on the door - it`s the cleaning lady asking if I need to check out - NO I DON`T, in fact I am about to vomit from this headache thanks to you - I try to speak Spanish and it hurts even more - I want to die. Die. DIE.

I will myself back to sleep... trying to forget about the rage inside my head... it`s a war I was not going to win. Eventually, at about 2pm, I manage to get up and crawl to the pharmacy across the road for some relief. By this stage, it has eased up a little and I manage a lazy walk around town with L before he starts work.

The guy from my room has already left for a day doing something that started early which I couldn`t quite understand when he explained yesterday in Spanish. So this left me free do little else but wallow in my own self pity for a while. Soon enuf, I bounced back and - headache gone - started thinking about what I would drink that night. I didn`t have any plans for the next day at that stage, and the tour to Cafayate I had scored at a discount from L had been booked for Monday, it beginning at 7 in the morning n all...

At some stage, I got talking to a Dutch girl who was promoting a horseriding company nearby, and well you don`t really have to do much of a sell-job to me about horseriding... the only problem was price, and she said that if I couldn`t afford the half day with asado dealio, I could just come by bus in the arvo for a few hours for cheaper. Done!

Then L came in and said he wanted to come, and we actually started getting a whole bunch of people interested... I was bummed I couldn`t join the half day thing because of cash, but somehow L managed to get it for me at over half the price. It was ridiculously cheap. Yay!!

We had another pre-party at the hostel, dancing around to super gay music programmed by L and drinking drinks definitely NOT bought at the hostel. Nice. This place rocks.

I had actually heard back from my useless friend from here, and he told me when n where he would be out tonight. And that he would call me. Well, he didn`t. But anyway, I had about 15 people coming with me so it wasn`t like I needed the company... We got to the place he mentioned but, ahem, 2 hours later and of course he wasn´t there so we moved along and went dancing to another place.

Then something really strange happened. The whole club area closed at 6am and a row of police literally moved on the ENTIRE lot of people out on a Saturday night - drunks n all - to the other areas of the city. Not sure how far they pushed us out but it was a really funny thing to witness - I wish I had my camera. They weren`t violent about it, everyone just accepted that was how it worked, and danced merrily along down the street... So weird. But I guess that´s the way they control after-hours problems here.

The hot guy from my room was again really wasted but this time he actually came out - I couldn`t stop him without using excessive force - and I literally had to RUN away from him in the end to make sure he wasn`t ANYWHERE near to me. Especially since I didn`t know if I was going to end up seeing that guy again. But fucking prick, not any effort more than a couple of replies to my messages. That was it. Last time I try.

We got back at 7am, I arranged my things for horseriding the next day - sorry, in 2 hours - and I slept soundly until L came to wake me at 9am. Shudder.

Life's a beach...and I`m gonna ride it (again)

Saturday. Horseriding day. Except that when we woke, it was TEAMING with rain. And I mean belting it. Really going for it. I had heard it start to tap on the corrugated iron roof earlier in the morning, having tossed n turned after not much sleep (kinda hooked up with the Brazilian but not for long, after I realised the group dynamic should stay as it is) and spent a few hours kinda willing it to stop.

Ahh, to no avail. None of us woke by 10am, assuming the relaxed nature of Cabo Polonio would mean the horse guy would not have bothered trekking along the beach with 6 horses in tow in the pouring rain. We were right. When we finally made it to the hostel we were meant to meet him at, he said he had gone fishing instead. In the rain. Go figure. He also said that now, for some reason, it had become twice the price we were quoted yesterday and he only had 3 horses, not 6.

Hmm. Interesting. We spoke to the boys and they weren`t really that bothered, so it ended up just being me and the Swede. We arranged a ride for that afternoon, since it had cleared up nicely, and luckily the man who actually organised it was the hottest guy on the cape, Juan. Not speaking a lick of English, he rabbited on about god knows what the whole time while me and R just nodded and inserted ohhh and hahaha when appropriate (or I assume so).

When we jumped on, I was told my horse wasn`t a tourist horse, probably just some random neighbour`s horse they lent for a bit of extra cash, but she had a 5 month (but HUGE) foal running alongside her which was cute. She was also not a stubborn mule like R`s was at times, and she was really responsive with leg which I much prefer to pulling on the mouth.

The view atop my steed was just beautiful, definitely up there with the best horseriding views ever for me. We started on the beach, I had some canters, and then we crossed some sand dunes to the forest where J took us for a random little walk through some of what he called the mountain, but which looked distinctly like forest undergrowth for me... Anyway, neither of us still understood him so whatever. It was cute the way he was showing us all these things.

After the ride, his cuteness faded a little when he tried to tell us we`d been gone for 2.5 hours instead of 2 and that he should also be paid cos he was riding and working too. Well, I had only suggested he come along because I wanted to flirt, I didn`t know he wanted to charge us for the opportunity. In Australia, it costs LESS to have a guide. Go figure.

Needless to say, we didn`t pay. Most tightass tourists ever. I don`t know, I ain`t made of money. J said he would play flamenco guitar for us (me) that night, but I wasn`t so interested after the little payment episode so we never made it there. Instead, we popped into the supermarket again and got our supplies for another night of candlelit cooking and bonfire chilling. Ahh, gotta love it...

Life´s a beach,,,,and I wanna ride it!!

I woke on Tuesday with a rapping on my door, and the hostel owner M telling me I had 1 hour before Me came to pick me up and take me riding on the beach with her horses. Nothing like a bit of movitation to get me moving in the morning! I was up and at'em in no time, and before I knew it I was rustling down a dirt road with the beach rising before me.

Me, from Holland, has been living in Uruguay for about 12 years and has 2 horses of the same Criollo breed as M at El Galope. She hardly ever gets a chance to ride with people and so the horses aren´t out as a couple often. So she was more than happy, after a glowing review from M, to let me come along on her spritely little mare Luna. Same general look and temperament, except a little fatter, than M´s horses and I was again on the goey one. Man, did she want to run!!

We wound down a little beach path to the water - distinctly Australian might I add, it could have been Pearl Beach for all I knew! - and before long the sand expanded out in front of us to a flat ocean (well, technically a river but whose checking??) and a low tide, affording us some pretty decent areas to gallop across.

Me was on the slower of the 2, slightly sore in the leg and also less competitive, so I charged on ahead - again - and was waiting for her to catch up most of the time. But what a feeling... one arm on the reins, one arm out feeling the wind rush through, sun blazing above and the horse going like the clappers underneath me with no encouragement needed at all. Which is good, since I was using all my strength to actually grip the saddle, a tiny thing that provided absolutely no support for a girl on a racing steed. Especially when she decided to shy at tiny bits of seaweed underneath her. That was a special little treat.

It has been so long since I rode on a beach, and it certainly did not disappoint. I was extremely grateful for Me for giving me the time to ride, it was an unforgettable experience. Especially with 3 dogs running around me and into the water. And to M for organising it on my behalf... and to the horse for not throwing me. Everyone - BIG HUGS!!!!

After that, I cooked a late lunch for myself and M back at the hostel before gathering my things, and copying some of the pics M took of me riding onto my Facebook. Yay, photos!! Then we raced to the bus stop and arrived about 20 seconds before the bus - phew! And onto Montevideo for me... ahh, sleep time...

First Day in Romania

After my pretty decent ride into Brasov, Romania, I then had to wait 3 hours for the next bus to Fagaras. A guy offered me a taxi for 20 euros (SO kind) but I declined and instead paid about £1.50 for my bus. H, my host in Romania, rang me and arranged to be at the bus stop when I got there so I was safely picked up and escorted to the farm.

There, I was met with 20 dogs (mostly chained up due to their balls not being cut off and therefore the frequent tendency to rip each other's throats out) and a stable full of horseys as well as some gypo woman doing the chores. I was fed, watered and then jumped on a horse to go exploring. A few hours later, legs feeling like I'd spent a night in an Amsterdam whorehouse, I disembarked and we sat down for some beers. A truly welcome accompaniment to a heavy day.

The gypos keep asking H in Romanian whether my hair is real. And that they want it. I hope they don't steal it in my sleep.