It seems only right to begin with another transport-based whinge...
As it was our last long Argentinian bus journey (seventeen hours thereof), and our last hope of reasonable travel comfort for some time, we decided to pay the full whack and go for 'Cama with service'. But my hopes of a dream journey were soon dashed. I'd landed the lone seat out of the three of us, and was joined by a stupid hippy Canadian-Australian girl with potent BO. Within minutes, she'd moved the conversation onto karma - it was going to be a long journey. Ste also had his share of bad luck, with the bloke sat across the isle from him snoring like a freight train throughout the ride. Even a few sly kicks from Ste and some unacceptably loud drum'n'bass could not stir his noisy neighbour. Anyway, some time later we arrived safely in Salta, for a couple of rather nondescript days.
Salta was quite a change from the previous Argentinian stops. And we definitely felt that we were getting closer to Bolivia. Everything from the look of buildings to the look of the people starting to change.
The only event of any note here came on our first evening, when we headed over to another hostel for some food and drink. We met up with two english lads Ryan and Mark, who Ste and Gra had met in BA, and headed out in search of the main bar street. It was dead, and so a request was put in to the taxi driver to find us some fun. Seconds later, we pulled up outside a rather seedy little casino and after some unsual enquiries from Mark, it transpired that the woman on the door would offer the services of both herself and her sister for a very reasonable price. We decided this would be a good time to call it a night and headed back to our hostel. Very much alone.
From here it was another mid length bus journey up to the border town of La Quaica, and then over into Bolivia. Arriving at seven in the morning was tough, with both the temperature and altitude taking some serious adjusting to. The border crossing itself was simple enough though; walk over a bridge, fill out a form, get a stamp, welcome to Bolivia!
The Bolivian border town of Villazon provided a nice welcome to the country. Streets lined with market stalls and countless shops selling an array of woollen goods. The train that we were to catch up to Uyuni was not due until three in the afternoon, so a full day's wait lay ahead. Fortunately, we were with a huge group and it turned out to be a pretty decent day. One member of the group was Jimmy, quite simply a legend, and who would quickly establish himself as a worthy addition to the dream team that were to take on the rest of Bolivia.
So, after a few meals and a smashing game of travel Monopoly (I won!) the clock struck three and we boarded the train. This was a great journey, with a suprisingly comfortable carriage, some good films and breathtaking scenery. Nine hours later we rolled into the perishingly cold Uyuni, and were greeted by a flock of locals offering accomodation and salt flat tours. Our priority was a hot shower and a warm bed, so we hastily snapped up the first offer promising these commodities - only one turned out to be true. The next morning, after a COLD shower, we set out early to find an agency to book our intended one day salt flats tour. Our plans soon changed after a great quasi-english sales pitch, and we decided on a three day tour, allowing us to take in all the sites and get to stay in one of the salt hotels. And so our jeep, transporting the six-man dream team, set out... an hour late. This was to be one of the many delays that our tour would include. And it went a little something like this...
Day One
The discovery of an ipod cable in our jeep was a great lift early on, and we rumbled out of the quiet town of Uyuni in a wave of dubstep. Our first stop was a little market in the middle of nowhere that offered all kinds of hats, gloves, jumpers, and other jazzy Bolivian threads.
After a five minute potter we returned to our jeep to find our driver lying underneath it carrying out (the first of many) repairs. the resulting delay lead us to all buy pretty much full outfits, including some smashing flat peaks that were to become the uniform of the trip. a bit of food and a beer later, we were on our way to the main salt flats. they say pictures speak a thousand words, and so i will let my salt flats photos save me the job of explaining them. but needless to say, they were absolutely incredible. after watching a beuatiful sunset over a few jars out on the flats, we loaded back into the jeep and set off for the salt hotel. where as us passengers had enjoyed just a couple of beers, our driver appeared to have not been so conservative - he was smashed (it turned out to be not just alcohol making him unsteady and happy, crack anyone?!). class A drug driving aside, we arrived safely at the hotel. the hotel´s exterior turned out to be a bit of a disappointment as it was not the gleaming white salt structure i had imagined, but more of a grey stone dwelling. the inside however was far more impressive with salt lining the walls and floors. as our group strolled in sporting our newly purchased trousers and caps, a slight groan was heard coming from a table of sensibles who were enjoying a quiet dinner. undeterred, we ordered up a decent portion of red wine and got on with it. this turned out to be an evening of utterly filthy inuendos, some so bad that the new phrase "when in prison" (as opposed to Rome) was coined. i´ll leave it at that.
day two
awoken by a relative lack of hangover we set out on our second day, with our driver looking even more bleary eyed than the night before. this was to be another day of amazing sights including volcanos and flamingos, and this time to a more respectable soundtrack of the likes of Ray Charles and Frank Sinartra. waiting was once again a theme of the day, this time as a result of our pissed up driver and his fellow tour guide having lost a set of jeep keys whilst intoxicated the night before. it was a long day, and by the time we reached our digs we were feeling the strain. the only option was to battle through and get in a load more vino tinto...
day three
a five oclock start was unwelcomed. the altitude mixed with the evening´s drinks had made for a terrible concoction, and it is safe to say the hangovers made it into everyones top five. unfortunately the first port of call was the extremely foul smelling sulphur geezers, they were pungent to say the least and did not mix with the hangovers well. next up was the beautiful hot springs and a relaxing soak was just what the doctor ordered. by the time we dipped our toes, four out of the six of us had been sick, with Mike using his chunder to decorate the side of our jeep whilst in transit. our moods were temporarily lifted once back on the road, where a realisation of our mutual love of late nineties/early naughties RnB became apparant. so the remainder of the long long journey back to Uyuni was to the smooth sounds of such greats as Mase, Fabolous, Joe, 112, Craig David, some early Kanye, and many more. one final hickup in our tour came on the home straight, when our driver noticed the temperature guage rising. very diligently he hopped out, lifted the bonnet, and without waiting for the engine to cool opened up the radiator to a burst of scolding water. undeterred, he continued with his maintenence. however with a lack of water in the car our man decided to improvise with a half a bottle of orange cordial, and so we completed the remainder of the trip with a lovely citrus aroma filling the car.
we returned to Uyuni for a much needed shower and sleep, then headed off on the bumpy bus journey to Potosi the following morning. the bitter temperature and pissing rain did not give for the best first impression of this old mining town, but once we had checked into our half built hotel and had some dry clothes on, all seemed birghter. as we were settling into our rooms we were disturbed by a loud banging coming from one of the adjacent rooms and so went to check it out, only to discover an (i dont know the P.C term for it) old mental banging on the window and shouting at noone in particular. spotting the keys in the lock on the outside of the door we realised that the old girl was locked in, presumably for the safety of both herself and the hotel guests. the only real reason for visiting Potosi was to take a tour of the silver mines that provide the town´s main industry. as a stroke of bad luck the two new additions to our group, Mark and Ryan, had brought with them a game where by saying the word "mine" in any context resulted in ten pressups, with that figure doubling if your debt wasnt cleared by midnight. to make matters worse, this rule wasnt to be lifted for when enquiring about tours at the various agencies around the town. very sore pectorals aside, the mine tour was absolutely incredible. although difficult to appreciate at the time due to the stifling heat and dusty air, the experience was something else. once kitted up in our rather dashing mining gear, we were lead by our two foot tall guide down into the shaft. immediately breathing became hard and with heat increasing more and more (reaching thirty degrees celsius) the further down we headed, everyone began to feel the strain. seeing the guys working down there pushing trolleys weighing two tonnes, and with many of them working twenty-four hour shifts straight, was definitely an eye opener. as they dont eat throughout the duration of these shifts, the miners constantly chew coca leaves to subdue their hunger and also to aid breathing. chewing the leaves (mixed with a touch of bicarb which acts as a catalyst) definitely helped with our breathing but did not supress our hunger, so once out of the mine we made a rapid beeline for some much needed grub. not after blowing up some dynamite, obviously.
after a saying a tearful farewell to our aged nutcase neighbour, we boarded a rather luxurious bus to La Paz for what can only be summed up as a week of utter carnage. the city of La paz itself was absolutely beautiful, with some amazing buildings and endless rows of market stalls. being situated in a valley the surrounding hillsides are covered with colourful buildings, with a similar look to the favelas of Rio. our first night was hit hard, and was a belter. starting in the lively hostel bar, we got our bearings and made the most of the generous happy hour offerings. not many details are needed for the night, but for those who have visited La Paz it went Mongos, Club Blue, Route 36, then a few hours later, bed. Ste and Mike replaced Club Blue with a little taxi tour of the city after smooth ´talking´ a couple of local girls in Mongos. thinking their luck was in they headed homeward with the two Bolivian chicas. however their hopes of some local cuisine were dashed on arrival to the girls´pad, as my two chums were informed that the parents were home. with the thought of an angry, protective Bolivian father the other side of the door, the players decided to make their excuses and rejoin the rest of the gang at Route.
the days in La Paz consisted of little other than sleeping and wasting away in the hostel. we took in a few sights around the town including the witches market and San Pedro square. unfortunately the infamous San Pedro prison tours had been banned and so the best we could do was a lap of the tiny and bizarre building, and take a peek through the gates to see the inmates knocking about in the prison courtyard. we were approached by what can only be described as a grubby looking prison whore who offered us a tour for the following day - an appointment that due to another messy night out we were unable to keep.
the next big one came for Ryan´s birthday, and as everything was shutting down for Easter weekend as well as the elections, the celebrations had to take place on the thursday night which was to lead into the big man´s twenty second. the agenda followed closely to that of the previous night, kicking off in the hostel bar. within minutes the Grey Hound had successfully charmed our new room mate Charlotte, and so off they trotted back to our dorm. seeing this, sneaky Steve raced ahead, as the two big beds in the centre of our room belonged to him and myself and so he thought he would make my bed look as appealling as possible whilst piling a load of shit onto his bed in an attempt to deter the bed bound couple - his efforts were unsuccessful as it turned out. an hour or so later (being generous), a few of us headed down to the room to powder our noses. after a few raps at the door and a couple of moments wait the Hound came to the door clad in jeans, and running trainers (which it turned out hadnt been removed). disasturously in his panic and haste Mike hadn´t donned a tshirt, and having gone for the universal tuck-under-the-elastic technique, we were greeted by an appalling and deeply scarring sight - head island. pushing the sight to the deepest darkest parts of our memory, we all headed out for a messy messy night. as it was the build up to the elections, all drinking and activities of merriment were illegal, and so a huge group of us had to be snuck into the Club before the fuzz caught on. a quality night of meeting and becoming the best of friends with countless travellers once again lead to Route and at eight in the morning we decided to head home. feeling a touch worse for wear and being greeted by bright sunshine followed by bright eyed hostel dwellers sat up for breakfast is never great, but we powered through and wound down the night with a very enjoyable viewing of Anchorman, accompanied by two cracking girls who we had met through the course of the evening by the names of Sam and Mel. the end of the film brought the end of the night, for most of us that is, apart from the birthday boy who slugged it out until late that afternoon. Ryan´s birthday brought with it an unlikely lunch date, with a family bbq at the house of a local lad who worked in Route. he had been promised a bbq, beers and weed, however none of this materialised as he (joined by Clam and Charlotte who he had talked into attendance) turned up to a quiet family meal in a small house on the outskirts of La Paz. a birthday to remember.
amongst the sleeping and feeling worse for wear, we managed to fit in the awesome and at times terrifying cycle down the world´s most dangerous road. for me this has to be one of the most enjoyable days of the trip so far. with the awesome Kona bikes strapped to the roof, we headed up through the mountains to the top of the trail. after twenty-two kilometres of pedalling down fast cement roads we arrived at the start of the death road, ready for fourty six kilometres of adreneline. how the road had ever been used as the main connecting road for cars and trucks is beyond me. the ground was gravelly, bumpy, full of potholes, and at best only one and a half cars wide. after a tentitive start, with momentary glances to the right causing the buttocks to twinge, we all gained confidence and by the end were flying down the winding trail. additional enjoyment was brought to the day by our guide and driver, named Edwin and Albert respectively. they lived up to their names.
when the time came, we were all more than ready to get out of La Paz. feeling drained and quite ill, we set off on another bumpy bus to Copacobana where we were to get the boat to the Isla Del Sol in the middle of the expansive Lake Titicaca. it was a welcomed sight to see some natural beauty after our previous week, and the sheer size of the Lake made it feel like we were headed out to sea. the island itself was beautiful but lacking any real activities. soon after arriving we took an unguided stroll with the aim being to find the ancient Inka ruins that sat on the south of the island. a wrong turn later and we found ourselves with no ruins in sight other than a rather nicely built ancient lookout point. after a couple of goes, it was decided that playing jenga with an ancient Inka construction was a bit too loutish, and so we headed back to our hostel for some food and sleep.
from the Isla, it was a long wait for the boat back to the mainland, some uncooked chicken, another simple border crossing, and a couple of bus journeys before we arrived in Cusco - which is where i am currently broadcasting from, waiting with hope for a bed for the night.
the nicknames:
Ste - Flatboy Slim, due to his two outstanding physical attributes. Stephani Heslegrand, bus ticket typo.
Gra - Claart Graan, bus ticket typo.
Me - David Widf, as above.
Ryan (Matthews) - Mattius Ryni, as above.
Marc (Sargent) - Mare Sargent, as above.
i would like to apologise at this point for the constant deterioration of the quality of penmanship of these articles. the novelty is wearing off and i keep leaving myself too much to retell in each post. so, if that isn´t reason enough to tune in to the next entry...
22.03.10
