A Journey back in time to Mompos

One thing I definitely wont miss about traveling, are the bus journeys. They are more often than not the cheapest and easiest way to get around South American countries, and they´d been bearable for me until we got to Colombia. For some reason, my travel sickness decided to rear its ugly head on our first bus journey here, could be because of the endless breakneck speeds, the frighteningly misjudged overtaking, or the snaking bumpy roads, or more likely a combination of the three, but every journey since has left me feeling queasy. Possibly the only other thing I didn´t like about Colombia, was the rigmarole of buying bus tickets. You arrive at the bus station and as soon as you´re spotted, numerous bus company drivers/sellers/bag men come at you shouting their destinations, cali cali cali cali!? Once you manage to get past them, you get to the ticket booths where there´s usually a sulky looking teenager who mumbles any reply at you, and when you can work out what he´s saying, it´s usually a ridiculously high price. You then have to try and sweet talk them down, to get to the normal price, and apparently this is something even Colombians have to go through. It gets tiring to say the least.

So I wasn´t relishing the plan for our last week and a half in Colombia. It had dawned on us when we were on the coast that we only had about 6 weeks left of our trip. We´d already spent four in Colombia, and still had a list of places we wanted to go before we could leave, meaning we´d only have a few weeks in Ecuador and Peru. So we had to get a move on, and this meant more traveling, less relaxing, and lots of buses. Our first trip was to Mompos, probably the hardest town in the North of Colombia to get to, as it sits on an island in the middle of the wide Magdalena river, deep in the Bolivar Department, recognised as a Caribbean coastal region by Colombians despite being 3 hours from the nearest coast. We left Taganga at 5am, and didn´t arrive in the sleepy streets of Mompos until about 8pm. It took a combination of taxi, bus, smaller bus, ferry, taxi, canoe and another taxi to get us there, and after a search for a place to rest our heads, we happened across a gem. A little lady called Senora Betty came out to us in the street (as did a lot of other curious Momposinos) whose brother rented out rooms in his house. It wasn´t until after we´d agreed to the room that we met the brother, Armando, or sweaty Armando as we began to call him. With a belly the size of Wales, often exposed for all to admire, and a sheen of sweat being his aura.

Mompos is steamy, surrounded by swamps and river land. The air is so humid it´s not surprising that locals spend their days in their rocking chairs, staring at passers by from their porches and doorways. We wandered around the town, admiring the ornate and colonial streets that don´t seem to have changed for centuries. I found some beautiful hand carved totumas (gourds) in a local hardware shop, and we ate in the evenings at some of the small stalls in the bustling San Francisco Plaza. Our host, Sweaty Armando, spoke a lot. But we couldn´t ever make out what he was saying, let alone what language he was speaking. He didn´t seem to mind our ignorance and would continue to talk to us, calling us by one conjoined name - jameyhannah (pron. himayeeanna). When the time came to leave, we were each given a big wet hug against his naked rotund belly. Thankfully it was another early start at 4 in the morning, and it hadn´t reached it´s peak of sweatiness yet. So we got in our little taxi bus, waved goodbye to Armando and Senora Betty, and headed South East towards San Gil, hoping it was easier to get out than it was to get in!

Rum, Scuba Diving and Jungle Beaches

Colombia is without exaggeration an incredible country. The landscapes and people change beyond recognition within a few hours and arriving in Cartagena was like stepping into another world. From the bus terminal we pelted along in the clapped out taxi towards the old town. It was 7am the morning heat reminded me of Africa and the streets were packed with people and animals. We stayed in Cartagena for a couple of nights, the area called Getsemani a dirty, rowdy and slightly dubious barrio just a 5 min walk from the Old Town was perfect. As was the little Colonial hotel San Roque we had been pointed in the direction of, for just 30,000 pesos a night (9 pounds) for a lovely room with bathroom and enough fans to make it sound and feel like sleeping on a helipad. Most of our time was spent exploring the historic town centre within the town walls, full of beautiful colonial buildings with bougainvillea strewn balconies, large plazas, fruit sellers, and a few groups of Americans following their umbrella touting guides from the cruise ships. In the cool and breezy evenings we were tempted to the Cafe del Mar bar on the old town walls, loungy sofas and tables with chill out music created the perfect place to watch the sun go down with an ice cold red wine and a Cuba Libre.

Four hours east along the coast you arrive in Taganga, a small fishing town just outside the city of Santa Marta. Santa Marta twenty years ago was infamous as an outlet of the cocaine trade to the USA and Europe. Today, it is a huge dusty city and not very appealing when Taganga is just fifteen minutes away. As we dropped down into the bay of Taganga the beach complete with fishing boats and pink tourists came into view. Taganga is by no means a hide-away haven and it has become famous on the backpacker trail. However, the scuba diving was our main draw and at fifteen pounds a dive it was incredibly cheap!

We spent three nights in Taganga, diving and sunbathing on Playa Grande, a beach twenty minutes walk around the cliff. The beach with only a handful of cafes could be tranquil if it weren't for the beach sellers from hell... if I wanted to buy an ice cream, a beer, have a massage, hire a deck chair or take to the water on a sea kayak I would ask, I don´t need to have the question every two minutes!!! Nevertheless, serenity and peace was found underwater and we went to a couple of great dive sites, with 15-18 metres visibility, we saw Lobsters, Moray Eels, Hermit Crabs, Trumpet fish, Cow fish, Queen Angel fish, Puffer fish and a lot more. Once back on dry land and as is the norm these days we bumped into the Belgian Bikers, Paul and Singrid, who we originally met in Salento. We spent that evening sinking a couple of Cuba Libres and Han´s favourite tiple - cold Colombian apple wine - with them.

The following morning we were planning to head towards Parque National Tayrona and we did, well, after I snuck in another couple of morning dives that Paul had tempted me with that previous evening, as the rum was flowing. The diving this time was a bit more challenging and the current was very strong around the first site, a small isle of rock and coral. However, as the waters can get very rough there, it was exhilarating to see this unique site that not many go to. The second site was a little more sheltered and with an initial descent to 6 metres we swam a few metres until we reached the 'wall' - a vertical drop down to 20 metres. It was unbelievable swimming into darkness as the small worlds of coral and their fish gradually appeared.

Once Han finally dragged me away from the sea we were back on the bus heading 2 hours further east, towards Tayrona. The national park is stunning, once inside an hours walk through jungle with monkeys swinging above you, you come out onto white sand beaches and leaning palm trees...and nobody trying to sell you some tat! We camped in an area called Don Pedro surrounded by jungle and two minutes from the beaches. It is collection of thatched shacks, tents and hammocks and we got breakfast from a lady near the camp who bakes sweet bread rolls filled with chocolate each morning. We explored the Robinson Crusoe esq beaches during the day of which the park has several. Some have wild seas and bolders the size of a houses, driftwood that looks like its been traveling for years and other bays as calm as a pool. It was a spectacular place and another unique side to Colombia.

Colombia...the only risk is wanting to stay....so they say

All those months ago whilst in Bristol and deciding a vague route around South America we thought after Brazil we could then travel north up into Colombia, simple?! It didn't occur to us that Brazil´s territory, spanning 4,395 kilometers from north to south and being so huge it has four different time zones, might make the journey a little tricky. And there was one big problem stopping us from migrating northwards with ease...the Amazon Basin!

For anyone thinking of exploring this area of the world it is eventually possible for one to travel over land and river into Colombia or Venezuela. However, it involves 52 hours in a bus from Salvador to Belem, which is at the mouth of the Amazon, and then sailing up river via Manaus and Leticia using three different cargo boats, sleeping in a hammock surrounded by a hundred other bodies and eating beans and rice for two and half weeks. Alas, that Amazon adventure is for another day and after 5 hours of flying we landed in Colombia´s capital, Bogota...okay we admit it we are lame backpackers!

Bogota is a huge city and at an altitude of 2640 metres. After the 'taxing' 5 hour flight we decided to stop rushing around and chill for a few days. A few days turned into a week, possibly because it was the first time in 4 months we had a TV in our bedroom...ER and crap cable films were too much to deny! The historical centre of Bogota is La Candelaria and made up of colonial buildings, plazas and museums. Bogota is a lot safer these days, as is Colombia as a whole, and it was great to just walk around exploring the city.

After six days we needed some heat and had to tear ourselves away from ER. Colombia has a unique geography as the Andes end and split into three mountain chains towards the north of the country. This creates two valleys with their own micro climates, and it also makes the bus ride from Bogota to Salento very similar to being on a roller coaster.

Salento, in the Zona Cafetera, is in the heart of coffee growing country. The small provincial town surrounded by rambling hills and plantations was a world away from the Andean feel of Bogota. We arrived on the Saturday evening and the town was in full swing. The main plaza was filled with people dancing and drinking, small stalls set up for the weekend were selling fresh trout on large flattened plantains. We ordered up a couple 'a la Criolla' in a tomato, cream and onion sauce which, with a couple of cervezas, were magic.

A short jeep ride from Salento is the Valle de Cocora, which is home to the world´s tallest wax palms. Once our jeep was full, with around twenty people hanging on to the sides and sitting on the roof we were off and bumping down dirt tracks into the valley. The valley is like something out of Jurassic Park and the trees line the surrounding hills with cloud clustering around them and the fern forests. We stayed in Salento for a few more days visiting the local coffee plantation and generally enjoying the small town feel. However, we had to leave and move on to Medellin where we planned to spend about 10 days studying Spanish.

Medellin is known as the city of eternal spring and in classic style it tipped it down as soon as we arrived. However, we soon found our feet and took private lessons through The Black Sheep Hostel. The lessons were great and we ended up staying in the penthouse apartment belonging to the hostel owner and our teacher, Kelvin and Yadi. They were great and made us feel right at home. It´s a strange thing to say but for the first time since we had been away it was such a nice feeling to do normal things such as use the washing machine, have a routine and our own space. The city is very cosmopolitan, packed with malls, sushi restaurants and huge apartment buildings. We tended to have a couple of hours of Spanish lessons in the morning and go out exploring the city with the legend Pablo, a Colombian from Medellin who we met in Bolivia.

Time flies and we had to as well. Leaving Medellin we traveled overnight by coach with the usual air conditioning on full blast through the ride. The following morning we woke up with the signs of hypothermia to the tropical heat of the Caribbean coast and Cartagena.

Carnaval and Resaca

We'd heard that Carnaval Rio and Carnaval Salvador style, are two very different things. In Rio it happens in a huge stadium, the Sambadrome, where you sit on the grandstands and watch floats full of feathered ladies go past. In Salvador, the parties all take place on the streets, with a choice of spending your time in a Bloco (a roped off parade, full of people who have bought an Abada - tshirt, in the centre of which are the Trios, the huge vans with a band and sound system that deafens everyone within 10 metres). You can also choose to pay to enter a Camarote (A Bar/Club that overlooks the parade and often includes free drinks), or you can choose to be Pipoca (popcorn), and spend the night on the outside of the ropes jumping with everyone else on the street. We had two nights to experience Carnaval, all we could afford (and probably handle) before we had to head to Boipeba. We'd heard all the horror stories about how dangerous it was, how likely to get mugged we were etc etc so we kept our fingers crossed to get out unscathed!

There are three Carnaval Circuits in Salvador, and we were staying right next to the biggest one in Barra, the seaside area. Carnaval officially kicks off on the Thursday, and we only had a few nights to experience it. A large group of us from our hostel bought Abadas for a cheap Bloco and after a Caiprinha fuelled party we headed out to see what it was about. The streets were absolutely rammed, everyone was dressed up, covered in glitter, wearing masks, or in fancy dress and each of the trios seemed to be competing with each other over who could be the loudest. After a lot of waiting around drinking beer, the blocos in front of ours began to move, and at around 1am ours slowly edged forward, and the band began to play. We can't actually remember the name of the singer we were following, but it was a real mix of Samba and cheesy pop with a bit of rock thrown in. The whole Bloco started moving slowly up the street, with everyone jumping and singing. Occassionally there'd be a surge of people from behind as the ropes caught up with them, and you'd be squashed, it was all generally good natured but still a bit scary. When fights did break out it was a matter of getting yourself as far away as you could from the scramble, and it was slightly concerning to see that it was often the police causing the trouble with the rope carriers.

We danced forward at snails pace, buying beer from the vendors in the bloco and ducking under the ropes when we needed a breather, until about 5am when we ducked out of the bloco and watched it carry on up the sea front. Our feet were throbbing, we were covered in beer spray, and we headed back down the road we'd just walked to find food and then collapse in bed. It was a fantastic introduction to Carnaval. The next day we headed into the Pelhourinho, the old centre of Salvador to get a bit more authentic taste, and it was beautiful. Music in the streets, people dressed up and dancing and bands playing. Another night of Caiprinhas in the hostel, and we headed out to be Pipoca on the streets.

The next morning we left a sleeping Salvador and headed to Boipeba, a small island, off the Bahian coast, that is hard to get to, but an ideal paradise for us to spend our Resaca (the hangover days after carnaval). After a bus, a taxi, a fast speed boat and a tractor we arrived in Morere, a quiet, sandy collection of houses on the most beautiful side of the island. We'd arrived in paradise. We stayed in a small place called Pousada a Mangueira, owned by a lovely English couple, Tony and Sue. Our own pousada, complete with four poster bed, hamocks, luxury bathroom and the most amazingly huge and delicious breakfast everyday, just a few metres from the empty tropical beaches. It was the only place we'd booked ahead for our trip and it was so much more than we'd hoped for. Typical then that James and I both came down with a fever and flu, so poor Sue had to nurse us with hot lemon and honey! We spent our days trying to get better, and managed to wander the beaches, eat amazing fish stews called Mocecas, take photos and watch the hummingbirds that covered the flowers infront of our pousada.

It was a dream, only to be shattered at 3am one night when James and I were both awoken by the sound of someone jumping out of our bedroom window. Both in shock and half asleep we realised that James' bag, and Camera, had been taken. We weren't the only ones to have been targetted, another Pousada had had a lot of scuba gear taken, and they even swiped a pair of shorts from the washing line of our neighbours! The suppport from Tony and Sue was incredible, the police came in the morning and the whole village seemed to be out looking for clues. Alas we had to move onwards, and left Boipeba a little lighter, but both in one piece and glad that something like that happened when we had such helpful people nearby.

Rio de Janeiro

So we arrived in one very hot and sticky Rio on Wednesday 11th of February and made our way to the area of Catete where we were staying. Our first few days of what was going to be an extremely short jaunt into Brazil, had been on a non stop bus journey up from Foz de Iguacu. The highlight of which was the frequent stops at service stations, with huge pay per kilo buffets, fresh fruit juices and delightfully unhealthy fried pastries.

Our first day in Rio was spent exploring the Centro, trying, and failing miserably to make ourselves understood in Portuguese, and silently praying for the gloomy looking clouds overhead to go away. Alas it wasn't to be, and that night the heavens opened, and what seemed to be months worth of rain came from the sky and flooded the streets, somewhat stranding us in our hostel. The one thing I thought might be guaranteed on our trip, and what I'd been looking forward to for ages, was a sun bathed trip to Ipanema beach, but the rain came, and was to stay with us pretty much all of the time we were in Brazil. With constant rain and clouds we put off a trip to the key sights like the famous sugar loaf mountain - Pao de Azucar, and the statue of Cristo de Redentor, in the hope of a sunny day. Instead we spent our days exploring the shopping streets of Ipanema, visiting various sights and going out in the area of Lapa to see an ace Samba band and join in with the crazy street party.

Food remained a highlight in the rainy days (as ever for me) and we enjoyed sticks of grilled cheese covered in Oregano, huge Prato Feito lunches; plates piled high with rice, beans, meat, and feijao, and amazing fruit shakes. When we did finally make it into Ipanema beach, there was a Carnaval procession making its way rowdily along the main street, with lots of the followers using the beach as a big open air bathroom. But even despite this, the beach was breathtaking, and down by the edge where the huge waves crashed against the white sand, we were the only people.

Alas our time was nearing an end in Rio and the sun still wasn't shining so we decided to head up to the statue of Christ early on our last morning, the clouds cleared enough for us to see the bays of Rio, with the islands out at sea, and the view was amazing. Surrounded by 100's of people standing around with their arms splayed for a photo op, we decided to join in. At last the sun came out as we visited the beach of Catete. We finished the afternoon with some friends from the hostel, going to Maracana football stadium to watch a match between Botofogo and Flamengo. As we left Rio the sun was shining and the atmosphere was already heightened in preparation for Carnaval, but we were headed for Salvador further North where we'd heard the party was even better!

Iguazu Falls

We had come to Puerto Iguazu for one reason, Iguazu Falls. With 275 individual falls they are among the widest in the world and can be seen from the Brazilian or Argentinean side.

The source of Iguazú river is in Paraná state, Brazil, and after crossing 1,200 km. on a plateau, where it joins with several tributaries before reaching a fault line. This crack in the sandstone and basalt is where the river runs an 80 metre canyon into the spectacular Devil's Throat.

Puerto Iguazu is a nice little town but obviously touristy. It was a great feeling to be back in Argentina and Residencial Amigos was a paradise after the journey. We celebrated our ‘half way through’ night with a meal out, complete with the most delicious Argentine red wine and steak. The tourist information is based in the town centre and is probably the best and most informative we had ever experienced. So armed with our bible of info we took the early morning bus to the falls along with the Park workers. The early start meant that a lot of the trail we were on was empty. Spider webs were strung across the path, Iguanas retreated to the undergrowth and a Tarantula took refuge under a step as H went bouncing past.

The Argentinean falls are by far the best side in my opinion, with more walk ways and falls to explore. One particular highlight was being on the Isla San martin away from the crowds and seeing the wildlife. By the time we headed up onto the Upper Trial it was 10:30 and the hoards had arrived. Nevertheless even with an army of tour groups marching around videoing themselves, the falls are an epic sight. The Devil’s throat is the biggest of the falls and standing on the platform looking into the drop, the noise is deafening.

We’d made friends with an Argentinean family staying in our residencial, and they invited us to join them that evening for the tastiest (and latest - the meal started at midnight!) Asado. When we headed out of Argentina for the last time it was with a real feeling of sadness. The food, wine and hospitality of Argentina had been a highlight of our trip and something we were definitely sad to leave behind.

Journey across the Gran Chaco

As Han mentioned in the last installment we now had the task finding a way to Iguazu Falls, Argentina. There are several ways and none of them particularly easy or straight forward. So, in true backpacker fashion we went for the most exciting route through Paraguay and the Gran Chaco.

Leaving Samiapata by colectivo taxi is the norm but after siting in the square for an hour it looked like we were the only ones heading out of town that day. We had only one option - to pay the price of four people. The mammoth journey began as we hurtled round corners and roads became gravel tracks and later became littered with speed bumps.

Once we arrived in Santa Cruz, at around 17:00, we made our way to the bus terminal and haggled for a ticket to Asuncion, the Paraguayan capital. Sometimes choice becomes a problem and as there were numerous companies going that way, all offering the same discount, all under exaggerating the length of time it would take and all promising a clean, safe bus…haha! We bought the $55 ticket that all we knew would get us to Asuncion and then on to Ciudad del Este, on the Paraguayan border, somehow.

As the sun went down the heat remained, the terminal was throbbing with people and fumes. Undercover police marched around checking passports and the Bolivian drug police, the FELCN, searched every bus coming in and going out, the sniffer dogs were brought out and paraded up and down our luggage. Mine was picked out and I had great pleasure in taking out the Malaria tablets the dog had caught a whiff of.

The night past on our bumpy bus with babies screaming and the smell of the toilet that was centimetres from our heads. As the sun rose the following morning the sight of dusty roads and the endless scrub of the Chaco greeted us. The only amusement that I could find was the conductor looked the spitting image of Ben Brewster (TV Director extraordinaire), maybe he was a long lost brother?

The Lonely Planet Guide to South America describes the Trans Chaco as a journey for “hearty souls” and by the 15:00, 18 hours in, my soul wanted to get out and walk. The Chaco occupies 60% of Paraguay and it is largely desert and scrub land with this single dirt track through it, connecting Bolivia and Paraguay. The sun was the hottest we had experienced and the lack of water in the toilet system produced an unbearable smell. The sweat was pouring off us as the bus twisted and turned. The only ventilation was, of course, our window which when opened filled the coach with a cloud of dust, even so anything was better than the smell of that toilet!

It soon became apparent the timings we had been told were as far from reality as we were from a hot bath in a Hilton. By late afternoon we arrived at the Paraguayan border control and after the usual sitting about for half an hour we were ordered to line up all our belongings for the sniffer dog and police checks. The burley and officious looking police were completely shown up when they brought out their mangy looking drug dog. He had other ideas and rather than being keen to hunt out drugs, he kept running off into the scrub and playing with his ball.

We rolled on and around 23:00 we were arriving in Asuncion and searching for our midnight departure to Ciudad del Este. Simple things count for a great deal when traveling by bus and the cool, clean and quiet ambience of this new bus was a world away from our Chaco chicken coup. We awoke as we were pulling into Ciudad del Este terminal, it was 5am. Inside the terminal people were slow and sleepy, the air was cool and refreshing and our 6am local bus to the border arrived promptly. A twenty minute ride and we were being dropped by immigration, exit stamps stamped and we were waiting for the next bus across the ‘Friendship Bridge’. Linking Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina this is a major union for commuters who work in any of these countries. The tri-border crossing was a hum of moto-taxis, colectivos and pedestrians. After sometime we caught a bus direct to the Argentinean immigration and then on to the town of Puerto Iguazu, Argentina. By midday our thirty-nine hour journey was over and we were relaxing on the poolside of Residencial Amigos.

Samaipata

Our second escape from La Paz was to head East, towards Santa Cruz, and to a small village called Samaipata on the edge of the Amboro National Park. A world away from La Paz, Samaipata has a mild climate, few inhabitants and the most stunning scenery. We stayed in a place called El Jardin where we rented a small Cupula to stay in, a mud built building with a mattress on the floor upstairs and a small table downstairs.

We went horse riding around the town, and played with some of the animals from a wildlife refuge down the road, including a very friendly red squirrel called Skippy, and a rather sulky howler monkey. We found a guide called Carmel who lived in the town and agreed to take us on a walk up into Amboro and into the cloud forests. It was like being in Jurassic park, the forest was calm and quiet, everything covered in moss with giant ants climbing over everything and beautiful butterflies flying everywhere. The deeper into the cloud forest we got there began to grow ferns, of all different sizes and types. We reached one valley in the forest where the fern trees were giant, some reaching 6 or more metres high.

Unfortunately our money ran out too quickly, and with no cash point nearby we only managed to spend 4 days in Samaipata. It definitely gave us a new view of Bolivia though, a much more tranquil and peaceful one which we hadn't seen elsewhere. If we'd have had more money with us I think it would have been hard to get us to leave. We began to head towards our next stop - Iguazu falls in Argentina - there was just one thing in our way, Paraguay.

Escape from La Paz - Part 2

Back in La Paz we seem to have gotten stuck in the black hole once more, mending our forever ill stomachs (one of the pleasures of Bolivia), getting out of breath constantly from walking up the many hills, and guiltily enjoying the pleasures of the very americanised chain of coffee shops, Alexander Coffee. If you´re in La Paz or head there soon, go there just for their hot chocolates - best I´ve ever tasted.

For some reason I let James drag me away from the safe and warm confines of Alexander coffee, and convince me to take on another of La Paz´s backpacking legends. The worlds most dangerous road. Having never been mountain biking before, the idea of my first attempt being on a winding gravel road with a very deadly reputation didn´t fill me with joy, nor did the fact that it was rainy season - and this meant that some companies ceased to offer the ride, deaming it ´too risky´, or doubled their prices to account for the extra care taken. Great! Despite knowing this we decided to go with the cheapest company we could find, and I had butterflies that felt more like helicopters in my stomach on the morning of our ride.

We began the ride at the freezing and wind-swept La Cumbre (4,700m/15,400 feet) supposedly surrounded by snow-covered peaks and fantastic views - not that we saw any of these as there was a thick fog present at 8.00am when we started. Shaky at first, slightly terrified and with numb hands I quickly took up my position at the back of our small group. The first section is on a twisting tarmac road, which descends rapidly down to a checkpoint where we stopped for breakfast. I was beginning to gain a little bit more confidence by this point but still insisted on James staying nearby incase I went arse over handlebars.

The next section actually entered the Yungas, becoming hotter and wetter as we descended. This was the most challenging part of the ride. I nearly cried when our instructor told us we still had about 4 hours to go! My hands and bum were killing already, and we hadn´t even hit the gravel yet. This infamous narrow dirt road is cut precariously into the side of the mountain and descends 2,000m (6,500 feet). This is where the accidents happen, it´s estimated that every year 200 to 300 people die on this winding road less than 50 miles long. I asked our instructor when was the last time a biker died? He looked deadpan at me and said that two English people went over the edge last week. The whole group went silent, then he burst out laughing, no doubt at the look of horror on my face.....then said ´´I´m joking, they weren´t English, they were Argentinian´´.

So we began the decent, with 1,000m+ (3,300 feet) sheer drops off to our left and hulking rock overhangs and cascading waterfalls to our right, we rode along, me completely ignoring our instructors advice to stick to the tire tracks on the left (near the sheer drop!) and sticking as close to the inside wall as possible. Followed by our support vehicle behind, a constant temptation to give up and jump in the van was hard to ignore. Thankfully, since March 2007 the majority of traffic has stopped driving down the WMDR, and now drives down the new road, so we didn´t have much in the way of vehicles to contend with, just other groups of mountainbikers who seemed to have a death wish and would zoom past at breakneck speed with little warning. Every now and then there would be a memorial plaque on the side of the road, some frighteningly recent, just to remind you what a stupid thing you were doing.

As we descended it began to get progressively hotter and dustier. And after 3 or so hours we made it to the bottom, a small town called Yolosa (1,100m/3,600 feet) deep in the Bolivian Yungas. I was amazed to be alive, and had actually began to enjoy the ride once I´d gotten the hang of it. I even managed to up my position in the group by one, giving up the last place position to a Colombian girl who was even more scared than I was. We were then driven to a hotel with a swimming pool to try and ease our quivering muscles and have some lunch. I definitely felt a sense of acheivement for managing to make it to the bottom. Thankfully I only found this BBC article after we´d been on the bikes, as I´m sure I would´ve chickened out if I´d read it before!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/6136268.stm

Amazonas Adventure

To our huge relief the weather held and the our flight with Amazonas Airlines went ahead. Flights to Rurrenbaque, in the amazon basin are renowned for being cancelled or delayed in the rainy season due the runway simply being grass. The only other way to get to Rurre is by the infamous 18 hour bus/roller-coaster so we were keeping everything crossed for our 45 minute flight to go ahead. We squeezed onto the 17 seater plane and in true South American style bumped into friends, Juilen and Charlotte who we had last seen in Torres del Paine, Southern Chile. The flight went as smoothly as a small tin can in turbulance can but only 45 minutes later we were stepping out into 40 degree heat with about 100% humidity.

Rurre felt a world away from La Paz´s cold and antiplano climate. It was more like being in africa with mosquitos the size of your head, the heat and buzz of a small town - oh and lots of soldiers walking around with machettes. After finding a flee bitten hostel for the night we headed to a posh hotel which had a pool and met up with Julien and Charlotte. From Marseille, they are travelling South America whilst on honeymoon and were also heading into the wilderness.

We did a bit of classic backpacker shopping around, always having to find the best deal even though we`re in the cheapest South American country, and decided to go with the company Fluvial Tours for 450 BOB for a three day expedition into the Pampas. This was an incredible price and the service was brilliant. The following day we met with the six other guys in our group; Paola from Peru, Andrew and Annelie from Oz, Doris from the Netherlands and Sarah and Michael from Ireland. We boarded our rickity jeep and drove for about 2 hours to the start of the wetlands and waterways. We arrived in the middle of nowhere, the sun was baking and all of a sudden another boat (dug out canoe style) arrives, returning from a three day tour with punters. As they disembarked we saw one girl covered from head to toe in mosquito bites, handing out the warning that the mozzies here could bite through anything. Then would you believe it behind her was Thomas and Loes from our Salar de Uyuni journey. A very bizarre coincidence but then as we keep realising South America is a very small place!

The next three days were incredible and within ten minutes of cruising down the waterway we were spotting Howler Monkeys, Turtles, all sorts of birds, Caimen and the alusive Pink River Dolphins. We reached camp by late afternoon which was situated on the bank of the river. Our huts were on stilts as the camp was also home to a whole host of animals including an agressive Caimen and toothless Aligator. Returning from a trip down river became a mini adventure of it´s own when you had to jump the caimen or dodge sticks being thrown down from the trees by Capuchin Monkeys. Each day was awe inspiring, and our luck the second day continued as we went looking for an Anaconda. After a sweltering walk across the boggy plains we eventally found one. It was around three metres long and moved with effortless speed through this partially submerged pasture. The attack of the mosquitos went unoticed whilst we were striding through bogland but on return to the camp we saw that Han´s back was covered in bites, and they´d managed it through 2 layers of clothing. We were all hot, stinky and gagging for a swim. We changed and cruised down river to where we´d spotted some river dolphins earlier on. Before you could say Bolivian referendum results we were jumping into this amazonas waterworld and swimming with pink river dolphins. Now, swimming in the Amazon, which has Caimen, piranas, Aligators, flesh eating diseases etc and all that ´hype´ wouldn´t normally stop me, but when the dolphins suddenly left the scene and we were still splashing around all those Natural History programmes of young wilderbeast being pulled under by crocs came flooding back. Needless to say we all hopped out sharpish!

The final day came and we went pirana fishing, before we knew it we were arriving back where our jeep had set us down two days before. As we bounced along the dirt track to Rurrenbaque the darkest clouds formed and the winds picked up. The heavens opened and our flight back to La Paz the next day evaporated in front of us. That night we had a few cheeky cocktails in the Mosquito Bar with the group along with Julien and Charlotte, who were back from their jungle tour.

Customer service isn´t something you should expect if you come to Bolivia and Amazonas Airlines are the epitomy of this. Our flight ended up being delayed for five hours and we had to force them to store our luggage. Once we were about to leave for the airport we were told we would have to pay more money for a transfer to the military airport, as they´d rescheduled our flight from there! All I wanted was some sort of drinks voucher to make me feel like a valued customer or some stupid rep telling us what the hell was happening. Alas, no not here and not with Amazonas. We eventually made it back onto the little plane, and took off headed for La Paz, sad to be leaving the Amazonian wilderness that had been incredible to explore.

Escape from La Paz

There´s something of a black hole quality to La Paz that makes people stay there longer than they ever intended to. It´s the worlds highest capital city located at 3,660m, so the altitude could be something to do with it. It´s also tiring to walk around, with central La Paz sitting in the bowl of a valley, high up in the altiplano, it´s districts and neighbourhoods spread outwards and upwards, with some areas looking like they´re literally clinging onto the side of the valley. As we had hit Bolivia in their summer, it was also rainy season, so days would start in glorious sunshine, and undoubtedly end with torrential rain. As in the rest of bolivia it´s also incredibly cheap to stay here. We found a great little place called Hospedaje Milenio which cost us just 27 Bolivianos each a night for a private room (about 2.70!), there were countless places where you could buy an Almuerzo or 3 course set lunch for about 20 Bolivianos, and the street food and fresh fruit juices available cost next to nothing and were really tasty.

We initially spent a few days recouperating from various ailments, getting our bearings and getting used to the constant protests passing on the street, it only took a handful of occasions of us jumping out of our skins to get used to the firecrackers that go off all day long, and the particularly scary looking police men with big guns! One of the books I bought along on the trip from home was Marching powder, written by Rusty Young about the experiences of a British man, Thomas MacFadden, who had been looked up in La Paz´s San Pedro Prison - for drug trafficking offences. The book is fascinating to read, as San Pedro Prison is renowned for being a society within itself. It´s a world away from how prisons operate in the UK. Inmates at San Pedro have to buy or rent their accommodation, they often have jobs inside the community, and their families live inside the prison too, children and all. There are no guards inside the prison, only on the prison walls. There are different sections to the prison, ranging in prices for a cell, complete with restaurants, hairdressers, churches. Those with money can live in comfort, with most amenities available to people on the outside, some inmates have even built extensions onto their cells. The place has become a thing of backpacking ledgend, as for a price, you can go inside the prison and have a tour of the institution.

We were both keen, so we headed for San Pedro Plaza, where we´d been told that a South African lady would approach us and arrange for us to get inside the prison. After 10 minutes walking around the plaza, feeling slightly stupid and beginning to think of chickening out, she appeared, told us the protocol, and we headed toward the prison gates. We´d been told that our guide was a Portuguese guy called Louis Felipe, we had to pass through the guards, whilst hiding our camera, threw the prison gates and into crowd of waiting inmates. Thankfully Louis Felipe was waiting for us and introduced us to our security guards for the trip - three rather big but thankfully friendly looking inmates, and the tour began. It was an amazing experience, Louis Felipe was like the Godfather, he´d only been inside the prison for 7 months but he seemed to have the respect of all of the other inmates. As he walked us around the different sections of the prison, he introduced us to people, showed us in some of the cells, complete with TV´s and carpet, the football pitch and games room, telling us when it was safe to take pictures, out of sight of the guards. He told us stories of fights and stabbings that had occurred - it seemed that there was no law inside the prison, other than what the most powerful of inmates implemented. At the end of the tour we were taken into a small room, where we´d been told that we´d need to tip our guards, as well as Louis Felipe for ´letting´ us use a camera. The prison is possibly most infamous for the quality of its Coke - made within the walls of the prison - offered to visitors at 100 Bolivianos for a gram, some visitors also pay extra to spend a night at the prison.

Once on the outside it sunk in what a strange experience that had been, definitely one of the best tours we´d taken so far. Thankful to be on the outside of the prison walls we began to plan for our next trip - and we finally managed to escape La Paz, and headed North. This time our destination was Rurrenabaque, a town in Bolivia situated in the Amazon Basin.

Copacabana and Lake Titicaca

Who said the buses in Bolivia were just chicken coups? Luxury can exist here and the El Dorado bus from Sucre to La Paz was our best yet in South America. With only three wide, fully reclining seats making up the width of the bus we slept better than in some hostel beds. By early morning we arrived in La Paz and said goodbye to Pete who was staying there. We we´re soon off further north on the 8am local bus to Copacabana and Lake Titicaca. The bus takes about 3.5 hours, including the highlight of the journey, a ferry crossing. Well simply things hey. All of us on board got off the bus as it drove onto a large wooden barge, along with a couple of cars and sheep. We all hopped on a speedboat and crossed seperately watching our bus, and bags, precariously bob along.

Copacabana sits beside Lake Titicaca and although it has a touristy bitterness it isn´t too bad a place. Time here was short however and dictated by there being no ATM. We checked into the hostel called La Cupula which was gorgeous, clean and overlooked the the town and bay. It was so nice in fact that we decided to stay for an extra night. We would have to change rooms and pay a little more which was fine, but the hostel actually had some trouble getting previous occupants out, resulting in our room being upgraded to a holiday cottage with private kitchen and bathroom - cashback! For the first time in Bolivia the weather really warmed up and the sun shone. On our third day we decided to get up early and catch the boat to the Isla de Sol, one of Lake Titicaca´s inca settlement islands. After a jam-packed two hour ride we arrived at the northern port and eventually arrived in time for a cafe con leche. The island is split into three communities and like everywhere in Bolivia everyone wants their piece of the cake. Consequently you´re supposed to pay a toll as you walk between the north, central and southern zones. The northern section is denfinately the more touristy as here lies the ruins of the Inca sacrifical sights. The island is stunning, and as you walk along the stone pathway from the north to the south the sun highlights the crop terraces built up by the Incas. We reached the southern end of the isle in about 3 hours but felt shattered due to the altitude. We found a bed for the night in a small hostel for 25 bolivianos (two pounds fifty!) and that night the temperature dropped. A hale storm insued and our tin roof amplified the giant balls of ice throughout the night. Tucked up under layers of blankets we woke to another beautifully clear but crisp morning over looking Lake Titicaca.

That morning we caught the early boat back to the mainland and jumped on the bus back to La Paz (avoiding the more expensive `Tourist Bus` that the tour operators on the highstreet try and sell you). By the afternoon we were arriving in La Paz amd immediately thrown into the hustle and bustle of this crazy, wintery and mountainous city.

The Mines, The Giant with Gold Teeth and Sucre

Potosi was our next destination and except for Pete, it was where we left most of the group from the Salar de Uyuni tour. Potosi sits at 4060 metres and holds the title of the highest city in the world. Just walking two hundred yards here leaves you breathing like you´ve run the Bristol 10K. During our travels we´ve spoken to a lot of travellers coming down through Bolivia. Innevitably the ´danger stories´ and muggings are what most people harp on about. Consequently, we dived into a cab like petrified sheep on arrival in Potosi and headed for a hostel the Lonely Planet raves about - Koala Den. Well I think LP needs new authors as it was very average and the manager was one of those over friendly "I lurv you Eeenglish, I lurv London" creepy sort of managers. We only stayed for one night and the following day, leaving a wimpy Hannah behind, Pete and I headed off on a tour of the Potosi Mine.

The working mine began life for gold and silver but nowadays the extraction of minerals is all that remains. It has one of the worst, if not the worst health and safety records in history, and since it opened, 200 years ago, over 8 million people have died. Extraction is by hand and usually father and son teams do the work. Once you start working in the mine you have a life expectancy of ten years due to the asbestos and harsh conditions. So, of course, we decided to go down it for a few hours. The mine sits above Potosi at around 4600 metres and the tunnels go deep into the mountain. It´s a surreal and unsettling experience meeting a 17 year old boy 200 metres below ground digging for his livelyhood. We helped him dig out a section and load it up for 20 minutes, which was exhausting at that altitude. As I climbed back out of the small tunnel section using a series of wooden ladders and rock climbing skills I was face to face with asbestos fibres covering the walls. Whilst your down there, the custom is to give the workers coca leaves, cigarrettes and dynamite in return for you being a idiotic backpacker getting in their way. Mining is still the main industry in Potosi and so it is set to continue for many more years to come. On my way out I met the 17 year old´s Dad who was returning to load up a truck with 1 and 1/2 tonnes of rubble, each truck may get him and his son 35-45 Bolivianos (3.50 - 4.50 pounds).

That afternoon the three of us were off to Sucre, the judicial capital of Bolivia, and the fastest way was by taxi. We thought nothing could be as uncomfortable as the bus the day before but we were mistaken as myself and H were joined in the back by a giant Bolivian man dressed from head to toe in denim. The drivers music was blarring out 80s classics remixed by a Bolivian pan pipe band as the giant turned to us and smiled displaying his full set of gold teeth. The journey was spent leaning into bends as our driver hurtled round corners beeping at people and livestock crossing the road that he was heading for. After 2 hours of this we arrived in Sucre and were pleasently suprised by its palm trees and colonial arcitecture - a far cry from Potosi.

Through default we found a great hostel called La Dolce Vita. It was modern and clean, and unlike a lot of Bolivia so far, did not smell of wee! The days passed too quickly in Sucre whilst we recharged our batteries in this beautiful city. It is time to move on and from Sucre we are heading to Lake Titicaca and the lakeside town of Copacabana.

The Atacama and The Salar de Uyuni - Bolivia

After our New Year´s Eve recovery day we were back on the road and heading north, to the desert! For the first time we were able to understand just how much of Chile is actually desert and for twenty-four hours on a bus this is all we saw. We arrived in San Pedro de Atacama, a small town with adobe walls and dusty roads at midnight and had to wake up our hostel so could could get a bed for the night. Having come straight from sea level and now at 2400 metres we were both feeling the effects of altitude sickness the following day, whilst being in a baking desert environment. From Chile, San Pedro is the gateway to the Salar de Uyuni and Bolivia and it is a great stepping stone for getting used to the altitude before hitting the heights of the Bolivian border.

A few kilometres outside San Pedro is Death Valley, an area renowned for its similarities to the surface of Mars. In the past few months NASA has held prototype tests here and it´s easy to see why as we walked through this vast desert and ancient sea toward The Valle de la Luna where we watched sunset.

Our time in Chile was drawing to a close and soon enough we needed to move into Bolivia. We were planning to do this with a three day tour across the Atacama and the Salar de Uyuni and as San Pedro is quite a small town only four tour agencies do trips across to Bolivia. We had heard a lot of bad things about them all and it wasn´t a case of picking the best but the best of a bad bunch. In fact none of them could tell us what was better about their company compared to the others. They all brake down, they all provide similar food and all cost vaguely similar prices.

With low expectations and a couple of other people from our hostel, Pete and Louise - also booking with Cordillera Travel, we decided to pick them. The morning of the 6th came and at 8.00am we were outside the offices waiting for the minibus to arrive and in classic South American tradition it did, half an hour late. Before we knew it were heading high into the mountain range that borders Bolivia and exchanged our school bus for a more suitable 4x4 jeep. We got our border stamps and had breakfast at over 3000 metres with snow replacing the sand which had existed but forty-five minuets before. (Sorry slipped into novel writting then).

Anyway the next three days were incredible, myself, H, Pete and Louise from the hostel and two mad Brazilian girls were all crammed into a jeep with our trusty driver/mechanic/DJ - Ruben! We were one of three jeeps in total (the blue one) and the group reformed each evening when we arrived at the accomodation.

The first night was spent at 4600 metres and we were all feeling it. Dehydration, headaches and exhaustion are a few of the earlier signs and the only things to help you adjust from this lack of oxygen is water, time and some good old fashioned Bolivian Coca Tea! We had been warned that the accomadation was going to be basic and cold but the only thing that stopped us from having a good nights sleep was the altitude and headaches. The following day we were driving past green lakes, red lakes and thousands of Flamingos until disaster happened and we broke down surround by miles of desolate rocky ground and being scorched by the midday sun. Ruben and the other two drivers turned from ralley driver to expert mechanic and within 30 mins they had disassembled most of the engine replaced the cricial parts and reassembled it.

That evening we stayed a lot lower in a small town called Culpina 'K´ where we had our first shower and were fed deliciously spicy Llama steaks. We got to know some of the other people in the other jeeps that night and one Dutch couple, Thomas and Lucy, seem to be doing the same sort of route as us for the next few months. Luckily for us the mental Isreali guy (and there always seems to be one around) isn't. Thanks to the rather tired Lonely Planet guide there are some very worn paths through South America and it s funny the random or now predictive bumping intos that happen out here. People we've seen before in South Chile are suddenly on the same trip as you or in the same hostel as you in Bolivia.

The final day was spent on the Salar de Uyuni (the salt flats) which had been flooded a few days before. The results were spectaclar reflections of the sky for miles upon miles as we drove through this foot deep salt water sitting on the roof of our jeep. That afternoon we were dropped off in Uyuni, ate pizza, found a bed for the night and bought a bus ticket to Potosi - the highest city in the world!