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!

Año Nuevo in Valparaiso

After a brief stop in Santiago we headed to Valparaiso just a couple of hours away on the coast. We´d managed to find a room for a few nights in a really nice B and B called La Nona, actually voted one of the top 10 hostels in SA by The Guardian (woo), the only problem was we didn´t have anywhere to stay for the 31st. No worries we thought - we´ll be out all night anyway....

Our hostel was in an area of Valpo called Cerro Alegre, a hill overlooking the rest of the town and bay, with cafes, restaurants and bars. Valpo is considered a Unesco World Heritage site and there were so many beautiful buildings and amazing outlooks. The Cerro´s are also real artist hubs and some alleys are covered in the most amazing Graffitti - you can walk around for hours quite happily snapping away.

We took a sunset Boat trip out into the bay with Rene and Carolina the owners of La Nona, and two other Australian couples we met staying there, Sean and Shona, and Sarah and Mitch. On New Years Eve afternoon the 6 of us headed up to one of the Cerro's on the far side of the bay to get the optimum view of the coast from Valpo all the way along to another town Vina del Mar and beyond for the legendary firework displays. People had been saving the best spots all day, some seemed to have even hired bouncers to sit on chairs for them, but we managed to find a small section to squeeze into right next to the railings. Then we just had a 6 hour wait until midnight.

We drank, chatted with the locals, who introduced us to the local bevvy fanchop - Fanta and Beer - which is actually surprisingly nice! The atmosphere was incredible. A group next to us had brought instruments up and were singing and dancing away, James joined in, and at the countdown to 12 all of the boats and ships in the harbour sounded their horns and the noise was deafening. When the clock struck everyone was shouting, throwing confetti and spraying cava over the crowd. Then the fireworks started. All the way along the bay for miles there were fireworks going off, they lasted for ages and the finale sounded like a hail of bombs landing and rapid gunfire.

Slightly drunk and hungry we headed down to the centre and gorged on completo hotdogs, eventually it was just me and J left and we realised we still had the rest of the night to get through! By 4am we'd exhausted our options of sitting on the pavement and drinking beer, we'd been kicked out of a bar for falling asleep, so we decided to head back up to Cerro Alegre and see what else we could do. There we found the comfy step of a Thai restaurant and dozed until 8am - interrupted frequently by stray dogs and drunks walking past. Desperate and slightly smelly we then headed for a little Cafe called La Desayunador for a huge and much needed breakfast buffet. By 10am we'd checked back into the hostal and slept for the rest of the day. It was a brilliant, if slightly long New Years.

Video to follow soon (as I find a decent internet connection)