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Coroico1
The road to Coroico This weekend we went to Coroico, a small town 50 miles from the (notional) capital of Bolivia, La Paz. Coroico is famous for two things, being a nice chilled out place to stay on top of a hill with fantastic views all around, and for the “most dangerous road in the world”. So named because it is a thin dirt track clinging to the side of precipitous cliffs with no satefy barriers and a lot of impatient heavy large overcrowded traffic... and a lot of this traffic falls off the side. However the road is the only way yo Coroico while they build a fancy new two lane blacktop along a safer mountain. This was acutually well in progress last time we travelled the road in 1997, and doesnt seem to have opened yet, although reports vary on this - probably those who think it open are those willing to drive their vehicles over the bits that havent been finished yet. Other information reckons that the new road has a toll and all the drivers still use the dangerous one rather than pay the toll!
The guidebooks tell us the awful statistics - an average of 24 vehicles a year
corioco2
Its getting a bit thin here...! go over the edge, in 1999 this reached an all time high of 63 (more than one a week). Most horrrific was a truck that went over with more than a hundred people on board and no-one survived. All juicy stuff but not really designed to reassure.
Our plan: to spend Saturday mountain biking down this road, not get killed, celebrate in Coroico in the evening, then relax the next morning before heading back to Cochabamba as a leisurely pace. Ummm...
First, back on the buses... starting with a 7 hour journey to La Paz. There are six of us, and another expected later, although James (remember him?) has broken fingers so he cant go mountain biking. This bus ride goes without a hitch, raising expectations of a successful roadtrip, and we get to La Paz around 10pm. Claire and I - having learnt our lessons before, have already booked a hotel and go straight there. The kids of course are on the hoof and spend half an hour consulting the Lonely Planet from our hotel foyer before disappearing into the night in search of a bed. We wish them well (snigger) and go up to our room
Near thing on coroico road
An example of what can happen! for some well earned tv to catch up. But wait... the room is huge and the small TV up on the wall about twenty feet from the bed so we can hardly see it, and they have lost the remote! We manage to get CNN up and find the same stories from a week or more ago still running - is nothing happening in the big wide world?
Next morning its an early start and we all meet up at the biking company for the trip. There is a big group, two buses and about 30 people. We have used the company recommended by the LP, and so has everyone else, somebody here is making a mint.
We head out of La Paz and stop at the top of the mountain, called La Cumbre, at about 4500m (I am watching the altitude on my wrist computer all the time - saddo). This is “gravity assisted mountain biking” - which means you start at the top and drop around 3.5 kilometers to Coroico. The air is thin and its cold, but we are all excited and get kitted up. The yanks have brought multiple layers of warm clothing and hired
jackets, trousers, extra goggles etc etc. We have a fleece - between us.
After a brief blessing to Pacha Mama with 96% alcohol, and some strict instructions on how to behave on our bikes, how the other tour companies are all rubbish and their clients crazy people, and how good our company is; we head off into the rising sun, more than a little nervous. This is the worlds most dangerous road after all!
Luckily the first couple of hours are along fairly mild tarmac road. So we build up a level of confidence and thanks various deities that its downhill. Then comes the uphill bit. Some dive for the cover of the buses and load their bikes on top, most continue on with the bravado required for this trip, me included. Five minutes later and I am off the bike, walking it up the mildest of hills, coughing, spluttering and unable to draw enough breath to satisfy a rodent, let alone propell me and this bike uphill. Cycling at 4000m is a very bad idea. But we make it and then we realise we have got to THE road.
Long pause for refreshment and more words
Coroico road
Fairly sharp drop then. of warning etc. Claire muttering under her breath about doing severe damage to me later for making her do this. The road has changed from safe wide tarmac to very narrow dirt track that seems to go straight down. You know when you get pulled up to the top of the rollercoaster and just as you go over the top and start you think - why did I want to do this? That was us.
And we´re off... we are told to keep to the left. But this was the open side with a drop of hundreds of feet. Why not keep to the inside where its nice and safe (relatively)? Because thats where the uphill traffic goes and you cant get in their way, they are going hell for leather trying to get up as fast as possible and take no prisoners. So we stay close to the outside edge and fret. We stop for every piece of traffic lest we get thrown off the edge or cycle off by mistake because we cant see through the dust clouds. We even have to get off the bike in a certain way - on the inside. Apparently a tourist
Cycle finish in Yolosa
The finish line, and in one piece too! didnt do this and when a bus went past she felt a bit close and stepped back, you guessed it, over the edge... we take heed of all the warnings!
In this way we make our way slowly down the road, stopping often for water and to wipe the dust, listening to more warnings and tales of accidents. The journey is 65km in all and takes about 6 hours, but eventually the river bed comes into view and we cycle through a river to end the trip and collect a well deserved beer and t-shirt. The revlief on the faces of the gringoes is one thing, but the guides all look very relieved as well! I have to say the company was well organised, the equipment good and the guides careful, well worth the extra bucks we paid.
Dumping our bikes and getting on the bus, and collecting our commemorative t-shirt whilts having group photos of the intrepid triumphant cyclists, we get taken uphill to Coroico with big smiles and covered in an inch thick layer of dust. We had arranged to stay at the hotel the bike company works with, so we all end up there for
Coroico ride
A beer at last to clean out the dust. late lunch, showers and a swim. Our room has a fab view over the mountains and the road we just cam down. We can also see the new road, still not completed from when we were last here, but evidently in use by some traffic.
Rest of day spent removing the dirt and relaxing. Well deserved. Went out for a pizza and beers in town but not too mocuh excitement as very tired. We slept.
Next morning we wake to wonderful views through the bedroom window. This encourages us to stay where we were for a while, but eventually we got up and spent the day sitting around the terrace of the hotel enjoying the scenery. Coroico reall is a very chilled and pleasant place - one wonders if its because the only way to get there is down ´the road...´
As it turned out sitting around was a bad idea - Claire and several of the kids ended up having their legs eaten alive by small red sandflies. Angry red weals appeared on Claires legs and then the itching started - oh dear. For the next four or so days the itching continued despite applying creams and
Biking crowd
(I didnt take this !) taking tablets. It would have been comical as it looked as though she had applied lipstick dots all over her legs in an effort to make herself look ill because she hadnt done her homework and wanted her mum to let her off going to school!
To get back to La Paz we had to get a bus from Coroico. This seemed easy but of course it hadnt really dawned on us that the only way back to La Paz was, you guessed it, up the most dangerous road in the world! And in a crummy bus with a mad alcohol fuelled driver... Arrghh!
Nothing to be done - we bought tickets (the last ones) and got onto a minibus crammed in at the back but reasonably comfortable, and at least the driver looked sober. Then they started loading the other people, and their luggage... Soon it became rather crowded and not everyone could get in, so another slightly bigger minibus was brought out, with a very young driver who looked a little too devil-may-care in his attitude for my liking. However, there was nothing to be done and off we went. Claire is nervous, one of the
Coroico view
Paradise at the end of the road to hell. kids hides in the corner of the bus, we are all anticipating this one in at least the same way as the bikes at the top yesterday (i.e shit scared). Its four hours to La Paz.
Twenty minutes in and the locals on the bus start chattering and looking out the window across the valley. I look and can see a large truck and a group of people peering over the side of the valley down the hundreds of feet of cliff. From our side of the valley we follow their gaze and notice a trail in the vegetation going straight down. One of the locals tells me with no real emotion or apparent concern that a camioneta (like a large transit van) went over the side this morning...
This ties up with what Claire and I heard this morning from the comfort of our room - a continuous honking of horns which we wondered about but though no more of. Now it occurs to us that this was the warning call that something had happened.
Everyone on the bus is considerably more nervous now - well by everyone I mean us gringos. Even my attempts to
Team Coroico
Thats James in the middle with the cast - pay attention James! alleviate concern, by stating that the odds of US going over the edge are now considerable reduced, are met with stoney silence. The locals really dont seem interested, clearly this happens often enough not to generate real conern. Even when we drive past the crowd ten minutes later still peering over the edge, there is no apparent rescue in progress, no emergency vehicles of any kind, just twenty odd locals peering over the edge...you cant see the wreck, we´ve no idea if anyone was killed or even survived.
Shortly afterward the driver stops the bus and disappears under the bonnet for a few minutes. This is not reassuring... Turns out he is topping up the brake fluid. This is very unassuring. We look at each other but say nothing, best not to really.
The rest of the journey up was hairy to say the least. Although going up traffic sticks to the inside (see above) every passing manuevre was fraught with potential disaster for us and the other bus/truck etc. Even the view is worrying enough as you can see the road clinging to the mountain and the trucks clinging to the road. The trafffic was heavier than for yesterdays biking, a relief I suppose. Two more stops to top up the brakes. The driver is, umm, ´confident´ in his driving ability and seems to have a superman-like ability to see around corners and through dust clouds. He makes a couple of charging overtakes on open straights (ha, only joking, they were on blind bends with no idea if any traffic os coming the other way) which leave us covering our eyes and hiding behind the metaphorical sofa in terror.
However - we make it to the top and the tarmac road. The relief is palpable in everyone. Smiles emerge and we pat each other on the back for making it (as if we´d been driving!) Even the driver seems happy as we watch more big trucks and coaches start the trek down. Its almost dark and we all think about doing it in a large coach, downhill, in the dark. No thanks.
Mountain biking? Ha. Thats the easy way - Going in a bus is definitely, positively, without question, more scary. Claire swears thats the last time ever to travel that road (four times for us now - pushing the odds a bit maybe?) I am wondering how much it would cost to hire a jeep for the weekend to drive it myself.
So easy driving back to La Paz we all think. The driver tops up his brakes again and off we go, up to La Cumbre where we started biking and down to La Paz. Its then I start noticing the driver is using the engine to brake all the time and going very slowly against the gears downhill. I dont say anything to Claire, but just think about the long run down into the La Paz and the amount of traffic, buildings and people we could bounce off before coming to a stop without any brakes.
All fears unfounded, we get back to La Paz in one peace and go find food and drink getting the bus back to Cochabamba.
The next day we are all sporting our t-shirts with ´I cycled the worlds most...´etc emblazoned upon them like trophies, along with knowing smiles and tales of íts not sooo bad really...´
Its the bus companies that should be giving away t-shirts...or maybe the money would be better spent on brake fluid.
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Jez
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All Aboard !
Man, My 11 yr old can't wait to get to Bolivia to ride "the most dangerous road in the world", but then he is an aussie so will be prone to things like this !. Oh well the suufering that we have to live in Sunshine !!.