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Published: August 23rd 2009
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Lake Titicaca
Highest largest navigable body of water...maybe...or maybe not From Vik:
And so into the land of just about 'the highest' everything...highest capital city, highest non-capital city, highest football stadium, highest other stadiums, highest vineyards, highest volcanoes, highest animals on volcanoes, and so the list goes on (as you can start to imagine). But, would you believe it Ian & Shell, NOT the highest largest navigable lake. Allegedly there are other more likely contenders; we were duped by the Lake Titicaca propagandaists. Unbelievable. Although said lake is still a pretty stunning body of water, and perhaps even more so from the Bolivian side of it's shores, where we spent our first night in this - quite literally - breathtaking country.
From Copacabana (not the actual one, but undoubtedly the song will now start to infiltrate your brain) we lurched into La Paz, the 3600m capital city that sprawls itself magnificently in the bowl of a great valley. Like many capitals, it's abound with juxtapositions; the grand sits alongside the grot, the impoverished beg (and sell) as the wealthy stroll past, the 'gringo' outlets face onto the traditional market stalls (trading in a tempting range of llama foetus' - to bring good luck, although possibly not for the llama - amongst
other desirable goods), and the ice cream shops are bafflingly aplenty at an altitude that can chill off your extremeties. And whilst here we were treated to the first of many - many, many - fiestas. Steve and I were slightly perplexed when the La Paz folk began their exuberant celebrations of 200 years of freedom, what with the actual date of independance being 1825. But, small matter of dates aside, the Bicentenary bashes seemed to sparkle in every city we subsequentlyarrived in, and there was most definately a theme; marching. There is certainly something to be embraced in the way that Bolivia seems to celebrate every section of the community in an all-inclusive parade, but the hours - and hours, and more hours - it entails go surely beyond the threshold of even the hardiest march enthusiast. And it is not only independance that warrants a show. In our few weeks spent here we've celebrated the flag, a handful of saints, several virgins, and today we were clapping for 400 years of something, but we were not really sure what? The '184 years' party, some time after the '200 years' one, added further confusion on the independance front, but
turns out it didn't all happen on one convenient day. Simple as that.
From La Paz we journeyed to the more tranquil town of Coroico. There was some debate as to whether we really fancied a ride on the celebrated 'Road of Death' - celebrated, that is, by the rather dubious tour companies in La Paz that offer various high-adrenaline ways to 'enjoy' the road that is alleged to claim more lives than any other worldwide, rather than by the poor buggers who fall off it - but the decision was to give it a go, choose our vehicle wisely, and hope for the best. Of course, in the usual ticket-buying mayhem, choice was not on the cards and imagine our delight as we boarded a wreck of a van, twice it's natural height in luggage, and complete with two bald tyres - Steve reassured me that two was actually better than one. The journey improved no end when we almost immediately entered into a blinding fog, and the driver adopted the somewhat unusual technique of steering with his door just open so that he could keep a careful - but useless - eye on the gripless back of the
Spot the Monkey
In a refugio just outside Samaipata car. But the cloud and drizzle that met us made it almost worthwhile. That said, the journey back most definately did; sunshine and clear skies and the most spectacular mountainous passes. And the driver kept his door shut the whole of the way.
And onto another of Bolivia's reputed serene and hilly spots, Samaipata. Where we met up with two wandering Aussies - Jon and Alex - who became our co-travellers for the weeks to come, where we met some ailing animals - and hugged a monkey - and where we had yet another brilliantly random lunch in the home of an ex-boxer, who enjoyed to tell a tale. And all within a stone's throw of Che Guevara's sad demise at the hands of the CIA-backed Bolivian army. It seems that Bolivia is thick with 'last stands', from everyone's favourite revolutionary Che, to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. They all enjoyed a bit of marching here.
Comments from steve
Enter Bolivia, Copacabana there was music (pan pipes) and dancing (mostly drunken tourists and ferral dogs). This may have to do with the silly altitude, which has some strange effects. For example each day outside the main church
some of the locals adorn their cars with flowers, toy houses, dolls, carpets, then have them blessed with holy water by the local priest, then spray them with cheap fizzy alcohol, and set off masses of fireworks. However when we later saw the state of the roads it all became much clearer... you need as much luck as you can get!!! Beside the main church... well kind of roughly attached...was a chapel full of candles and strange dedications, the walls were all black and daubed with years of wax and full of people, unlike the main church. Copacabana was also our first introduction to the 'retired coffee perculator machine/death trap shower'; basically a plastic thing with live wires sticking in each side balanced on the end of a water pipe, luckily the fuse box was in the shower at head height, and mostly the on-off tap was covered in isulating tape so the shocks weren´t too strong... this all usually only acted as a distraction from the singular drop of warm water every five minutes or so.
La Paz, arriving is like dropping into a giant pudding basin, with houses plastered up all the sides, although the bus brakes - or screeching lack of - distracted from the magnificent views. Fresh in our minds the rumours we had heard in Copa of armed muggings, noisy hostels and pollution, we strode into the city. Then we saw people wearing black balaclaves heading towards us - as i was about to hand over my wallet, and in poor spanish explain that they could take Vik, and not to hit me as i am a professional coward... i realised that they were shoe shine kids!!! Then at the Zebra crossings they had people in Zebra suits who tried to help you cross, and outside the local icecream bar, a very large purple bear with hollow eyes and a leering grin... it was all very odd. Luckily we found some great digs next to the local prison, which appeared to be made of mud bricks with large holes in it, and guards who seemed to just wander around outside with large guns simply looking at the walls!!! And as a man shouted at us to see if we wanted to go in that was enough for one day and we headed for coffee, at what turned out to be the local Excelsior/mental health day centre...we felt at home.
Coroico, a riot of green after all those days on the altiplano desert. When we arrived it was busy living up to its cloud forest/yungus status, so surrounded by cloud and drizzle we again felt at home. Quiet walks through gentle hills, fields of Coca plants with watch towers, and the occasional mass of huge massively aggressive ants... we relaxed, regaining our travel strength.
Santa Cruz was like entering a different country, none of the Indigenous Andean folk, a clean bright white warm and rich city full of palm trees, and even more ice cream bars. The city evidently also feels this way and wishes to seperate from the rest of Bolivia. The streets however contained more homeless than we had so far seen, maybe due to the warmth, or the wealth. Whole families slumped in door ways, most seemed to spend the day sleeping, suggesting the night was not so welcoming. Large cars cruised the roads, the plazas buzzed with life, music, pigeons and chess games... the police made sure you didn't put your feet up on the benches.
Another exciting update will follow...we're still enjoying Bolivia...
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Cathy Smewin
non-member comment
Wow and double wow!
Bolivia sounds absolutely amazing - you must have taken some wonderful photos whilst there. It also sounds a little dangerous in all manner of means. Don't think I could have hacked the van journey. Once again, I so, so envy you all these travels - think you will both have a completely different outlook on life when you eventually return to Blighty. Steve - I think Akram misses your scintillating company - particularly in the local hostelries!! Cathy xx