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Published: July 24th 2010
'The' drop...
...several hundred metres waiting to smash youNow for some culture. And history. Historical culture, if you will. The bus to 'the most important archaeological site in Bolivia' was super early as standard. From the volume of pickups it was soon obvious that the tour would be needed in 2 languages. 2 guides then right? Uh, no we are in Bolivia. The tour guide flooded the bus with sweat in anticipation of the day ahead. It could be a long one. Made worse by the fact the Argentines on the bus think it's okay to talk through the English bit because they don't understand it.
The bus took us out through the crater into a city called El Alto. Literally the "tall" or "high". Kind of sums up the place. It was built as the sleeping hole for La Paz's shoeshines, tour guides, policemen and most likely the robbers. The stupid b*st*rd robbers. Sleeping hole created a city that people travel to and from outside of work without actually involving any town planners. So there are no drains. No proper litter pick up. No traffic lights. A friggin' mess. There's a million people, more than La Paz(!!!) and at over 4,100m means that
all that talk about Potosi must have been bullsh*t. Or a funny measurement system. Anywho, guess what saved El Alto? Coca-cola. Just as it will ruin it.
We arrived in Tiwanako (for the locals)/Tihuanaco (for the Spaniards) to a museum of pots and weird shaped skulls. No lie to first see them we thought they were aliens (probably just me). Elongated at the back they were shaped at the childhood stage by tying something tight around them. Wish we'd thought of that. We'd be kings. Or just the weird guy from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - either is good. Both get fed by others.
Something was called Wankarani in the museum. Second 'A' had been stolen.
The archaeological site itself was a little disappointing mainly because most of the things that had been dug up were walls. We have those in England. And we can look at them without an Argentine yapping in our ears. The thing about the Spanish is they loved to destroy, no thought for Bolivian tourism in the 20th century. Perhaps they were just naive enough to believe their buildings were better. They forgot they had no cool Sun-God symbols.
Due to the double language debacle we got home way later than we were told we would. Expectation gap. Still, I replaced my camera with Black Market's finest. And then ran home with it hidden in my pants. This camera is not insured!!! Sold with a 2 year guarantee but no receipt. It was super cheap though.
sabado, 29 de mayo Today - Death Road. You're gonna hear that name banded about and wonder 'how did it get such a name?'. Well, let us tell you. Death Road - the road we have opted to cycle down today - is so monikered because people die on it. Hundreds and hundreds of people. Not smart people, it's called the Death Road and yet people drive lorries, buses and assorted vehicles up and down it. There's no room to pass at times, just a sheer cliff of 700m. 180 people on average died on this road each year before the new highway was put in just a few years ago. You never know, maybe the Spanish translation for Death Road is 'super-fun-definitely-not-in-the-slightest-bit-dangerous-you-might-even-find-some-gold-here-please-please-please-come-road'. Bolivia's answer to population control (95%!C(MISSING)atholic country, whatchya gonna do?)
Somebody died on the road here 4
weeks ago whilst doing the cycle tour.
Our bus driver for the day was Messi and he likes Messi. He had a bowlcut - looked as though the bowl used was Inca pottery though. Marcelo was our cycle guide. Bit of a joker, just what you need on a day like today. Lemmings anyone? He geared us up with helmets, gloves and pants and a not-so-serious lecture about the symbols and etiquette of the road.
Before hitting the Death Road itself we hit the asphalt for some downhill practice. Trying our best not to get distracted by the mountains and valleys so as to not end up part of them. Oh, and also the onrushing traffic not quite sticking to their side of the road as you misjudge your speed on a turn and hit theirs. Chris Bull pate? Close.
Marcelo's banter continued throughout the day, never getting bored of the old 'pull your hand away from a handshake' and mocking the Gravity-Assisted (one of the tour companies who charge by far the most playing the 'it must be safer' card - guess what? We're alive and used that £30 saved on the hostel bill) and offering
a pint on anyone middle fingering them. He reneged. He also introduced Monkey Dance - a punishment for leaving your helmet upside down. His dance was too accurate for comfort.
At the Death Road a bit of sweet justice. No cars on the Death Road today. Good news huh? No cars on the Death Road for a long time to come. Primary danger averted, not as scary anymore. That is, until we knew the reason why. Bl**dy landslide! Literally some of the mountain fell down onto the road. What the duck? Anywho that's later. New lecture on the dusty, wet in places and rock strewn dangerous bit. Whatever you do don't try and ride around the rocks. Unless you want one of your toes poking through your ear at the bottom of the hill.
Goggles off. Immediately we regretted that decision. Completely blinded by the dust in 2 seconds. Add handicap to the risk list. The long and windy road was misty at the top of the mountain, all the better for not knowing what you will die lying on (apart from your bike). Waterfalls hit the road at regular intervals but you're mental if you think we're
The long and winding road...
...doesn't lead to your door though taking our hands of the brake for two seconds for a photo. An Irish girl stacked it into a ditch within 5 curves. If there's ever a side to fall down...
At the landslide we had to carry our bikes over.
It was fun to watch other tour groups wobble on the turns as we ate our lunch. It was not fun to watch the sandflies have their lunch. I was really struggling with my bike and swapped it...for an equally sh*t one. Not more evident than when heading slightly too quickly into a tight curve and the back brake was about as useful as me waving a handkerchief at the wind with the same objective. Feet down, still up on to the verge. A foot from an announcement in the Beds on Sunday.
"F**k Chris" Dan shouts from behind him. Yes, he knew. He could see.
Takin' it easy from now on.
At the bottom, yes we made it through the three hours, Marcelo busted out the statistics. 28 cycle deaths in total including 3 guides. The one four weeks ago was an Israeli girl trying to clean her goggles and lost control. She didn't stop,
no. Interesting fact - of the 28 deaths a whopping 10 have been Israeli (no more than 2 or 3 of any other nation). Draw your own conclusions.
Great day.
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