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Published: November 22nd 2006
Jungle Luxury
The main lodge in the jungle.It was a real wrench to leave Cococabana, a real wrench, but we did make our way along a beautiful road to the insanely busy city of La Paz, the world’s highest capital city. The journey was notable for having to get off the bus as it drove onto what looked like half a boat to ferry it across a lake while we were shipped across in a little boat that provided enough petrol fumes to make you think you were flying across. It was only when arriving at La Paz that we started to realise that Bolivia seems significantly poorer than other South American countries. The bumpy mud and stone road would normally have felt at home winding through a rural peasant village than through a massive slum into a major capital city. The traffic in La Paz is insane and the city is very often in a state of complete grid lock.
At first we were a bit overawed by it after being away from such a busy place for so long. Every street is so crowded you constantly feel like you are pushing through a wave of people. The longer we were there the more we came
Down death road
Googles were a must to love it though. It is full of small quirky things to see like the witches market and the coca museum, which traced the history of coca use in a particularly lopsided way. We stayed in a microbrewery that gave out free beer every day and after hooking up with Laura and Belinda again had a couple of good nights out. One monster drinking session in particular left Nos, typically, with her head down the nearest toilet and both of us hung over in bed for the whole of the next day (that day was pencilled in for Christmas shopping too so sorry guys you might not be getting much this year).
One of the big things to do from La Paz is cycle down ´The world’s most dangerous road´. This is not just a name dreamed up to attract tourists, the road was officially declared the worlds most dangerous by IDB and regularly has buses and trucks plunging off it vertical edges. I was against doing it and would not have booked it had Nos not organised it while I was suffering in bed with a hangover. We booked with a company called Gravity which is the best
Death Road
Room for 2 ... I think not. and the most expensive. The fact that none of the 3 cyclists who plunge to their deaths from the road each year have been on one of their tours is enough to justify the extra money in my book. The dirt road plunges down into a massive forested ravine and at times is only 3 meters wide with a sheer 400 meter drop off the side of it with no barriers. The traffic coming up the winding road has priority and has the right to take the inside track so it not uncommon to see massive lorries or buses screech to a halt at yet another blind corner and then have to reverse back up the outside of the road until its wide enough for the upcoming vehicle to pass on the inside.
To be fair the tour was really well organised and we were given really strict instructions on what to do in the event of coming across an oncoming vehicle. There was a guide at the front and back of our group who blew whistles to signal if we should stop at the next wider bit of road or not. The further we went down the more
confident we got on the rocky, windy road and the faster we went. The views were fantastic but you did have to concentrate not to look at them until you stopped cycling or the bike would just have followed in the direction you were looking until you were part of the view and another stat for the road’s ego. Parts of the road had waterfalls piling down onto it making it a bit muddy and slippery too. Getting to the bottom was a thrill and relief but the journey up if anything was more nerve-wracking. The clouds came in reducing visibility to almost nothing. I think we were all watching the drivers windscreen like hawks and at one of the may sharp corners a huge bus had to screech to a halt to stop either hitting us or plunging off the edge. We did live to tell the tale though and it was a thoroughly enjoyable day out.
Next off was to the jungle (which Nos will write about) and the worst plane flight of my whole life. I’m not sure why I even agreed to do it….Well I do it was the alternative 18 hour bus ride to
Jelly man on the runway
I´m not sure this picture does the runway justice. the 1 hr flight. The plane was tiny, it could fit about 18 people in it and only had one seat either side of the aisle. I nearly got off as soon as I had sat down and then to make matters worse I had the world's most stupid Irishman sat in front of me. Observing that I looked very nervous he went on to regale me with stories about how the plane company was Bolivia’s worst until this exact flight crashed 8 months ago killing everyone onboard. He did have the sense to see he had put the fear of god into me and tried to undo his work by explaining that all the planes were now new and much better. The paint flaking off the seats and the rusty bolts dotted around everywhere suggested differently.
The flight was duly awful with the plane dragging itself into the air before being blown and bumped into all directions for an hour. You could see straight through the cabin door and through the cockpit window at the rapidly approaching mountains that the plane looked like it had no chance of clearing. Poor Nos had to spend the whole journey rubbing
Our room in the jungle
You could go to bed watching and hearing the whole jungle outside. my head and chest as pins and needles slowly engulfed my whole body. With rhythmic monotony she had to tell me when to breath and how hard, although her attempts to get me to breath through a paper receipt (the only paper she had to hand) more suffocated than settled me. The landing was even worse, descending towards the vast expanse of rainforest with white smoke (or maybe cloud) pouring through the floor, the plane we were basically centimetres above the trees before ferociously crashing down into a suddenly appearing grass field cut into the forest. We bounced, tipped from side to side before finally coming to a stop. The wobbling jelly, mess of a man that stumbled down onto the runway vowed to explore every opportunity to get out of the jungle without getting back on that plane again and wondered how he could be so stupid as to have ever got on in the 1st place.
Clambering down onto the grassy runway, the humidity of Rurreabaque engulfs you like a cloak. My hysterical husband was quivering by my side and it was a big relief to be met by Geraldine from Madidi tours. Obviously used to pandering
Don´t believe all you see
A brief effort at rowing for the camera I suspect. to petrified tourists, she whisked us away for some ice cold lemonade and sympathy. Madidi tours is owned by one of Bolivia´s foremost environmental activists, Rosa Maria Ruiz, and all profits are ploughed back into conservation. Her unyielding efforts to protect the rainforest mean that in recent years she has been forced to leave the country by the army and has had several of her lodges burned to the ground. Before my parents become too worried I´d like to reassure them that she is currently in favour with the Morales government. She was also responsible for accompanying the National Geographic photographer Joel Sartore, during his time in Madidi which led to his headline March 2000 article in that same magazine. Needless to say, two veteran non violent direct activists such as ourselves were very much looking forwards to meeting her. However, this was not to be as she´s currently recovering in La Paz, after being mangled by a Caiman, whilst swimming, back in May. Get well soon Rosa.
Filled with idealistic visions of our 3 day trip we set off the next day to Serrere lodge, two and a half hours down the river Beni. Whizzing down the sweeping
river we forgot how hot and sticky it was and enjoyed waving to children on the banks. We´d arranged to go with Laura and Belinda, who have become great mates and even Joe was in great spirits as we´d managed to book him a return bus ticket to Santa Cruz. As soon as we arrived though, a cloud of mosquitos surrounded the boat, indicating that all was not well in Eden.
I have never seen so many of the little gits. They were everywhere , biting through clothes and seemingly impervious to DEET. I ask you , since when have mosquitos started biting people on their faces? I was scared to go for a pee! They totally distracted us from the sheer beauty of the surroundings. Every time we went outside, me and Belinda were left lamenting “Whose bright idea was it to come to the Jungle? “ By the second day , Belinda hit on the great idea of wearing her mosquito net over her head for protection, leading to the nickname “Jungle bride”.
The saving grace of the place was the food (excellent) and the cabins. Being 10 minutes from the main lodge and built from
The jungle bride
Belinda takes anti mosquito measures into her own hands. sustainable materials, with mesh walls, you could lie safely in your luxurious bed and listen to and watch nature in action. Being of a conscientious nature, the first morning I dutifully got up at 6 am to go out and be eaten alive on an early mornig nature walk, whilst my git of a lazy husband stayed in bed. By the second day , I was wise to this and thoroughly enjoyed lazing in bed and watching the monkeys. It was freaky at night listening to the Howler monkeys who sound like a combination of the wind and the Dementors from Harry Potter.
We went on a night walk, which convinced our guide Don Juan that we were a bunch of scaredy cat Brits. Jumping and screaming at every little noise, we scared away all the animals. No chance that a Jaguar or Killer Pig would find us! The Don became quite annoyed with our cowardice and stuck to showing us endless fruits of the chewing gum tree, to which Laura responded with stoical enthusiasm, whilst Belinda and myself glowered at him, through clouds of mosquitos, urging him to walk on. The second night we went Caiman spotting in
Anacondas lurk beneath
Along with caiman and a host of other creatures just waiting to feast on a bit of soft European flesh. the dark and after polishing off a bottle of red wine beforehand, found that this was a much more enjoyable experience. From the boat we saw shooting stars and creepy red Caiman eyes in the torchlight. The most dangerous thing we came across was the Fer de Lance yellow snake, which not only jumps but can kill you with a single bite. It has chased me every night in my dreams since!
The whole point of coming to the jungle in Bolivia was to see the pink dolphins (an apparent life long ambition for Joe) but we found that to see these you need to go to the Pampas or wetlands. I really think the tour operators in Rurre are missing a trick here because they all only organise the same three day Pampas tour, and anyone who has just spent 3 days in the jungle is not likely to want to spend a similar amount of time being bitten in the Pampas. In the end we paid through our noses for a one day private tour. (After all there is no way we will ever come back here on that plane). It was fantastic. We went in our
Nos and Laura
On a distinctly wobbly jetty own four wheel drive with Jose, his wife and 2 year old Sylvia. I thought initially that things did not bode well after Sylvia was repeatedly sick 10 minutes into the journey, but she bucked up and it was great. As the vegetation is less dense in the Pampas you can see much more wildlife. We also viewed it all from the relative mosquito free safety of the boat. We saw turtles, caiman, alligators, an amazing array of birds, giant guinea pigs, scores of monkeys and of course the infamous pink river dolphin. After all the stress and expense of getting there , Joe seemed to develop narcolepsy in the boat and I had to kick him awake even as the dolphins circled our boat.
Having managed to book myself onto a 28 hour bus journey out of the jungle, I set off for my first night away from my wife since our wedding. I had been warned that the bus times were approximations but I had not anticipated sitting on my own, on a dark park bench, from midnight till 3am. Finally giving up I slumped back through the empty streets towards my hotel contemplating the now inevitable
flight. In a bit of an Alice in Wonderland moment, a funny little man appeared from nowhere and asked if I had been waiting for the bus. He explained it had been delayed (no Sh*t) and that it would come and pick me up from the hotel. So waking up the hotel porter and Nos I went back to bed. Five minutes later I was summoned back to the bus, on the back of a taxi motor bike who kindly charged me twice, once for coming to the hotel and once for going back to the bus station. I got given seat number 26 and wearily clambered onto the bus to be faced by what could only be described as a human zoo. By the time I had clambered over the floor of sleeping children to find seat 26 occupied (along with all the others) the bus was on its way. 28 hours of standing with my feet wedged between sleeping children I couldn’t cope with so I started shouting like a crazed man down a hole to the conductors’ seat below that I didn’t have a seat and wanted to get off. At first they seemed quite amused that
‘the gringo (me being the only one) wants to get off’. Only when I started shouting (in hindsight somewhat comically) in a slightly crazed fashion in my worst Spanish ´Gringo wants to get off the bus right now’ did they pay any attention.
After repeating it a few times I was let off the bus from hell and deposited on a deserted road. Now in the jungle it doesn’t just get dark, it gets so dark you can barely see your hand in front of you face. It is also filled with dangerous creatures that like to nothing more than to bite you. I had no idea of where I was or in which direction to go and was to all intents and purposes crapping myself. A distant light was my only point of reference so with little other option I wondered towards it. Being blinded by the light it was only when I was about a meter away from the entrance arch that I realised there were 2 soldiers pointing machine guns at me from behind it. I guess they had every right to be a little alarmed by a dishevelled gringo with a massive backpack strolling up
to a military jungle installation at 4am. Once they had realised that I was indeed just a ´stupid gringo´ they relaxed, dropped the guns and helpfully pointed me in the direction of the town. 40 minutes of walking through packs of animals in almost total darkness, I arrived back to re-awaken a now irate night porter and finally give up on escaping the jungle by road.
I don’t know how many times I have vowed on this trip never to do something again and then do it again almost immediately but I will never again vow now not to do something (doh !). I am now just waiting to get back on the plane from hell…I fully intend to take all the Valiums I have left and may well try to wedge my tongue into the bottle to try to get any powder that may have rubbed off them over time too. Nosi’s hopes of a quiet, relaxing flight have been quashed. Damn I wish I was at work……….
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Muna
non-member comment
wicked story
thank you for this nice reading material. keep it up.