On the Death Road with Sissi and the space cadets

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On the Death Road with Sissi and the space cadets
Every morning a couple of cyclists gear up at La Cumbre, the 4700 meter pass outside of La Paz to whiz down what has officially been declared the most dangerous road of the world. A relatively narrow gravel road, with huge drops on one side and waterfalls spilling onto it from the other side, which plunges down 3300 meters (over only 80 kilometers) to the misty valleys of the Yungas. According to our guidebook an average of 26 vehicles disappear each year into the great abyss which earned it the inglorious name "the Death Road".
As if the facts wouldn't get the adrenalin pumping already, tour operators have come up with additional stimulation methods. Some dress up their customers with motorcross helmets, ski goggles and something similar to life vests all in the name of safety. But I suspect it's rather to give the tourists the exquisite feeling of being part of a mission to mars. Other companies have hired some American motivation technician who barks around phrases like "I don't want any Sissis in my team!"
We are glad that our operator sets the priorities on more subtle practises. On the minibus stereo they play witted titles like "knocking on heavens door" and "stairways to heaven". A slight chill creaps up my back but at least they refrain from playing "highway to hell" which somehow I have expected to come next. But enough scary stories have been written. Let's get into the saddle and check it out. "Go for it!" (...you Sissis).
The ride is certainly very scenic and if you don't rush it a very pleasant one as well. It is most likely less dangerous to do it by bike than by bus (let alone by truck) as you don't need that much space and if you don't suffer from vertigo you should be fine. In the end it doesn't make a big difference if you fall 100 meters or 1000 meters, It just sounds more dangerous. Obviously you need reliable brakes and you'll use them a lot (until your hands hurt).
In November 2006 the road was in a decent condition thus the biggest danger seemed to me that you lose concentration after a while. So we stop every once in a while to take another photograph while the prince of Sissis chased by a couple of space cadets whoosh past.
Every now and then a truck comes whuffing up the road. Then it is wise to look for one of the frequent turnouts to let it pass safely. Passing on the death road is always on the left side as this leaves the outside of the road to the driver with the better view of the outside tyres. With the drop in elevation the temperatures rise. After about four and a half hours we reach Yolosa where the bus picks us up and shuttles us to Coroico where a nice buffet lunch awaits the tired cyclists.


Autobus diaries I: The real death ride
Newly equipped with a slightly macabre "I survived the Death Road"-t-shirt we hop on a bus to Rurrenabaque the next day and to our horror we find out that this road (until Caranavi) is at least as dangerous as the MDRW. But this time we are caged in a bus frozen to our valley-side window seat. If we dare to peep out, all we see is the river some 100 meters below us. The edge of the road can not be seen from this angle. I estimate the distance between goodyear (the tyres) and good-bye at about five to ten centimeters. And the road is crumbling...
But not enough! After an imposed two hours break because of roadwork (they are pulling rocks out of the mountain face and throwing them onto the street) our driver loses his nerves and starts to drive as if he was worried to miss his own funeral. (Maybe it was only the Friday night game, but suicidal it was.) Accelerating to what speed is possible he starts on a mission to overtake every vehicle on the road (cars and 4WD-jeeps included). Never since racing with the 'Michael Schumacher of Papua New Guinea' towards Goroka have we feared more for our lives.
In Rurrenabaque where we thankfully arrive the next morning we do what every tourist in Rurrenabaque does and book ourselves on a Pampas tour. It was good. Floating on the stunningly beautiful Yacuma river we could forget our traumatic bus experience. Swimming with pink river dolphins was great too and although we didn't encounter the famous anacondas (the wet season is not the best time for this) we came up close with lots of other wildlife. The food was memorable too. As always it would have been nice to be independant rather than on a tour but for once I won't complain.
Let me add a note on the abundant tour operators. While all tours leave an impact on the ecosystem there are reportedly some which do so in a rather careless and stupid way. For example we have heard of guides pulling and even smoking anacondas out of their hiding places. Anaconda Tours seem to have a bad reputation but others are no angels neither. Check several operators and be suspicious if they guarantee you to see any particular animals apart from mosquitoes.

Autobus diaries II: In the mud
In the gay town of San Borja I bought two packets of biscuits. Our fellow bus passengers bought the rest of the litlle shop's provisions. It was a bad sign. So far we had had a fairly smooth ride from Rurrenabaque to San Borja - that is after it had finally started. The bus was supposed to leave at 12am (normally meaning anywhere between 11pm and 1am). In a Swiss tradition we went to the station early (10pm). The bus wasn't Swiss at all, as we realized, when it finally arrived at 4am in the morning. But now after our breakfast break in San Borja things were seeming to get more complicated. For reasons yet unknown to us the bus driver didn't really want to continue the journey. It was only after two hours of continuous bombardement with "vamosnos"-calls from an increasingly impatient crowd that he gave in and sat down behind the steering wheel again.
Soon things dawned on me. The road was getting bad and we were now more often sliding on the muddy path than actually rolling. We would probably not reach the next village for a proper lunch break. At least we got the biscuits. After two hours we got stuck for the first time and from there on things only got worse. I have lost count of how many times we got stuck and I am still surprised how we always managed to get out again. The crew and most of the (male) passengers were just amazing. They repeatedly pulled us out with ropes, shovelled the tyres free (digging up half of the road) and pushed the bus through meter-deep mud. Each effort initiated with a joint cry of "vamos amigos" and terminated with a lot of cheering once the bus moved independently again. (It was also an impressive display of what energy a couple of coca leaves can set free in some people.) If it hadn't been for this exceptional teamwork (and the coca) we would still be there somewhere in the Pampas chasing mosquitos and cursing the world.
The lunch break fell into the water (or should I write mud?) as expected, and so did the dinner break. At 4am (the biscuits were long eaten) we got seriously stuck. Furthermore, another bus and a truck were standing in interesting angles on the road in front of us in such a way that going further was all but impossible. It was time to sleep. Two hours and a mouthfull of coca leaves later we could hear "vamos amigos" and one vehicle after the other was snatched from the mud. We were going again. Even a flat tyre couldn't stop us. We were on the way to San Ignacio de Moxos for breakfast. But mud is not the only impediment on Bolivian roads. Shortly before the village the locals had prepared a little road blockage as a welcome surprise. After a lenghty discussion whose content I do unfortunately not know we were finally allowed into the village and got lunch (breakfasttime had long passed). Then we had to wait another four hours before we moved again but the road was getting better now and the three river crossings by float which we inicially suspected to be the needle eye of the trip were a piece of cake. We reached Trinidad before sunset as promised - just one day later (39 hours in total). The bad news was that we only went to Trinidad to take another bus... But I refrain from retelling the story of our following trip to the Noel Kempff Mercado NP as it would definitely take too long. Let me say only that much: It included searching for Diesel for a whole day to get started, driving into a two meter deep hole on a collapsing dirt bridge and jump-starting a logging truck which was blocking the road at two in the morning with our dismantled battery.

Autobus diaries III: The toilet town
I don't know the name of the little town where we stopped on our way from Santa Cruz to Sucre but I know that it was bad luck for the little town that we stopped. After a few weeks in Bolivia you know that it is commonplace to urinate just about everywhere you feel the urge to do so (bus tyres, church walls, middle of the street). Now the problem with a busload of passengers at midnight is that everybody feels the urge to relief himself (because any relief on a 16-hour bus journey is welcome). Well, that's how the little town with no name got his main square flooded with human urine overnight. Some people were even seen taking a dump in the flower beds. I guess that, as a Bolivian town, you just hope that the buses are not going to stop at your place.
We had come a long way already. Seven hours on a more or less paved road have brought us a fair bit closer to Sucre. But if you think that riding in a modern bus on sealed roads is pure pleasure you forgot about one thing. Almost inevitably about half an hour after sunset when you start to make yourself comfortable for the night the bus attendant emerges with a video cassette in his hand. Unfortunately you can be almost certain that it contains some sort of (bad) shooting or kung-fu film where the soundtrack consists almost entirely of cries and screams. If fewer than 50 people die in the opening sequence there might be a chance for some dialogues later on. Otherwise, only earplugs can save you.






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Planet Portrait

* Top 3:

Gliding along Rio Yacuma in a canoe

Swimming under remote waterfalls in Noel Kempff Mercado NP

The lunch buffet at Hotel Esmeralda after speeding down the Death Road

* Our route: Copacabana - La Paz - Paso Zongo - Coroico - Rurrenabaque - Trinidad - San Ignacio de Velasco - Noel Kempff Mercado NP - Santa Cruz - Sucre - Potosi - Uyuni - Tupiza

* That was bad: Read our blog and have a guess.

* Recommended guest house: Hostal Kory in Coroico for its sun-terrace, Mission Edu in San Ignacio for its superb breakfast.

* Visa: 30 days free on arrival. 30 days more for 20 US dollars. (Many countries get 90 days free).

* We paid for a meal: between 3 and 14 bolivianos.

* Money saver tip: Take the bus. :-)




Planet Pictures

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Photos

The space cadets
Recieving their motivation speech.

Rio Yacuma
A tributary of the mighty Amazon.

A member of the crocodile family
whom we met on our pampas tour.

In the hole
This is before the hole collapsed to create an even bigger hole!

Comments

[Marcoelitaliano]

Slow pace
Very nice blog, guys. I expecially like the slow rythm of your travelling; well done.

[Andrew Paisley]

Not jealous now
Hi again guys. Well, I was abit jealous after reading your last blog, but by the sounds of this bus trip I don't think I can express any jealousy about that one. Hmmm...maybe the office isn't such a bad place to be after all. Cheers.