Survived the death train, but the roads are worse

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Hi folks, sorry for the delay, but we are on holiday! (and lack of internet access / electricity)

Arrival in Corumba was surprising as it was still damn hot. We were expecting that further inland it would be cooler, so a few more pints of sweat were lost getting to the hostel. Our guide book suggests that Corumba is just a place to change between the Bolivian train and buses in to Brasil. As first this seems a reasonable assumption, but further investigation reveals a town that is waiting to happen. Corumba is set on a small hill overlooking the Paraguay River and the flood plain of the Pantanal. The views from the town over the plain are quite good. Walking to the old port, noting that Bolivia is landlocked (thanks to Chile) you stumble upon and old colonial area that is in the process of being renovated. A park fronts the water and various boats ply for the meagre tourist trade there is to be had. We came across a nice old fella who offered to take us up the river for an hour for 70rs. We didn’t see any crocs (he thought it would be unlikely) but saw a wide variety of water birds and other wildlife. After we sought a spot for lunch and settled in for a few hours (noting the guide book comments!). We had 2 days in Corumba as we had tickets for the Ferrobus to Santa Cruz for Wednesday and that was more than enough.

Wednesday came and after getting exit stamps for Brasil, checking out of our accommodation and spending some time in the park, we caught a taxi to the “frontier” to enter Bolivia. The ride was uneventful and entering Bolivia was what can only be described as typically South American. The immigration officer took our passports, noting my British one, he flicked it over to his companion, who promptly got up and walked off. A few minutes later he took it back and went through protocol. Leanny passed hers over which he promptly stamped. He then asked if I wanted to stay longer to which I replied that I would be leaving on 8th April. I got the feeling he was saying “Go on, stay a bit longer” for which I would need to fill out a white form. With passports in hand we entered Bolivia. First stop the rail station at Quijarro, jeez this place looks like a set from Mad Max!.

At 6:30pm we were asked by a friendly baggage handler if we would like to check our backpacks in. This was a good idea, but no sooner had he weighed them and put them on a shelf for loading, he requested 10 Bolivianos. Obviously where Virgin Blue got the idea to charge you to take more than hand luggage! Anyhow, no point in getting upset over 10bs, it’s about $2 Australian. We had semi-cama seats, which recline, but not as far as cama seats. The train comprised of two carriages, which were sort of modern in the 70s, but were not “old” looking. Ironically the train is not dissimilar to the Australind express. 7.00pm arrived and our expectation of departure was met, with a further wait of half an hour. The train groaned out of the station bumping from side to side, straining over the track with the odd bang as we passed over joints in the track. The rhythm of the train got me thinking: Clickity clack, clickety clack, the train is hurtling down the track. Clickity clack, clickety clack, oh meu deus! We’ve had a stack. Well it wasn’t actually that bad, but at times it did feel like it.

We arrived in Santa Cruz to be accosted on the platform by two blokes in jeans and trainers purporting to be “Interpol”. As identification they had what looked like home made laminated badges around their necks. We had earlier joked about a dot matrix printer sign in a window further down the platform indicating an “Interpol” office. We thought that if it was “Interpol”, they could afford a proper sign. Here we go we thought, hold on to anything that moves. “Hola, Interpol, yada yada yada”. I got their meaning but feigned not knowing Spanish “ Disculpe Senor no habla Espanol, hablas Ingles?” “A little” he replies “we need to see your passports”. We resisted and asked why and they said to check that we had visas. Reluctantly I passed mine over and the fatter one looks through, checks the photo, the stamps and then takes Leanny’s. Here it comes I thought… “is problem, give us money to get passports back”. But surprise surprise, they gave both passports back with a “thank you”. The younger one then goes on to tell us to “be careful in town as there are bad men who pretend to be Interpol and will take your passport. Make sure they have proper badge with blue background”, what like the home made ones you have, I thought! “You have a nice stay and enjoy Bolivia” and with that off they walked. We felt a bit bad that we were so abrupt and perhaps a little rude to them, but hey they’ll get over it.

Outside the bus station it was an organised form of chaos. We needed to get a micro bus number 4 into town and waiting at the side of the road we realised that it would be nigh on impossible to get on one as they were packed and not stopping. I asked a taxi “how much to centro” “15bs” he replied. Quick maths told me that’s about $3, bargain, so we got a cab into town. We sought out the tourist office to get some advice on places to stay. The first tourist office in the theatre advised we need to go to the “other” tourist office. The “other” tourist office is in a military occupied building and we were told by the (armed) army officer to come back later in the afternoon. A coffee shop by the main plaza became our first stop to take stock and do some research and get something to eat. Second surprise of Bolivia, the coffee is so much better than in Brasil! Santa Cruz is rather pretty in the centre, with a large plaza/park and old buildings being cleverly restored and turned in to cafes and pubs. We found a local hotel and dropped off our bags so we could look around town a bit more. Later in the afternoon we went back to the tourist office to get information on buses etc. Another army officer on the door stopped us, went inside and gave us a map of the town and politely advised us to “bugger off if you know what’s good for you”. This is an interesting concept (take note Jamesy) a tourist office that does not allow tourists to use it!

Santa Cruz was just a short stop before taking a shared taxi to a small town called Samaipata, 2.5 hours away. It was raining as we checked out of the hotel and we decided that a coffee was in order. I also needed to get to the ATM as there were none in the next town. Dancing through the rain in my bright blue rain smock I headed to the bank. I reckon I did look as stupid as you are thinking! Cash in hand we hailed a cab to take us to some very obscure street corner where the shared taxis go from. We squeezed into the small office and were advised that 3 more people were needed before a taxi would go. As the fare was 125bs we decided to save some time and just get the taxi to take the two of us. We were soon zooming down the main road out of Santa Cruz with our friendly driver. The rain was harder, but I think that that just “ups the stakes’ for taxi drivers in South America. After a while the rain eased and I tried out a bit of Spanish. A light conversation was struck, to which our taxi driver was very keen to participate. One hand on the wheel, the other on the passenger seat and his head leaning into the back of the car, we rapidly approached a parked car, after what felt like quite a few minutes I gestured to our driver to “mind that car” (in sort of panicky English). He casually swerved to avoid the parked car, by about a metre, and continued his conversation with us. I decided that it was perhaps not such a good idea to distract our driver further. In silence we continued into some stunning hilly scenery. Lush forests bounded the road broken by small villages and a river canyon. The road was half made and we found out later that it is frequently closed whilst it is worked on. There was evidence of work, but very hard to identify if they were actually repairing the road or just making themselves useful (I think the latter).

Samaipata is a really rural place with unmade roads for the majority of streets. It has a really nice laid back feel and has been invaded by Dutch and German people running local businesses. They are actually very good as they all seem to promote the indigenous businesses where they can and create employment for local people (guides, taxi drivers and laundry ladies predominantly). There are two main attractions to the town, La Cueva waterfalls and El Fuerte, an Incan religious site. As we had been to the falls at Foz, we decided that the local falls would probably not be of much interest. We did get a taxi to take us to El Fuerte, or the fortress in translation, which was atop a rather large hill. The taxi negotiated some pretty thin, gravely mountain tracks and a stream crossing to get us up there, but the scenery was again pretty spectacular (Samaipata is at 1650m in the foothills of the Andes). The site was a bit dilapidated (thanks to the Spanish invasion), but interesting. I think if we had come from Peru it would have been pretty pathetic! The site was utilised by the Spanish so has been degraded from what it may have originally been. I was surprised that the Incan occupation of the area was in the 1100s, much later than I thought (the time of the Battle of Hastings for you history freaks). Excitement did prevail however, whilst walking along a track Leanny suddenly gasped as a very pretty snake slid across in front of her. Thinking she had stepped on it, I tried what I can only describe as a multitude of Australian slang words in quick succession. We promptly chased said snake in to the bushes to get a photograph (I don’t mean we literally chased the snake through the bushes - I know I do some daft things, but I ain’t that stupid!). The snake we think was a Coral snake. Anyway the rule is the prettier they are the more venomous they are (no touchy).

We also took a 6 hour hike through the “Volcanos” ranges (they are not volcanoes) to experience the highlands and jungle of the local area. It was a pretty cool trip and very enjoyable. Towards the end of the trek we had to wade through the river, which came to waist depth, so bathers were in order. Neither Leanny or I had them so it was a case of lose the trousers and shirt. We had a few crossings to make and I just couldn’t help thinking as we strolled through the forest in my Bonds underpants… “bathers, bathers, bathers - undies, undies, undies“. We came to a spot where the river formed a small gorge and a swim was in order. Surprisingly the water was quite warm and much fun was had jumping into the fast flowing water to be carried a few metres downstream. Our guide persuaded the other bloke on the tour to jump in further upstream and ride the rapids. Once he surfaced with a look of “oh my god I am still alive”, we realised that it was not such a safe thing to do with all those rocks.

Monday was a quiet day as we had tickets for the night bus to Sucre. We were told to be at the bus stop, a run down restaurant on the highway, by 7.00pm. Several buses stopped at the restaurant as a stop-over, of which one looked pretty bad. Yes that was our bus! The young boy looking after boardings etc, looked at our tickets and promptly removed a family from our seats. They went and sat in the drivers cab (along with the 4 people who were already in the driver‘s cab). The bus was pretty packed with more than a few people on the floor and a couple of children locked underneath the bus in the baggage hold! It was going to be a long night (and it was).

The approach to Sucre is a little bizarre. The town is set in the mountains with lush greenery, but entering the town is like entering a junk yard - there are trucks and buses being fixed by the side of the roads. Sucre is at 2800m in altitude and the air is pretty thin. It is made worse by the pollution of cars and the thick black exhaust fumes from the buses. Having travelled overnight, we found accommodation and had a quick reccy of the town. We found a small café for breakfast and were surprised that the coffee came cold in a little silver jug with a cup of warm milk and hot water. (I take back what I said about coffee in Bolivia) After our peculiar breakfast we headed back to the hostel for a sleep. Sucre is a colonial town and quite pretty at the centre, however the centre is quite small and beyond the centre the buildings are very utilitarian (read crap and ugly). Sucre is famous for Dinosaur footprints in a local cement quarry, which are rather fascinating (if you like that sort of thing).

We decided to grab a taxi into town for dinner one afternoon. The taxi was a Suburu and after a while we noticed that whilst the driver was seated correctly on the left hand side, the car was actually right hand drive. The driver just had a steering column (which the way they drive is really all they need!).

An early start saw us at the bus terminal for the 7:30 bus to Potosi. The bus station was manic and once again our lungs were tested with diesel fumes from the multitude of unkempt buses. We were amused by the requirement at some of the bus terminals to pay a “departure tax” of 2.50bs before being allowed out of the terminal onto the platform. The trip to Potosi was pretty uneventful but the scenery was rather spectacular as we climbed further into the Andes.

Potosi is credited as the highest town in the world at a height of 4,060m. The town is dwarfed by Cerro Rico, a mountain silver mine. Again entry to the town is like a junk yard and the colonial centre is a pretty area where we gringos tend to stay and hang out. Potosi is famous for tours of the working silver mine, with its narrow tunnels, rickety ladders, non-existent safety provisions and silica/asbestos dust. Apparently, the miners often die within 10 years of entering the mines. Tourists buy gifts for the miners which can include dynamite (yes boys explosives!!!). The tour allows you to blow up your dynamite on the hillside. Not wanting the associated health risks of the tour, we asked the tour organiser if it would be possible just to go up to the hillside and blow it up with dynamite. Unfortunately this was not possible (phah!). As I couldn’t blow things up, I decided it was time to move on. The following morning we caught a bus to Tupiza.

The wild west appears to be alive and well in Tupiza (2,900m), a backwater town that has a railway. It was our intent to take the railway from Tupiza to Uyuni and thence to Oruro. However on the way a friendly backpacker told us that it is possible to get a jeep tour through “all that Bolivia should be famous for” from Tupiza to Uyuni. That’s more like it, we thought and promptly booked a tour for Monday, allowing us 1 full day in Tupiza. We did hit a little snag, in that there were no cash machines in town and the tour operator did not accept credit cards. Seeing that they may lose a booking, they offered that we could pay in Uyuni, where a cash machine was alleged to exist. The deal was done for a Monday morning departure (there goes my lie-in yet again!!). There was also on offer a 3 hour horse trek to El Canyon, well who could resist!

Sunday was a better start as the trek kicked off at 10.00am. Saddled up and ready to go on Negro and Pinta, our trusty steeds led us off down the railway tracks, through the rubbish tip and then up a flood plain to El Canyon. The horses were rather pretty but lacked any real enthusiasm for cowboy antics. Why is that a problem you may wonder? Well just up the track in a village called San Vincente is where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid met their end (and all blokes want to be Butch!). El Canyon is set amongst rugged red cliffs and mountains and our termination point was where the stream started to rise into the mountain. The horses eagerly went to the stream for a drink while we had a bit of a walk around. There wasn’t too much to see, but we were amused by two American lads turning up on horseback in cowboy hats and matching “almost” cowboy outfits. I tried to get Negro to gallop on the way back with a few “yee haa’s“, but to no avail. He was a horse that would be great in a gunfight (didn’t startle at anything) but pretty useless for out-running El Policia! So Bolivian banks were safe for another day.

Monday (you know I am starting to like Mondays again!!). After a hearty brekky we loaded our bags onto the Land Cruiser (Landy) and set off through the mountains to the small village of San Antonio (nothing like its Ibiza counterpart). We travelled with another couple, he from Spain and she from France, so little language classes were had to lighten the journey. It was all going so well till our driver lost control on a dirt track and almost rolled Landy. The following conversation was much lighter and that of people who have come close to death! The scenery along the way was stunning as we travelled from the rich red mountains of the east to the volcanic region that is the central Andes plateau. The night’s accommodation was spartan to say the least, but once the sun went down, the temperature dropped significantly and by 8:30pm most were in bed to keep warm (and it is tiring sitting in a car all day and getting out looking at stuff, well it is when you are at 4,000+ metres). We met up with another group that evening, comprising of a ’London boy’ a Swede and 3 Israelis, who were doing the same circuit.

Day 2 was a horrible 4.00am start (eeeeekkkkk!!) and getting up in the cold is something that I thought I had left behind. Our first stop was Pueblo de Phantasma, the original Incan mining town of San Antonio. The town was taken over by the Spanish but relocated when they heard spooky voices at night (whoooooo). It was damn cold there, much colder than anywhere else we passed through, so perhaps it is haunted, you never know! Anyway the telling a ghostly stories in 3 languages kept us amused (read Jonno) for most of the time as we continued through the mountains to the Termas de Polques (hot springs). Our guide decided that as we didn’t have showers in the morning (only freezing water available) a bath would be appropriate. The other group arrived soon after and the English bath jokes were soon being bantered about (although the Israelis had no idea what we were talking about).
We then headed out to the Green Lake. On the trip out to the lake, we were a little concerned at our guide having momentarily fallen asleep at the wheel! It was the gravel buffer pushing us back onto the road that gave it away. The evening’s accommodation was a small step up from the previous night in that we had a fire, the beds were thin mattresses on limestone blocks. Our guide advised they were good for bad backs and he was right - in the morning my back was pretty bad (ok it’s a Tommy Cooper).

Day 3 was a more appropriate start at 7.00am as we headed to the Red Lake (it is red from above) to see flamingos, very pretty. It was a long day as there was a great distance to be covered, but by the afternoon we reached the Geysers (not London blokes). The pools of bubbling grey mud with sulphurous gases hissing out are awesome, but smell of really bad farts. The sulphur gas chokes if you happen to breathe it in (so don’t I hear you say!). The drive to the hostel was absorbed by thoughts of “if you placed a can of petrol in the geyser, would it explode?”

The evening’s accommodation was a another small step up from the previous night in that the beds were thin mattresses on salt blocks. In fact the whole hotel (read partitioned shed) was made of salt blocks, rather novel. The town (which wasn’t) was small but had a sort of post- nuclear survivalist charm about it.

Day 4 was a very rude 5.00am awakening to have breakfast and get on to the salt flats to watch the sun rise. Driving across the salt flats our driver decided to have another little sleep. We noticed because the car started to slow down until we were pottering along at 10kph and veering to the left (he woke up before we starting going around in circles). There’s nothing to hit out there so we weren’t too worried (better he sleeps there!). Sunrise over the salt flats (Salar de Uyuni) was quite stunning as everything is white and reflects the colours of the sun. It was worth the early start! A few kilometres further up the way we came to Isla de los Pescadores (fish island, cos it looks like a fish from the air). The island is a little touristy, but is a bizarre mound full of huge cacti. It is here that many a trick photograph can be taken and we did. Early afternoon we reached the town of Uyuni, which is nothing special, so after being escorted to the bank to pay our guide, we booked a bus to La Paz.

The Salar de Uyuni trip was very good and we would recommend it to anyone coming to the southwest corner of Bolivia.

Off to cycle the worlds most damgerous road tomorrow, but hopefully we'll survive to blog from Santiago. Adios Muchachas!

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Photos

The Volcanoes Not
We walked though there

Taxi Driver
Well who needs instruments anyway?

Potosi
Blowing their own trumpet

Potosi
Local festivities

Andes
This place is vast

Andes
Looks like the Kimberley with snow

Llama
Dont she look pretty with dem red bows

Laguna Verde
The green lake

Geysers
Boiling mud and sulphur fumes, good cover for wind!

Laguna Colorada
With Flamingos

Salar de Uyuni
The salt hotel, honestly it's actually made out of salt, we know a man who licked it!

Salar de Uyuni
Sunrise

Salar de Uyuni
Watch out for giant cars!

Salar de Uyuni
Hello, is there any body out there?