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Published: July 16th 2010
The cloudforest
Younger brother of the rainforestThe bus we took to Samaipata was the first full-cama we had taken thus far. That means it reclines back like a bed. Money p*ssed up the wall. The roads were so bumpy we might as well have paid to sit in a cement mixer. You just can't sleep in one of those. There was another reason that I in particular couldn't sleep. We had arranged with our next hostel to get dropped off on the highway, Samaipata being that small that it doesn't even register on the road route to Santa Cruz. Did we mention it would stop sometime between 4am and 5.30am? It's Bolivia, we might get murdered. And we had no real idea of where Samaipata was or whether the "unreliable" drivers would be inclined to stop for us b*st*rd gringos.
At 4.45am in light only Vin Diesel could see by the bus stopped...and there waiting for us were the hostel owners, Trent and Chaury. What service. They drove us home and probably said some vital things that might save our lives in a time of crisis, but our heads still belonged to the cement mixer. We slept (for the first time under
a mosquito net) until early afternoon.
The hostel we chose is called La Posada del Sol. We had read about it in a magazine called Check In which we only found out Trent translates into English once there. Doesn't really matter though, the garden is exactly as it was photographed. Brimming with life like a Chilean hot dog, 2 macaws squawking away at the daily news or the economy or something. The cloudforest hills adopt the background which the sun compliments perfectly. Even better, breakfast is made all day. And burritos are on the menu. Two please.
The village of Samaipata has a plaza, the Spaniards seemingly leave their mark everywhere, and a phonebox shaped like a parrot. Nothing else. We'll just enjoy the views.
jueves, 20 de mayo Another hidden gem of La Posada is the tourguide Rufo Gutierrez. Unattached to any of the agencies in Samaipata because he was a taxi driver in a former life, La Posada retains him under the continuous recommendations of former guests. The biggest problem with the man; his penchant for early starts. 4.10am!!! Justified in this instance to ensure that we achieve today's objective; spot condors. Breakfast was waiting
for us which we more or less ate asleep (Dan's with us again).
The roads to the condor spot were typical of Bolivia. In fact, we are no longer going to call them roads but "roads" with heavy emphasis on the sarcasm. What prompted this anger? Me. Stood in the dark. In the jungle. Puking undigested, refried beans. It was 2 hours until we got out for the walking part.
The Sun was showing just enough for the initial walk to be in the pleasant side of dangerous. It started relatively steep but was notable more for the sheer volume of cowpats that stood in our way. Mountain cows. Difficult to milk presumably. Every so often Rufo would stop to show us a plant with miraculous medicinal properties; a rash cream, anaesthetic, even a plant Che Guevara used to help with his asthma. He also showed us a gooseberry used in wine-making and let us taste. It sucked our faces inward so sour was the taste. Rufo probably warned us. Did we forget to mention he only speaks Spanish?
After an hour or so we reached a fence. A barbed wire fence. Is this the end of
the route? Nope. Rufo unhooked it from the fencepost and through we went. At this point Rufo's credentials didn't feel completely street legal. As we walked around the non-path on the side of the mountain that didn't change. Rufo's a big fella even by American standards perhaps he didn't fancy a climb. Especially as he is just in jeans and runners.
At the height we reached the clouds are now below us giving the illusion of greater height. Lando Calrisian wouldn't have felt out of place. The clouds dissolved as the Sun rose however. And we were high. The green valleys all around us could remind us of home if we let it. We wouldn't see, however, a cow at the top. Stupid England and its non-climbing cows.
The side of the mountain got very thin very quickly. Kind of like me the last time I had a stomach bug in Australia. What's more Rufo explained that the grass tufts at the side of the path weren't supported. Straight drop off a cliff. Rufo warned us, then stepped through one himself. A thin tree root from stranding us on the middle of an unused path in the middle
of a forest. He laughed at the irony.
3 hours walking and finally we reached a viewing point. We patiently sat. And sat. Eagles, falcons and buzzards flew past. Each time we shouted "condor!!!" and Rufo told us to simmer. But then, 2, then 3 flying high above. At one point one of them flew into a waterfall pool and washed itself. A group on a regular tour up further down the hill and couldn't see it. Justice, Johnny-cum-latelys. We nearly missed a condor watching them and only realised when they jerked into life.
We took a different way down to the car, back through a forest where spiderwebs covered my face (Rufo's too short to hit them). This led into a field of long grasses.
"!!!"
Rufo jumped back, almost breaking my toe. Why? A f***ing snake!!! Snake. Sh*t. I hate them. Rufo's advice of "watch where you are walking" didn't help my heart beating out of his chest. The snake, it turned out, was alone saving me the embarrassment of having to scream in front of everybody.
From our near death experience we went to a waterfall little beachlet in the forest. At 70m high
it was pretty impressive but cold enough to curl your toes backwards so nobody swam. After that we headed home, almost running over a huge tarantula in the road. Pretty sure it would have flipped the car it was that big. You'll have to take our word for that as no photos exist (you'll find out why in about a week). Rufo helped us snap it by poking it with a stick(!!), getting it to rear up on its hind legs ready to strike. The b*st*rd joked there was one behind me causing me to once again evacuate my bowels. There'll be nothing left soon.
Hayley barely left the car in its presence. Wise.
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