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Published: July 21st 2010
viernes, 21 de mayo Let the punishment continue. To stay on track with time and in order to fit a trip I really wanted to do in, again we arose the dark side of 5.15am. It was an extra hour on yesterday! We opted to do a Che Guevara 2 day camping trip. Yes the man was Argentine, famous in Cuba, but Bolivia has its own stake in the myth - albeit the worst one. There's a lot of talk about Che most famous on t-shirts but those under 40/50 would barely remember him alive. As a young 'un I had those t-shirts and sought to know why (or otherwise look like a tit), reading enough books to be at least considered "partially knowledgeable" so when this opportunity arose we jumped at it.
We also wanted to go more when an Israeli at the hostel called him a terrorist. Ignorant pr*ck. Especially since Che released all prisoners of the revolution (albeit often naked), and was murdered himself (not in combat). It was a typically self-absorbed comment from a people commonly accepted as the rudest travellers to come across. Maybe look at your own army attacking unarmed aid ships next time
before you label people. For the record his mate was a pr*ck too, telling everyone to "shut up" during the credits of a film and then snoring through all but the first 5 minutes. Don't stereotype it's wrong - what a couple of gimps though.
Right. Away from the t*ts. At 5am we prayed for different "roads" to the day before and got lucky. The "road" to Vallegrande was almost worthy of dropping the quotation marks. Almost. It was 2.5 hours drive in total, the equivalent of hostelling in London to do trips the far side of Birmingham. There we visited a museum with lots of pots in it (who gives a sh*t?) before the Che museum, which didn't have anything specifically Che in it but you get the idea. It had information, and consistent with South American museums had things that were "like" what would have been used at the time, but way too many photos of his dead body. With his eyes open. And the testimony of the photographers. And things "like" what they would have used at the time.
We probably should have said - Bolivia is where Che Guevara died. Bringing revolution to the
dictatorship of General Barrientos never really got off of the ground like in Cuba due to swift propaganda campaigns (labelling him a thief and murderer of crops and farmers) and undoubted, or probably proven, American backing. He was only in 3 revolutions and 2 failed. Not a great ratio for a global icon. It's probably more the idealism of it. The selflessness.
Enough editorial opinion. Our tour led next to Vallegrande hospital and the laundry room his body was paraded. Famous for all those photos. Nearby existed a huge mural, which on first sight was strange since he tried to overthrow the Government. The whole thing is kind of strange since Bolivians barely had any idea who he was at the time. Graffitti adorned the walls of the laundry room - typical stuff, all talk by people without any followthrough back home. Idealists who won't give up their plasma. Still, it's nice to be loved.
The blood had been wiped away. No cloning then. This is a hospital for Chrissake, even if South American. Quick stop via the unmarked grave.
After these near-death experiences (clever, huh?) we drove down a "road" called Ruta Del Che. Bullsh*t because
they used a helicopter. That wasn't our tour though Rufo told us, just a means to an end. The end being La Higuera, the site of his murder. We use the word murder since he was a Prisoner of War, and shooting someone unarmed in that way whilst understandable is not war. It was in a school too. Here the whole tour began to feel a little morbid (the accumulation of death rather than the specific), sad too.
We picked ourselves up to go on a little walk, one hour actually, through the thick forest interspersed with cornfields. Our guide, actually let's follow the same path as horse riding in Tupiza and call her "woman", carried both machete and rope to help the journey. She took us to Che's surrender point but didn't say a word when we arrived. She probably couldn't. The walk back was looooooong and solidly uphill; we barely made it. Che did it with a bullet in the leg (but also a gun in the back), shocking fitness. Doesn't bode well for Machu Picchu.
It was getting late, time to go camping. Try to imagine our faces then when Rufo reached the campsite only
to see it had been completely fenced. Street legal tours? We drove on through the most dangerous "roads" yet encountered in South America as the mist was beginning to settle in. A few failed sites and we stopped at a wood clearing. There's a torch shining out of a window at us. Oh sh*t this is how we die.
The torch let us stay in a nearby field. Surrounding houses existed but were empty. What the frig? Is our tent axeproof? It's pitch black. We quickly set the fire up, it was huge. On it Rufo cooked literally THE BEST CHICKEN IN HISTORY. Can't even describe it. So good. We washed it down with lots of vino and the cherry on the cake - roasted marshmallows. Haven't camped like this before. Actually slept okay, considering.
sabado, 22 de mayo Almost a lie in today, didn't arise until 8 of the clock. Jurrien (he and Anja are on the trip with us) already had the fire going. Since all bread is sh*t in South America I had marshmallows for breakfast.
In this light we could finally appreciate the abandonment in this town. Why didn't we sleep under a
roof? Also the car was parked on a football pitch. Perhaps for ghosts like a Bolivian Field of Dreams. We didn't stick around for long. In this isolation the light doesn't diminish the likelihood of ending up in Bolivian Deliverance. We headed out into the open "road", as dangerous as the night before (has you grabbing the armrest at regular intervals) but also massively overgrown. Yet another clue that Rufo may not do this tour as often as we thought.
We arrived at a thermal spot in the middle of the dense(ish) jungle. It wasn't that hot, but had significance as a place Che used to help his asthma when his medicine ran out. Nearby was one of those cool little secluded waterfalls you go to for peace. Jurrien and I went in, it took our breath away. Literally two seconds in for a photo then out to avoid dying. We don't want our bodies paraded in a laundry room in Vallegrande. Especially not with blue, shrunken willies.
We went home from here, it's a superlong drive one way. We stopped via some cave paintings of the devil and just as Archie did, Rufo joined in a throw
the stone game and hit the target first time. Why aren't there any Bolivian baseball players? Rufo got a chunk of dust in his eyes on the way home which made the journey all the more interesting since he spent most of it with them closed. We all thought he was just tired.
Anja's dad (Bosnian) told her he was proud of her for going on this trip! Communism still lives in the mind of the people!
domingo, 23 de mayo After three exhausting days we opted to kick back and enjoy La Posada's vast array of movies. In the middle of one we heard Trent say "tarantula". F**k. There's one in the hostel!!! Right where we had breakfast! What the hell are we doing here?
Turns out they are the most placid things in history.
lunes, 24 de mayo Time to leave. Shame, it's been cool here. Especially since Jasper and the missus arrived too, few beers and some darts last night were perfect. This meant more time killing until we left. We noticed a flyer for a Cafe Quite Penas - translated 'end of the bad times', pronounced keet-a pen-ass. In English 'quite-a penis'.
La Higuera museum
This is the place that Che was killedIt reminded of some of the other unusual products seen to date:
- NIP.LE CENTRE - a tyre place
- FRIGORIFICO - an ice cream store
- ADES - washing powder
- OMO - also, washing powder
There will be more of these.
We had to get a taxi to Santa Cruz to catch the bus. The driver's cough sounded like a horn. We think he may have been potentially deaf - imagine the difficulty of another language not pronounced fully. What we could make out was the swearing at every other road user. At a mudslide Mr. Reckless jumped the entire queue. Drivers here are so dodgy it's unreal.
On the bus I got my hand stuck behind his seat and broke my classic Philip Persio watch bought all the way back at Villazon. Damn.
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