Bolivia and The World´s Most Dangerous Road

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As most of you will still be digesting our mammoth Peru blog, you will be happy to see that this one is relatively short. This is not due to the fact that we are getting lazy but because we had to return to South Africa in the middle of our trip for Kara’s (Carl’s sister) wedding limiting our time in Bolivia to only 6 days. So this Bolivian part of our trip is a “to be continued…“ episode interspersed by Brazil (Rio), South Africa, Brazil (again), Paraguay* and Argentina*.

* Please note that these are intended destinations and may or may not be realised.

Copacabana and the Journey to La Paz

We crossed into Bolivia following a short (by South American standards) bus journey from Puno and 7km past the border our bus dropped us in the charming town of Copacabana on the Bolivian shore of Lake Titicaca. According to Nicola the journey along the shores of Titicaca was distinctive and interesting but I was concentrating on the painful stomach condition I had acquired from our Amanzani family home stay on the Peruvian side. Apart from the fact that we had acquired new stamps in our passports, there was no discernable difference between the landscape of the Peruvian and Bolivian sides of the lake, though the food and souvenir prices had decreased notably on entering Bolivia.

Copacabana is a fairly attractive town, with fantastic views over the lake, which looks more like the sea, and has an eye-catching Moorish-style church. We had originally planned to spend a few days here visiting the islands of the Sun and Moon but as it seemed a little too similar to what we had just experienced on the Peruvian side we decided to head straight on to La Paz the next day.

The bus ride to La Paz took quite some time, as we had to continually stop to pick up people at the remotest of places. At one point we had to make an additional stop because the luggage compartment door had popped open and some luggage had flow out. We thought that it was Nicola’s bag again trying to make a break for freedom but it turned out to be bits of wheelbarrow (Not sure if it was packed into the luggage compartment in those pieces).

On route we had to take a ferry across the lake. The bus stopped and we were ordered to get off, most of the passengers complied but others we noticed trying to hide behind their seats. There were separate ferries for the bus and the passengers and these people were trying to avoid paying for the latter. We were unsure which option to take but decided to go with majority, which was to take the passenger ferry, but our delay in deciding meant that we would have to wait for the next ferry as the one with all our fellow passengers was full. Nicola was very worried that our bus would leave without us as it was going to be difficult to find other people with which to full the ferry as the next bus was only due in 30 minutes. They must have noticed the anxiety on her face as they only waited for a few minutes before taking us across the straights to where our bus was now waiting.

Once you leave the lake you enter a flat plain to the east of which tower some of the biggest peaks in the Andes. Bolivia has over one thousand 6000m+ peaks and a good number of them are here. This got us thinking about possibly climbing one, something we still might do.

After passing through the litter infested sprawl of El Alto (which was once a suburb of La Paz but has grown so huge it is now its on entity) the land drops away to reveal the city of La Paz which fills the chasm of its Canyon from rim to rim. The main road into the city is very steep and affords spectacular views of the city and its surrounding mountains so that arriving in La Paz by road feels a bit like arriving by air to any other city.

La Paz -Witches’ market and more Spanish lessons

Our bus dropped in us in an area called the Cemetery, which did not have a taxi rank like other bus stations we had encountered. Piled high with bags, we looked around in vain for a taxi. The bus had departed too rapidly for Carl to confirm where exactly they had dropped us so instead he went in search of a friendly face to help. This luckily came in the form of a group of uniformed policemen who showed us exactly where we were on our map, gave me well worn piece of paper to read which listed some safety tips and the typical scams to watch out for, flagged down a taxi and negotiated a price.

Our first hotel was a little disappointing and had seen better days so we decided to change our initial 2 day booking to only one night as we had found a hotel closer to the centre which was more than half the price and just as good. Later we discovered that the second hotel (Hostel Torino) had live very loud music until ungodly hours in the morning on weekends (we were there on the weekend), but the guys in reception were very friendly and had put us in the room furthest away from the music and we heard only a dull thud of the Salsa beat.

We had decided we would put our 6 days in one place to good use and try to improve our Spanish with some more lessons. Carl organised us some more Spanish lessons, which we were able to arrange around another downhill cycling trip following “The World’s Most Dangerous Road”. Although we had down 3 similar trips in Ecuador I was keen to do this one as most of the people who have done it really recommended it. Carl took a little convincing as his wrist had hurt for weeks after our Ecuador cycles but I convinced him to go.

Next morning we had to move hotels before our 10am Spanish Lesson. We decided even though it was only a few blocks we would take a cab as our luggage had grown in size and was bulky to carry. The hotel called us a cab and told us it would be 6 Bolivanos for the journey. On unloading the bags the driver took our 10 Bolivano note and tried to drive off without giving us any change. When Carl jumped in front of the taxi to object he gave us 2 Bolivianos more but refused to give us any more change before trying to run over Carl who was standing in his way. Eventually a very angry Carl decided that his life was not worth 2 Bolivianos and got out the way shouting “Ladron!” (Thief in Spanish) at the bastard. We were angry about the lack of principles rather than the money and we were very thankful that that was the worst that happened to us with La Paz taxis (They are known for driving off with your bags)

Carl and I had opted for private lessons so we could each work in our own style and concentrate on our weaknesses. Carl’s teacher Jenny (Not spelt like that) was already there and took him in straight away. My teacher, Martine who was on the chubby side and had long hair waltzed in 15 minutes late. I spent my time on the technical side trying to get a thorough understanding of the structure of the various tenses and grammatical details while Carl had a more conversation orientated class. I had wanted to practice just talking and gain more confidence but every time we tried just to chat I would run out of things to say, even in English. I think if I had been able to relate a little bit better to Martine I might have had a similar type of conversational class to Carl. That said I did learn a lot and it gave me a lot more confidence in my Espanol.

First Spanish classes done, we had lunch at a Cuban restaurant and then an afternoon siesta before Carl tried dragging a very tired me to the visit to the Witches’ Market. This proved a difficult to find as our 8 year old Lonely Planet sent us to a road full of shops selling tourist souvenirs and traditional woollens. After some searching we spotted a dried llama foetus at a roadside stall and knew we had found what we were looking for. Our attention was drawn to the weird stuff that was on offer. Apart from the famous llama foetuses (which are said to bring good luck and should be buried in the foundations of new houses), there were dried llama babies, jackal skins, bird heads, dried frogs covered in glitter, globs of llama fat, various charms and idols, and most concerning of all dried armadillos. We decided to support this obviously dying part of Bolivian culture and bought some small carvings for my dad and a charm called Amore for luck in love and life for Kara and Andrew on their wedding day.

The “witches” have obviously been pushed out of their traditional location by the more profitable tourist trade and there are now only a handful of small stalls and shops selling the traditional charms and medicinal herbs for which they are known. It seems crazy that the tourist trade is responsible for wiping out one of the main attractions of the city.

While wandering around the stalls we avoided having one of the La Paz scams the police had warned us about pulled on us. A man approached us and asked us in Spanish if we could translate some English directions for him. While you are distracted by the translation he tries to steal you wallet. We recognised the scam immediately and asked him to go away. When he did not we turned round and walked out the stall we were visiting. We had been in the middle of a transaction for a rabbit finger puppet, a small reminder of Mr Binks. The lady from who we were trying to buy the puppet was very upset that he had chased away her potential customers and shouted at him and shoed him away from her stall (a huge bag of finger puppets between her legs). Once he was gone I returned, as I really wanted a reminder of my old bunny.

We really liked the vibe of La Paz at night as the city really comes alive with loads of roadside stalls selling everything from clothes to hairbrushes. Carl even managed to buy a double Coldplay CD for 20 Bolivanos (less than 3 US dollars). We got back late and decided on a light dinner at Alexander’s (My maiden name) coffee shop, this gave me an opportunity to have Chocolate cake for dinner. Dinner finished it was time to face the music at our hotel.

The Worlds Most Dangerous Road

Sunday morning we woke up early in order to have a good breakfast before our cycle. The meeting spot, cleverly enough, was a brilliant coffee shop that opens early enough for breakfasting cyclists (everything else in town opens a good few hours later). After a fantastic breakfast we piled onto the bus for the ride to the top of the pass. Chatting to our fellow passengers on the way we discovered that one poor guy had had both his pack and his day pack stolen within 8 hours of each other and his companion had two disgusting fly larvae maggots wriggling around inside his leg after visiting Brazil.

Our group was quite large, 17 people plus 3 guides, so it took a while to get us kitted up and introduced to our bikes. Finally ready and wrapped up warmly under our orange safety vests we set off down the first section, which was tarred, and therefore not “The World’s Most Dangerous Road” but a good chance to get used to our bikes. By the second stop we were pretty warm and I stripped off all of my layers in preparation for the uphill ahead. After turning down the offer to put my bike on the truck I hoped that I would not be the slowest member of the group. I was pleasantly surprised that after coming to terms with a couple of gearing issues on my bike I managed the uphill without too much trouble. A slow and steady pace worked and I ended up passing all the macho guys who had come steaming past me on the downhill. My fitness must have improved as I felt this was much easier than my Ecuadorian uphill even though it was longer.

A couple of stops later the guides rechecked all the bikes before we entered “The World’s Most Dangerous Road” proper. This section was rutted and dusty, with a steep cliff to the one side and is only wide enough for one vehicle to pass at a time. All traffic has to drive on the opposite side of the road so that the driver can check his distance between his wheels and the big drop. Despite all this they still drive as fast as they can and the major danger for us cyclists was not the cliff but other vehicles.

Staring down the road, I hung towards the back while competitive Carl was as usual near the front. The road was very corrugated and wrought havoc on my arms but I could not work out a speed that minimised the affect while still feeling in control. The clouds swirled around us as we descended every now and then revealing the huge drop to the side. At one of the stops our guide showed us the remains of a monument marking where some opposition politicians had been shot and thrown over the edge. The monument had been knocked over by a jeep that had also careered over the edge.

At about halfway down we stopped for sandwiches and were issued with dust masks as the dust on the lower sections was very bad. On one of the lower sections Carl managed to get a flat, which was changed out with remarkable speed. Desperate not to keep the group waiting or be last Carl cycled really hard to catch up and managed to finish in the middle of the group. After a couple of water features where we got to cover ourselves in mud, we reached the bottom where cold beer and coke was waiting. Everyone was covered in dust but really exhilarated from an exciting days ride.

After the cycle our bus took us up another steep road to Coroico and the Esmerelda hotel for a buffet lunch. We had decided to stay the night here rather than return straight away and were rewarded with an enormous two floor apartment with balconies overlooking the hotel gardens and pool, the town of Coroico and the valley below. The buffet lunch was a little disappointing as there was not enough food and each time they brought the food out these two girls would pile all the food on their plates so that there was none for anyone else. At one point they brought some more chicken and the greedy girls took 8 of the 10 pieces even though there was a line 8 people long behind them.

Next morning we made our way down to the main square to find a bus to La Paz. Accosted on all side, we did not want to be pressured into making a rushed decision and my reluctance to commit resulted in rivals trying to outbid each other. We finally settled in favour of a mini-bus for 13 Bolivianos ($1.60), preferring it to the back of a pickup truck (in the rain) at 2 Bolivianos less (25 US cents).

On route we thankfully did not encounter too much traffic but as the weather worsened our driver became more and more distracted and twice we nearly collided with a bus coming in the opposite direction (This may have had something to do with the huge quantity of coca leaves he was chewing). Two thirds up the hill we had our customary breakdown which the driver was able to cure by replacing the fan belt with one he miraculously produced from the cubby hole, as if he anticipated this problem, and we made it to La Paz only a few minutes late.

The bus dropped us in an unfamiliar area and we were forced to walk some distance before we found a taxi to take us back to the Torino. Our cab driver was a very cheery chap who spoke very good English and as with most people in South America wanted to know where we were from. We told him we were from South Africa. “Ah South Africa,” he said, “The only country to have three capitals, Cape Town, Pretoria and Bloemfontein”, something not very many people are aware of. He then continued to list our population, land area in square metres, major economic activities and mining output. After a good discussion about South Africa and tourism, Carl enquired why he knew so much about the country. He told us he really liked geography and aimed to know at least 3 facts about every country in the world and that we should test him. Carl is also into his country facts and was keen to give it a go. Bhutan proved no problem nor Belize, the Vatican however he told us was a tricky one as their population had decreased from in the seven hundreds to around five hundred which was contrary to the trends in all the other countries. Just as he was lining up his favourite, Burkina Faso with capital Ouagadougou, we arrived at the hotel ending one of the more enjoyable taxi rides we have had.

Catching up with a Travel Buddy

That night we discovered one of our fellow Roraima (Venezuela) trekkers, Sarah, was in La Paz and decided to try and meet her for a drink. After getting the guy at reception to interpret Sarah’s rather strange directions we found her hostel and went out for a drink. That night we ended up in the Sol y Luna a very nice restaurant/bar with great live music, which kept us there much later than we had planned. It was great seeing a familiar face and not having to start a conversation from the basics.

The next day after our final Spanish lesson we headed back up the spectacular road to the airport to catch our flight to Rio. After a very slow check in we discovered that our flight was delayed, not so good when you have 3 connecting flights to your final destination, but 12 hours later both us and our bags arrived in Rio.

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Photos

Armadillos
Armadillos on sale at the witches market

Lllama foetuses
Lllama foetuses should be burried in the foundations of a house to bring luck.

Witches Market
Nicola purchases something for her cauldron

Long Way Down
Nicola contemplating "The Worlds most dangerous Road"

Getting Dirty
Smiling cause we are half way down and still alive.

Dirty and Happy
Celebrating having survived the cycle.

Pokemon Sheets
Snuggling up against the cold Bolivian night.

Comments

[anonymous]

Those llama fetuses are so cool. I went to Bolivia when I was a baby so I don't remember it but I really want to go again

[Kate Hildebrand]

sorry!
I left that comment, forgot I wasn't logged in