Bolivia

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Bolivia Newton John. Sir Lawrence Boliviay. Bolivia and let live...ia. Etc.

South American buses will take a long time, and are often a bit cramped. It is a matter of steeling yourself before you set out. It helps, however, to have the entire bus filled with backpackers. Somehow, we ended up leaving Puno for La Paz on the same day as pretty much everyone else, and there were plenty of people to chat to and gripe about stuff with. The day flew in. We also met up with Fiona and Lucy, two of the girls we had crossed the border into Peru with. Phil and Pete, two English blokes we shared the rear seat with, were great craic. The bus took us to the border at Desaguadero; we disembarked, and watched the bus drive across to the Bolivian side. Luckily, it stopped. We got our exit stamp, changed some Soles into Bolivianos, and walked over. The entry stamp for Bolivia was obtained without trouble (well, for us - some Americans were forced to pay for a 5 year visa). We got back on our bus, and went as far as Copacobana. The Copacobana in Brazil is named for this town; it is on the shore of Lake Titicaca, and looks like it would have been a much nicer option than Puno. Oh, well. Some people stayed here, and the rest of us boarded a smaller bus to La Paz. Along the way, we crossed a narrow section of the lake. We got on a small boat, and the bus - with our bags inside - got on a flat barge to cross. It wasn't a security concern; we could see the bus at all times. The problem was that these barges were built of wood, and looked pretty flimsy and rotten. With a great big mural of Jesus on the back of the bus, though, surely it could simply have driven across the water?



There were no problems, and we got into La Paz, sharing a minivan into the centre and our hostel, Sol Andino. More like a hotel, it was a nice place - large, clean rooms, WiFi, lots of hot water and great service. Already, I was loving Bolivia. Fiona and Lucy stayed at Sol Andino, across the hall from us. Phil elected to take a cheaper spot around the corner. Pete went to another area, and we never met up with him after. Fiona, Lucy, Phil, Áine and I ventured out for a really nice dinner, and chatted about all sorts of crap. It was a fun evening. La Paz by night was not intimidating at all, and somehow, despite being at 4,200m (world's highest capital city) it seemed only a little chilly.



We had a great sleep our first night in La Paz; again, a pleasant surprise. Sleep at altitude can be fitful. We met up with Lucy and Fiona, picked up Phil, and headed down to the offices of Gravity Assisted. Bolivia is known internationally for a few reasons, some negative and some positive. On of the negative reasons is El Camino del Muerte, a.k.a. the Road of Death. At its height, this road saw 400 cars per day; 300 people died on it every year. Bad driving and extremely poor road conditions caused crashes; the 600 to 1000m drops off the side made the crashes unusually lethal. The road has become more of a positive now, however. Since 1998, tourists have cycled down it, contributing to the economy. Thousands cycle it every year, and only 19 cyclists have died in those twelve years. Mostly, that has been due to people going faster than their abilities allowed, or to equipment failures when using cheap companies. Sometimes, it is just bad luck - a French girl stepped off her bike onto a loose rock and went over the edge; an Israeli girl seemed to miss a corner, and cycled straight into the abyss; another Israeli girl adjusted her goggles inside a tunnel, lost control and slammed into the wall - narrowly missing an oncoming truck, she was lucky and survived, spending a week in a coma. Gravity Assisted are just about the best company out there, and we went with them. Zero fatalities, and one of the oldest companies doing the route. After a long talk about the safety and logisitics, we booked to do the cycle - and a zip line! - the next day. Phil was coming with us; Fiona and Lucy would do it later, not wanting to descend and lose their acclimatisation before climbing a mountain (the bottom of the death road is at 1,200m, well below altitude sickness heights).



After the booking, we took a cab up to Mirador Killi Killi, a great viewing point over La Paz. The cab barely made it up; age and low oxygen content in the air make cars very unreliable. At one point, a policeman had to lean on the bonnet to give us some traction. We tipped the taxista appropriately for the trouble. At the top, the scale of La Paz is amazing. The city lines every hill and valley, extending to the horizon. Huge, red coloured, rocky mountains are the most beautiful thing to see, but the city is interesting itself; there are 3 huge bridges, and a large central square, not to mention the masses of cheap housing high up. The wealthier you are, the lower down the valley you live. We descended, and went for a really great Indian meal at the Star of India. We ordered a starter platter (onion bhaji, yum) and various curries, including a llama tikka masala, and pretty much shared everything. A fine potential last supper, given what we had to do the next day.



We set out extra early for La Cumbe, the point from which the cycle begins at 4,700m. Ordinarily the group sets out at 07:30, but some angry folks were protesting the condition of the road to their village, setting up blockades on the road out of La Paz. People usually start blockading at 07:00 (blockades are very common, for all sorts of reasons), and we were lucky to get out before they set up. I felt kind of bad, as maybe they had a point, but I really wanted to get out and do this trip. We beat the blockade, and stopped for a look at La Cumbe. Now, doing the death road is risky. This is even more true during the rainy season, with landslides and heavy rain and fast flowing waterfalls washing away the road surface. Doing it in several inches of snow? Hmm. The guide, an Irishman from Carlow by the name of Paddy, said it was the worst weather he had ever seen up there. The road was ice, so we descended the first part of the death road on the bus, as far as the military checkpoint. In the checkpoint car park, we geared up - Gravity provides top notch equipment, and lots of it. I had on my thick socks, trousers, t-shirt, fleece, rain-coat and a warm hat. I put on their over-trousers, overcoat, rain slicker, helmet and thick gloves. I was still bloody freezing. They also had goggles and knee-guards, but I decided not to use them. The bikes are serviced by a qualified mechanic after every run, and were in extremely good nick. The brakes are incredibly sensitive, and the bikes had 6-inch double suspension to deal with the bedrocks and large stones.



We had a safety and technique talk, stamping our feet to keep warm, and set off on the first section. This part of the road had tarmac, but also a fair bit of traffic. We stayed right, as is the law in Bolivia. There were some pretty big drops off to the side, but barriers and wide lanes made it safe. We stopped to pay our entrance fee to the road; the government charges 25 Bolivianos (around €2.50) to maintain the road, and clean toilets on the way. Of course, neither of these is done in any earnest, so it's basically a bribe to be let on the road. From here, there was an 8km climb. We were soaked and freezing after less than 20 minutes, wet through to the skin and still over 4,000m, so Paddy decided to climb the 8km in the bus to avoid issues. At the top of this section, we got on the bikes again. Already it was a little greener with less snow. From here on, we were on the death road proper. No tarmac, no barriers; just monuments to the dead and wildly innacurate warning signs. Right from the beginning, the deadliness of mistakes was apparent. A small tuft of grass to the side was the only thing between oneself and the abyss. There was a fog lying in the valleys, so you couldn't even see how far you'd fall; I was assured it was sufficiently high to cause problems. Getting used to the bikes, we advanced fairly gingerly over the rocks and mud. There were frequent stops for pictures, and presumably to make sure that nobody had gone over. We had a guide at the front and one at the back; firmly in the middle of the pack, Áine and I were pretty much always out of their sight. Not that they could have done much in an accident; if you're gone, you're done.



For all that, the death road is not really so dangerous. It only gets about 20 vehicles per day now, and they are well aware of the cyclist groups, so they usually stop and let you pass. The road is 3m wide at the narrowest point, though you need to stay left - opposite to normal Bolivian road law, but a good idea since drivers on the left of their vehicles can clearly see how close to the edge they are. With good bikes, great brakes and a healthy respect for the road, you will be fine. The buzz comes from knowing that the threat is always there, one poorly navigated, large rock away. Further, when anything different comes up - like navigating a deep pool of water, cycling over very rough, broken road or blasting through a waterfall - it is difficult to predict the bikes movements again, and there are some heart-in-throat moments. One very important aspect of this trip is the respect; some people criticise rich tourists for seeking a thrill where so many have died. I don't think they quite understand the motivation, but even so, Paddy told us many stories of the casualties on the road, with an appropriate tone. For example, we saw the site of Bolivia's worst traffic accident - 102 people went over the edge, mostly passengers crammed into the back of an empty truck. The truck was reversing and lost a wheel over the edge; the road crumbled, and down it went. Usually, after a disaster on the road, Bolivia introduces a new rule. Nobody was allowed to ride in trucks any more. After the French girl went over, they brought in a rule about getting off your bike on the side away from the drop; cyclists are no longer allowed through the tunnel where the Israeli girl hit the wall. We were informed of each rule, why it came into place, and how to avoid suffering similar fates.



One other point of interest on the road was a small bungalow, very fancy for the area. It was built by the CIA to house one Klaus Barbie, a.k.a. the Butcher of Lyon. A Nazi, he had been extremely successful in hunting down and eradicating members of Le Maquis, the French resistance in world war 2. The CIA used him to hunt dissidents in South American countries where they had helped to install puppet governments. As we descended, the temperature increased greatly. We had to strip several layers, eventually down to t-shirts and the fluorescent vests we wore for visibility. The road goes from 4,700m down to 1,200; we went from snowy peaks to sub-tropical jungle in a matter of hours. Sandflies and other pests began to put in an appearance. As confidence grew on the bikes, we flew through the final sections; the drops were always there, and always large, and for some time now we had been able to see the floor: beautiful valleys with silver streaks that up close would be gushing rivers. From hundreds of meters up, they were fantastic, and also threatening as the very definite end of any unplanned rapid descent.



By the time we rolled into Yolosa, the village at the bottom of El Camino del Muerte, we had only one accident; an American chap got his wheel twisted avoiding a large puddle, and went over the handlebars into it. He cut his elbow, but nothing more. Not a bad tally on that road, in the worst conditions the guide had ever experienced. That was down to the company and professionalism of the guides. I encourage people to go and do this, but ONLY WITH GRAVITY ASSISTED. We gave back the bikes and the gear, and went into La Senda Verde, an animal sanctuary started by a Bolivian couple. This, and a buffet lunch on site, were provided by Gravity Assisted. They are the only company to end up here. We went for a walk around the monkey enclosure, and held hands with spider monkeys, watched howler, capuchin and squirrel monkeys frolicking, and kept a close eye on our pockets - the capuchins are excellent pickpockets. They also had parrots, dogs and a pair of spectacle bears, though the bears are kept in a quiet place away from crowds. All of these animals were rescued from cruelty or abandonment; some of the monkeys can still perform card tricks they were taught to perform for money in the streets, though of course nobody makes them do that here. We had our lunch, buying some brownies and cheesecake (solely to support charity, you understand), and the our lift was there to bring us to the zipline.



Yeah, as if we hadn't had enough adrenaline. We had ziplined in South Africa at storms river, 11 lines no more than 200m long. Here, there were 3 lines, each around 500m, for a total of 1.55km. The longest line took nearly a minute to descend. We shot over the valley floor, more than 200m above the ground and rivers, at speeds of up to 80kph. It was fantastic, and having the time to appreciate what you were seeing was wonderful too - in South Africa, the ride was over before you had settled in and started to look around properly. We took turns going first, and filmed each other arriving on each other's cameras. When the ziplining was complete, we got a lift with Gus, the manager, to Coroico. The rest of the cyclists returned to La Paz up the death road again, but we were staying on for a few days. Gus was a good driver, but a little quick for our tastes. Would have sucked to survive the death road and ziplining, only to roll down the hill in the jeep. Obviously, though, we made it to Sol y Luna, a hostel right up at the top of the hill in Coroico. Our room was all good; Phil's had been given away. A little conversation later - I was not willing to give an inch - we got him a better room at a discount.



After a night of very peaceful sleep - no city lights or noises, and down below 2,400m - we had breakfast at Sol y Luna. The restaurant there turned out to be really decent, and not too pricey. Breakfast is always an issue in South America. They just don't do it right, with terrible bread and jam usually constituting the entire thing. At Sol y Luna, it was better than most, with scrambled eggs on the go. A quick assessment of the pain in our buns from cycling, and a brief look at the surrounds, and the decision was made: nothing would be achieved today. Perfect. In truth, aside from a lot of sitting, breathing deeply and staring at the surroundings, I did actually manage to catch up with my blog. Throughout the day, we met up with Phil, chatting and eating, and had a brief look around the premises. It was the next day before we had a proper look, and the place was massive.



Set on a hillside, Sol y Luna has a number of areas seperated by steps or along paths. There are chill-out area with hammocks, and views across the tops of the clouds. At 1,800m, there is no problem with altitude, but you still have a lot to see beneath. We could see the death road, and the new road, the villages of Yolasa and Yolasita, the nearby town of Coroico, stunning green valleys and the silver streak of the Coroico river. Around the guesthouse, we also discovered 2 small swimming pools, a small hot tub, a yoga hall, several isolated huts and rooms, a camping area and children's play areas. The gardens were lovely, if a little unkempt in places - a lot of work goes into them, but they are massive, more natural than sculpted.



In the afternoon, we ventured into Coroico town for a look about. It was unexpectedly laid back, a relaxed and pleasant hillside town. The steep gradient made it hard work to explore in places, and we were not used to warm temperatures, but the town was so compact that we saw a lot in a short time. Cobbled roads and well constructed buildings gave the place a wealthy but old feel. The people were clothed in a variety of fashions, from traditional to modern. There is a communal pool though I wouldn't fancy a dip in the green, grainy water. Tourist traffic from La Paz, greatly increased since the death road began attracting thrillseekers, has brought the usual restaurants and hostels; best amongst these turned out to be Bamboo, a Mexican. The owner was out the back drinking a beer when we ventured in, but quickly fired out 3 meals and nachos for us. Now, the fact that we ordered burritos, enchiladas and tacos, and ended up with 3 identical meals...well, it was tasty anyway. We returned to Sol y Luna, and got back to our chilling out.



After our 3rd night, we rose for breakfast and grabbed a taxi that was waiting outside. It can be hard to get them to come up the hill on rough roads, so we had to go, missing saying goodbye to Phil - though it turned out we would run into him in La Paz later. The taxi dropped us at the bus station, and we got onto the next transport going. Turned out to be an 8 seater MPV, barely large enough to jam our bags into. We jammed our stuff in, and settled in for the journey. It was definately better paved on the new road, though possibly more frightening. The huge drops were still present, albeit behind a metal barrier. In several places, huge rocks had smashed the barricades and ripped up chunks of tarmac, as the rains had caused landslides. As we neared the top, the snows had cleared a bit, but now there was black ice all over the place. The driver seemed oblivious, even as the car slipped from side to side. Near the top, the drops are smaller, but there is no metal barrier; we may not have died, but I would have killed the driver for being an idiot had anything happened. Evidently, though, as very few ghosts write blogs (not including "ghost writers", a-ha-ha), we made it up. The views, it must be said, were even better than when we cycled, due to clearer weather. We passed by a lake after the old and new roads met; we had cycled right past it 3 days before and never knew it existed.



In La Paz, we returned to Sol Andino. The carnaval was kicking off, and the multitudes of fireworks, water guns and cans of foamy spray on sale before we left were now very much in use. For the most part, people avoided using them on tourists, but we received a few sprays of foam all the same. The first night back was extremely noisy, with music, drunken folks and fireworks continuing into the night. Disturbingly, a girl in fancy parade costume was in absolute hysterics in the street beneath our window; a male, presumably someone she knew, was trying to calm her by slapping her. When this didn't work, he dragged her down the street a bit before picking her up and carrying her off. This is more comdemning of the effects of alcohol than of life in La Paz; ask an Irish garda if he has seen worse, and you can guess the response. We enjoyed a Japanese dinner before turning in, just one example of the excellent international cuisine available in La Paz.



In the morning, we heard that Phil, Fiona and Lucy were back in town as well, and arranged to meet up in the evening. For our part, we went to explore a little more of the city. The extra long weekend, most people having Monday and Tuesday off, meant that a lot of what we wanted to see was shut. The Coca Museum and fair trade store were closed, but we still managed to visit Plaza Murillo and the witches market. The latter is simply a set of normal stalls which also sell llama foetuses for rituals, and tacky stuff like love potions, etc. The Plaza was a mix of restored and crumbling colonial buildings, and some modern construction, and was filled to the brim with pidgeons. The presidential palace made for some good photos. On the way there, we had passed where the carvaval parade would be; we darted to back to avoid being cut off from our side of town. The whole thing was much better organised than the event in Puno, Peru, with traffic diversions and a police presence, but the weather was so bad that we didn't hang around. That evening, we went back to the Indian and met Phil; Fiona and Lucy were not at their hotel, and never showed at the restaurant. Having trekked up a mountain, it was unsurprising that they crashed out.



On our penultimate day in Bolivia, we revisited some sites that Phil had missed, and ventured to the pleasant Calle Jaen. The weather was better, good for exploring. Again, most shops and museums were shut, but we dropped into the musical instrument museum. True to it's name, they had a huge collection of pipes, stringed instruments and drums from around the globe. Some were quite ancient, made of stone or bone. The most interesting were the improvised instruments, made from unusual materials or in very strange shapes. My favourite was a 5 necked acoustic guitar, made by the museum founder. You could play some of the instruments on show, and we were having great fun until they closed the place after half an hour. Ah well, it was only 5 Bolivianos in - around 50 cents. We headed towards the hotel again, having lunch at Café Ciudad, probably the slowest service in South America (and that's up against some pretty stiff competition). Phil actually left without getting his meal; Áine and I had a pretty good club sandwich, with real rasher on it, though after a 35 minute wait.



We took a siesta at the hotel, and then met Fiona, Lucy and Phil for a Mexican dinner. It was really good, and set us up for a couple of pints at and English bar (not my choice) called Oliver's Travels. According to Lonely Planet, Olliver's Travels is the worst cultural experience in La Paz. Not far wrong. Within 30 minutes, the owner had halted the music to make more stupid announcements than he could count to (5), and had a beer soaking contest with another Brit. This is what ex-pat money can do. On the plus side, they did have a pretty amazing mint chocolate cake, which we scoffed before leaving. We said goodbye to Lucy and Fiona, congratulating them again for their amazing trek over 5,700m; probably we'll run into them at another border crossing.



Our final morning in La Paz, we booked our cab to the airport and stepped out for a couple of hours. We went shopping, again hanging out with Phil. Given the low cost of the goods here, way cheaper than in Peru, I decided to buy a coat and a bag for returning to Ireland. Difficult to fit in the rucksack, but an absolute bargain. If you visit La Paz, leave some space for the quality stuff in the markets. You need to look around to get quality, checking the zips etc., but even the top class coats were about 15 euro. You can also find masses of fake North Face and other outdoor branded gear, of reasonable quality, though this is more in the 40 - 80 euro range. With purchases in tow, we went back to meet our cab, having to say goodbye once more to Phil. It had been fun hanging around with him and the girls, but as always we must move on with the trip.



The great thing about leaving La Paz by air is that you're at 4,200m - you can pretty much roll off the end of the runway and glide down. Well, not exactly. Still, though, the views are pretty special. Bolivia was pretty excellent for views all around, as a matter of fact. It was a real shame that we had the flight booked; really would have liked to stay longer. La Paz was like the other South American cities we had visited, but it never felt unsafe. It was noisy and busy, but there seemed to be a little more order. Transport was easy and cheap; food was fantastic and cheap; accommodation was clean, comfy...and cheap. The welcome was also pretty genuine, people seeming a little less sick of foreigners. Above all, as with elsewhere, it is safer than many people seem to think. Relatively stable, Bolivia is a fantastic destination. In just 8 days, it made a huge impression on me, and I would love to return.

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Hotel Chateau Bellevue Quebec City
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