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Published: August 31st 2006
Stepping of a 17 hour bus journey in Rurrenabaque with our last meal and last shower a worryingly distant memory, we decided not to bother checking into a hotel and headed straight for a company which could take us up jungle. We found one run by a Bolivian who had lived in the States and were shocked by a return to occidental levels of service. In a bit of a rush we took it in turns to jump onto the back of his scooter with which he tore through to town and down to the “docks”, resembling a scene from apocalypse now with little boats plying up and down the river. We threw our bags in and jumped after as our pilot pushed the boat down the bank and jumped in after us.
For about two hours we drifted lazily up the river, every so often getting out so that our boat could make it over the shallower rapids. The prow of our glorified canoe was also occupied by another Peruvian equipped with a punting stick which was regularly deployed when the river approached shallows. Dropped off on a bank with no apparent signs of man preceding us, our pilot
The River
Last stand of the Andespicked up the supplies he had brought and headed off into what looked like a grove of sugar cane, and we followed. This soon turned into a track of sorts which after crossing a couple of small tributaries emerged in a jungle clearing edged by little huts, with a larger one in the middle which served for meals etc. After dumping our stuff in ours we headed gratefully for lunch, accompanied by a Dutch couple just finishing.
Our Guide, Luis came to introduce himself and asked if we were ready to head out. He gave us 20 minutes before introducing his favourite catchphrase, “Vamos Amigos!” and we set off into the jungle. Luis only spoke Spanish but by this point our Spanish had advanced to the point that one of us at least would understand what he was saying, and he had managed to learn the English names for most of the things we saw. Over the course of our first trek, which lasted from about 12 to 6, half walking, half hacking our way through the undergrowth we managed to see monkeys, parrots, a heard of wild pigs, lots of ants, bugs er… trees etc. Our Luis took
pity on our method of carrying our water bottles (i.e. in our hands) and stripping a few vines made us up water bottle slings. We also had a go a mastering the art of jungle creeper swinging.
Back in the clearing we met up with our most consistent jungle companions, a French couple, Margret and Itchen, with whom we had dinner. We then explained to our guide we had been up, to all intents and purposes, for two days, and skipped the scheduled night expedition to get a few hours extra nocturnal kip.
Up at 8 the next morning we saw our way through a stack of pancakes each before heading out for another trek, which was similar but this time we were able to see several of the animals morning feeding habits. Getting back for lunch we were due to try some of the local crafts, making things from the forest, but we arranged instead to head for the river first and relax for a bit. Back at the main river we started to busy ourselves with the construction of dams waterfalls etc and after a quick swim decided it was time to equalise the all body
tan and set to reading our books au natural in the sun. Returning too late to try making things our guide and the cook had set to making them for us, and we were both presented with a baby coconut ring and necklace. Another set of presents we don´t have to buy....
That night we were up for a night exped and so headed out along the river bank, into what was, by night, a completely different jungle. Here the guides vastly superior skills became still more apparent as he was able to guide our torches onto birds, alligators etc which were utterly invisible before being pointed out to both Ian and I.
The next morning we had our final trek, this time putting our creeper swinging skills to the test by using them to cross a river, before, at Ian’s insistence, going back early to try and have a bash at making things out of the jungle produce ourselves. With nothing finished but plenty gathered to crack on with later our boat pilot remerged. Our French friends had gone camping on a two day trek, so we´d already said our goodbyes, and along with our guide who
Ian on the boat
And the poor chap punting was returning to Rurrenabaque "Por un Crevesa" we took all our kit back to the boat and began again to drift down to (Relative) civilisation.
We tried to buy tickets out for the next day but were told a strike on the road of town meant all the seats on aeroplanes were full. The next free seats had also as a result gone up in price. We decided to brave the strike and got bus tickets from the Bolivian American, who promised to call around to our hotel the next morning and let us know if they were valid. We spent a pleasant evening eating pizza and drinking cocktails, as well as braving the satellite connected internet, and the next morning at 8 we were informed the busses were moving again. We would be taking the 17 hour bus journey back the way we had come and up the worlds most dangerous road.
At least it was due to last about 17 hours, but about 4 hours in, inexplicably, the bus stopped behind a row of other busses and everyone started getting off. Slightly bemused we asked our bus driver what was going on, and, in a rather
jolly fashion, he informed us that the road was blockaded in the small town we were approaching, because of some sort of local political difficulties. Soon sort this out I thought, and off we strode to the centre of the confusion. Unfortunately, no one, of the thousands gathered spoke the slightest English (Everyone with money or an education was sensibly on the plane) and people started to point at us. Concluding maybe we wouldn’t sort this out after all, and after grabbing some food from one of the stands that had sprung up to take advantage of the situation we repaired to the bus. About an hour after dark someone clearly won out (The bus drivers had been wandering around in a pack with big sticks) and we started to move again. I slept through the worlds most dangerous road and woke up back in La Paz, to discover the only bus to Cusco, in Southern Peru left at 8 in the morning. We scraped our plans for the day in La Paz and jumped onto the bus. Another three comedy busses later, including another road block, and one bus where the door broke and Peruvians kept trying to jump
on, we arrived in Cusco about 11 in the evening, after 34 hours on a bus, and headed for a hostel. - David
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David's Dad
non-member comment
London Buses
Chaps, Your blog is like a London bus nothing for ages then 3 come along together! Glad to see you’re still in the journal business; keep up the good work. Back to reality and Exeter soon. All the best, David’s Dad