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Published: June 14th 2010
Ride ´em cowgirl...
Grow up you children.As Madonna once sang:
"Don´t cry for me Argentina. The truth is I never left you."
Well, we did. This morning in fact, into Bolivia.
Our midnight bus from Salta (including Mendoza Dan) arrived in La Quiaca at 7am. Holy cr*p was it cold. We were not prepared for that. Blood immediately left the extremities, apparently the altitude is pretty high up here which would account for the shock. Oh, it´s also pitch black which made the walk to the border all the more fun.
We stamped out of Argentina for the second time in just over a fortnight, fighting with the South Americans who have literally no concept of the queue, to reach Bolivian customs at its opening time of 7am. Except that it´s 6am because the clocks went back here. Did we mention how cold it was?
Border passed through, they barely even looked at us. Bienvenidos a Bolivia!
Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, so you know it´s gonna be cheap! It´s one of only 2 landlocked countries in South America but it´s supposed to have the most varied and interesting landscapes in possibly the World. Politics here
have been more shaky than Muhammed Ali in the past, this was the place Che Guevara was murdered under American backed General Barrientos. Presidents seem to privatise then nationalise like they have beer or wine for dinner. At the moment, it´s nationalise.
The border town in Bolivia is called Villazon. It´s just a short walk to the bus station but the cliches are everywhere, even at this hour. Ladies with bountiful buttocks dressed in knitted cardigans, long black skirts and formal mens hats (mainly bowlers) parade the streets with 20 bags and a baby tied to their back with a gayly coloured blanket. Beggars hold out their dried hands inhope of change whilst stray dogs chase down cars and let them know they are not welcome.
The bus station at Villazon, for we shall not be staying, could be likened to an ant colony. In this metaphor the wandering and disorientated tourists (me/Hayley/Dan) are the bits of dried leaf or grass that gets dragged to the hive (being the kiosk for tickets). Within 15 seconds of the vicinity we had been offered 6 buses. We got a ticket for 1.60. It´s a 4 hour bus. It costs 3
Billy the Phalid
Is that how you spell it? quid to get 20m out of Milton Keynes train station.
Since we had checked out of our hostel almost 22 hours ago, I needed the toilet. Badly. The toilets at Villazon bus station looked like the b*st*rd love child of the one out of Trainspotting and the one in Desperado with the fake hatch. No paper. No seat. An inch of liquid on the floor. I wear those canvas-type shoes. Hope you aren´t eating whilst reading this.
On the bus a woman was selling a bag with cheese, an egg and raw meat. An unmade omelette. A kid sang for money (tunelessly). At the front was a calendar with a cat in a fire engine. Also Hayley made the bus stop halfway through the journey touse a natural baño (pee in the bushes). An old lady joined her, but couldn´t go.
Hayley delaying everyone aside (JASPER, AMARDEEP, SEB, DAN and COUPLE LAURA and ALEX are on the bus too, we arrived in Tupiza early afternoon without hitch. Tupiza will be our launchpad for the Salar de Uyuni tour, famous as the largest salt desert in the World (we think). The town is small and the temperature hot
enough to burn the soles off your shoes and leave you happy pants short of looking like a hippy. First things first find a hostel (La Torre) and then food. 2 star hotel with breakfast for 4 pound each and a 3 course meal for 1.80. We make that just getting the teas in at work.
Tupiza has little more than a traditional plaza (same as everywhere else - good old Spanish) and a lookout. There´s no ATM and the queue for the bank puts Alton Towers to shame. Mountains have eroded slower. An old man told me I had nice skin. First gay experience (those who followed my travels in ´06 know there were a lot more unwanted ones!!!).
The lookout showed the whole of Tupiza in its Andean sleeping bag, redder than the seats at Anfield. Yet another Christ statue offered us salvation (if only we would take it). The air is supremely thin here at 3000m, getting up the hill had us wobbling like marathon runners. Hopefully this isn´t a forerunner for Machu Picchu.
It was quite cold in the night too.
viernes, 7 de mayo A day to do something we hadn´t
thus far (or ever for me). Nothing sexual you children. We went horse riding. Of our group of five (US, DAN, JASPER, AMARDEEP) only Japser had real experience. We were transported by jeep to a landfill site where our horses depressingly resided until they got to carry a 12 stone tourist for 3 hours. It could be worse, it could be France. Or a glue factory. At least here they can lick the inside of ant-infested, dusty yoghurt pots.
Our guide gave us zero guidance and hereafter shall be solely referred to as "kid". The horses were so tame as bordering suicidal so it didn´t matter too much. We trotted by the roadside towards the valley of our destination. There´s no horse etiquette here - the locals beep at and swiftly pass the horses without much care. Forgot to say - no helmets just cowboy hats. Does this count as adventure sports on our insurance???
We were all quite shocked at the evident heirachy of the horses. If one tried to disrupt the natural order it would be swiftly attacked. I found it funny that if mine passed Hayley´s hers would begin to run (which she didn´t like).
Cactus Jack
He´s a prickly character... They all ran at one point. Nobody liked. When we managed to gain control of the horse for 5 seconds we could try and enjoy the scenery. The red Andes were up much closer, filled with cactii, photographed at whichever angle the horse would allow. We saw the Devil´s Gate (a break in the rockface), the Canyon del Inca and a whole host of rocks which looked like p*n*ses.
On the way home Dan´s horse darted off, almost vaulting him. Turned out his backpack was knocking the horses ar*e - the sign to go faster. Was funny to watch the confusion and lack of control, only because it wasn´t us. My horse was lame, almost collapsing at one point. Not surprising at another point it decided to walk all the way down a river which it couldn´t get it out of. "Kid" instructed me to rip the horse's nostril off its face to get it to turn.
When we got back we found there was no lift home. Something says there might be an expectation gap in Bolivia. Sh*t tip for "kid" to even the balance.
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