Monday 19 April
Salar de Uyuni – Reserva Eduardo Avaroa
We woke up while it was still dark. We had breakfast in the half light and watched the sun rise, not as spectacularly as last night’s sunset but beautiful all the same. We then heard news from the driver about the blockades. Apparently they were in place but they wouldn’t trouble us today. Tomorrow was a different matter.
We drove off and today’s expedition included lots of volcanoes. We were in the heart of the Andes, well over 4,500 metres high in the Atacama desert, close to the border with Chile. There was volcano after volcano, windswept desert, dramatic, unusual rock formations, almost like they were sculpted deliberately. There was the odd lagoon with strangely coloured water surrounded by dried salt and sulphur, some with geysers that would let off a spurt of steam every now and then. There was the “tree rock,” which is a rock that looks like a tree, though to me it was reminiscent of Boccioni’s Unique Forms of Continuity in Space (1913), but then that’s just me.
My driver recommended that I buy some coco leaves, as it was a good protection against the altitude, and, well, you have to try it once. Sometime in the afternoon I gave it a go. I immediately wanted to go to the toilet, which given that it contains amphetamines, makes sense. I didn’t get a strong feeling from it, a slight heightening of the senses as Michael Wood might put it. What I did notice is that as I chewed the leaves and the saliva built up, I was swallowing the chewed leaves as well as the saliva mixture. It didn’t taste too nice and after a while I had a lot of saliva in my mouth. I jumped out of the car and spat it all out.
My mouth was very slightly numb but the most noticeable thing was that I was feeling very serious. It was an odd sensation. We had arrived at a lagoon and I busied myself with taking pictures of llamas and flamingos (lots more than I saw in Ecuador) as well as the surrounding volcanoes.
I also noticed that I had a dodgy stomach. I’m guessing that it was from the coco leaves as the timing was about the same. Unfortunately it would stay with me until I reached Colombia.
That evening we reached another place to stay, not made out of salt this time, and our whole group – all seven of us – were in one room. We had a dinner of casserole which wasn’t great and wasn’t ideal for my stomach either. But I managed to eat anyway. It was freezing cold and although there were thick sheets I went to bed with about three different layers on. As the night progressed the number of people in the room must have slowly heated it up as by morning I was down to a single layer. Tomorrow – blockades.
Friday 23 July 2010
I’m in a Wide Open Space
Sunday 18 April
Uyuni – Salar de Uyuni
So we woke up and had breakfast, which again was very random. There was one of the group who hadn’t for some reason noticed that the service in Bolivia isn’t consistent and for some reason wanted specific things and wanted them in a specific time, despite there being little to no chance of that happening. As a result she threw a very immature strop. Some people can be too anal when travelling.
Anyway eventually everything was sorted out. I managed to briefly find out who had won the grand prix that morning – Jenson Button’s second surprise win – and we packed our bags on to the Land Cruiser and set off on our journey. The driver seemed to be very uncommunicative and didn’t seem to speak English, which was a bit of a worry given that we’d paid for and English speaking guide. Of course this set off Miss Grumpy into thinking happy thoughts like we would be driven round by a drunk and eventually crash and die. People started thinking similar thoughts until someone asked me what I thought. “I think we should just chill out and enjoy it – that’s my advice,” I said. It seemed to me to be too much conjecture and not enough facts.
At the first stop the guide started talking in Spanish and by some miracle I managed to tell him that we had paid for an English speaker in Spanish – despite the fact that I hadn’t learnt how to construct the past tense in Spanish yet. Or even the verb to pay, but I was pretty sure I had worked that out for myself. So I just added “-do” after the verb root and “-mos” on to the end and that seemed to work. I also got the word for guide wrong but was close enough with “guido” I like to think. As if by magic he started to talk in almost perfect English and from then on there were no problems. It turns out he didn’t know we had paid for an English guide.
We went to a salt mining town where everything was built out of salt bricks. We went to a train graveyard where everything was built out of grave trains. And then we went to the salt flats. Our driver had us cover out eyes on the approach so that the first thing we saw after the darkness of our covered eyes was a massive expanse of whiteness. We were at the salt plain.
It’s truly amazing just being in a literal sea of whiteness, apparently half the size of Belgium (or maybe Wales). There are a ring of blue-brown mountains in the distance and a beautiful cloudscape in the sky. At the edge were regimented conical piles of salt from where the salt miners had been doing their work. We took some photos and drove off into the lake itself.
80,000 years ago it changed from being part of the Pacific to become a lake in the newly forming Andes. 10,000 years ago it dried out and left behind the salt deposits that we now know. We stopped off at another salt-brick house that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. We had lunch and this time it definitely was llama stake. And it was pretty good. Nothing too unusual. Though it could have done with a bit of salt...
We took some forced perspective shots, which is the traditional thing to do. The whiteness of the sand means you can do some pretty interesting things. We were chased by dragons. Giant lollipops were licked. Other things were done.
We then set off again and then reached Inca House (Incahausi) Island – what literally was a former island in the lake of water, now an island in the lake of salt. It is covered in giant hundred-year old cacti and that combined with the dark-brown earth and hilly surface contrasts remarkably with the surrounding flat, white, lifeless salt. It is truly amazing to look at and definitely one of the most awe inspiring things I have seen on the trip. Incidentally the place is also known as Fish Island, which was apparently what the Lonely Planet called it and is now the commonly used name. I prefer Inca House.
The island has two resident dogs as well as a rhea. The Australians were confused as to how an ostrich could be native to anywhere else but Australia. We took some pictures of it as it wondered around on the flats. We took some more forced perspective pictures. Then I had the chance to sit on top of the Land Cruiser as we drove off to the next destination. The sun was starting to think about setting and throwing long, straight shadows over the flat expanse of the lake.
We stopped again to take some more perspective pictures. But really it was just a chance for the drivers to break up the monotony of the plains, which caused them to almost fall asleep at the wheel. Afterwards I was in the front seat and would occasionally ask our driver questions, just to keep him awake. After that the rest of the group wanted me to sit in the front all the time so we wouldn’t crash. I didn’t mind, I had more space!
Eventually we reached the edge of the salt plain and were back on to normal reduced-salt land. We met a car coming in the opposite direction and they had some bad news. There was a strike on in the area that meant that we may not be able to take the routes that we needed. If we were caught by the blockades we might be trapped for a couple of days or two, which was bad news for all of us given that we all had connections booked to different destinations that we already had paid for. Interesting times.
As we arrived at our resting place for the night there was a devastating sunset which we took photos of. Our resting place was a salt-brick hotel which was quite nicely done out. We were sleeping in dorms, three guys in my room. The air was cold at night, but the covers were warm and temperature wasn’t a problem. We had a meal of pasta and shared a bottle of wine, and some local children very badly and charmingly played some traditional music using pan flutes and drums. Then it was bed.
Uyuni – Salar de Uyuni
So we woke up and had breakfast, which again was very random. There was one of the group who hadn’t for some reason noticed that the service in Bolivia isn’t consistent and for some reason wanted specific things and wanted them in a specific time, despite there being little to no chance of that happening. As a result she threw a very immature strop. Some people can be too anal when travelling.
Anyway eventually everything was sorted out. I managed to briefly find out who had won the grand prix that morning – Jenson Button’s second surprise win – and we packed our bags on to the Land Cruiser and set off on our journey. The driver seemed to be very uncommunicative and didn’t seem to speak English, which was a bit of a worry given that we’d paid for and English speaking guide. Of course this set off Miss Grumpy into thinking happy thoughts like we would be driven round by a drunk and eventually crash and die. People started thinking similar thoughts until someone asked me what I thought. “I think we should just chill out and enjoy it – that’s my advice,” I said. It seemed to me to be too much conjecture and not enough facts.
At the first stop the guide started talking in Spanish and by some miracle I managed to tell him that we had paid for an English speaker in Spanish – despite the fact that I hadn’t learnt how to construct the past tense in Spanish yet. Or even the verb to pay, but I was pretty sure I had worked that out for myself. So I just added “-do” after the verb root and “-mos” on to the end and that seemed to work. I also got the word for guide wrong but was close enough with “guido” I like to think. As if by magic he started to talk in almost perfect English and from then on there were no problems. It turns out he didn’t know we had paid for an English guide.
We went to a salt mining town where everything was built out of salt bricks. We went to a train graveyard where everything was built out of grave trains. And then we went to the salt flats. Our driver had us cover out eyes on the approach so that the first thing we saw after the darkness of our covered eyes was a massive expanse of whiteness. We were at the salt plain.
It’s truly amazing just being in a literal sea of whiteness, apparently half the size of Belgium (or maybe Wales). There are a ring of blue-brown mountains in the distance and a beautiful cloudscape in the sky. At the edge were regimented conical piles of salt from where the salt miners had been doing their work. We took some photos and drove off into the lake itself.
80,000 years ago it changed from being part of the Pacific to become a lake in the newly forming Andes. 10,000 years ago it dried out and left behind the salt deposits that we now know. We stopped off at another salt-brick house that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. We had lunch and this time it definitely was llama stake. And it was pretty good. Nothing too unusual. Though it could have done with a bit of salt...
We took some forced perspective shots, which is the traditional thing to do. The whiteness of the sand means you can do some pretty interesting things. We were chased by dragons. Giant lollipops were licked. Other things were done.
We then set off again and then reached Inca House (Incahausi) Island – what literally was a former island in the lake of water, now an island in the lake of salt. It is covered in giant hundred-year old cacti and that combined with the dark-brown earth and hilly surface contrasts remarkably with the surrounding flat, white, lifeless salt. It is truly amazing to look at and definitely one of the most awe inspiring things I have seen on the trip. Incidentally the place is also known as Fish Island, which was apparently what the Lonely Planet called it and is now the commonly used name. I prefer Inca House.
The island has two resident dogs as well as a rhea. The Australians were confused as to how an ostrich could be native to anywhere else but Australia. We took some pictures of it as it wondered around on the flats. We took some more forced perspective pictures. Then I had the chance to sit on top of the Land Cruiser as we drove off to the next destination. The sun was starting to think about setting and throwing long, straight shadows over the flat expanse of the lake.
We stopped again to take some more perspective pictures. But really it was just a chance for the drivers to break up the monotony of the plains, which caused them to almost fall asleep at the wheel. Afterwards I was in the front seat and would occasionally ask our driver questions, just to keep him awake. After that the rest of the group wanted me to sit in the front all the time so we wouldn’t crash. I didn’t mind, I had more space!
Eventually we reached the edge of the salt plain and were back on to normal reduced-salt land. We met a car coming in the opposite direction and they had some bad news. There was a strike on in the area that meant that we may not be able to take the routes that we needed. If we were caught by the blockades we might be trapped for a couple of days or two, which was bad news for all of us given that we all had connections booked to different destinations that we already had paid for. Interesting times.
As we arrived at our resting place for the night there was a devastating sunset which we took photos of. Our resting place was a salt-brick hotel which was quite nicely done out. We were sleeping in dorms, three guys in my room. The air was cold at night, but the covers were warm and temperature wasn’t a problem. We had a meal of pasta and shared a bottle of wine, and some local children very badly and charmingly played some traditional music using pan flutes and drums. Then it was bed.
In Limbo
Saturday 17 April
Uyuni
We had breakfast and, this being Bolivia, it took ages. It seems that these restaurants are run by one person. And only one person. As in there’s only one person working in the place, doing all the work. So the waitress is the cook. And as a result, everything takes ages, and they only let you order a certain amount of things at a time. So on a table of six people, maybe only three people will be able to order at one point. It adds a whole new dynamic to the restaurant experience that you just don’t get anywhere else.
Anyway once all that kerfuffle was sorted out we booked our tour with the recommended place. We bumped into Jarrod who had turned up this morning as well, so all was well. After that we spent the day buying snacks and provisions for the trip.
There wasn’t much to do after that as Uyuni isn’t exactly a place that’s full of local interest. It’s just a stopover for everything else that’s nearby. So we went to the pub. We had an almuerzo in some place that may have actually been llama though they told us it was beef. I did some laundry. We had an evening meal where they were showing 80s Spanish pop videos with people in very strange clothes, pretentiously “meaningful” imagery and archaic ‘80s effects, much like budget versions of Total Eclipse of the Heart. One of the girls in our group had a fake 200 Boliviano note to get rid of, so when we paid we did a not-too-subtle runner after dumping it on the table. I didn’t feel too bad as the food was a bit crap anyway.
We went back to the pub and there was some obscene pottery. That’s all I want to say really. There was a chance for an open mike night – there was a guitar and mike set up but no one ever got round to using it. I’d have to wait until Cusco.
Uyuni
We had breakfast and, this being Bolivia, it took ages. It seems that these restaurants are run by one person. And only one person. As in there’s only one person working in the place, doing all the work. So the waitress is the cook. And as a result, everything takes ages, and they only let you order a certain amount of things at a time. So on a table of six people, maybe only three people will be able to order at one point. It adds a whole new dynamic to the restaurant experience that you just don’t get anywhere else.
Anyway once all that kerfuffle was sorted out we booked our tour with the recommended place. We bumped into Jarrod who had turned up this morning as well, so all was well. After that we spent the day buying snacks and provisions for the trip.
There wasn’t much to do after that as Uyuni isn’t exactly a place that’s full of local interest. It’s just a stopover for everything else that’s nearby. So we went to the pub. We had an almuerzo in some place that may have actually been llama though they told us it was beef. I did some laundry. We had an evening meal where they were showing 80s Spanish pop videos with people in very strange clothes, pretentiously “meaningful” imagery and archaic ‘80s effects, much like budget versions of Total Eclipse of the Heart. One of the girls in our group had a fake 200 Boliviano note to get rid of, so when we paid we did a not-too-subtle runner after dumping it on the table. I didn’t feel too bad as the food was a bit crap anyway.
We went back to the pub and there was some obscene pottery. That’s all I want to say really. There was a chance for an open mike night – there was a guitar and mike set up but no one ever got round to using it. I’d have to wait until Cusco.
Thursday 8 July 2010
We Meet Again, at Last
Friday 16 April
Potosi – Uyuni
I was woken up at an early hour by the in-hostel tour company asking me when I wanted to book the bus for. “Doce,” I said and went back to sleep. After I woke up and sorted myself out I went to the bus stop, only to find all the people I was hanging out with in Sucre were also on the same bus as me. Except for Jarrod who was travelling tomorrow.
The journey was six hours, pretty basic and not too uncomfortable. Once again the scenery was great, and we saw our first view of the salt plains – so my Bolivian friend who was sitting next to me told me. It’s a common theme when you sit next to a local on a bus or plane, they always want to make sure you are enjoying their country and they are keen to tell you about its best factors, particularly the natural wonders.
We all checked into the same place. We went for a meal and planned to book our trip to the plains for the next day. However given Bolivian service (it can easily take an hour for your food to arrive, and never all at the same time) and the late hour, by the time we’d finished the meal the place was closed. We resolved to do it in the morning. We went for a drink instead at the Extreme Fun Pub. There were five people in it...
Potosi – Uyuni
I was woken up at an early hour by the in-hostel tour company asking me when I wanted to book the bus for. “Doce,” I said and went back to sleep. After I woke up and sorted myself out I went to the bus stop, only to find all the people I was hanging out with in Sucre were also on the same bus as me. Except for Jarrod who was travelling tomorrow.
The journey was six hours, pretty basic and not too uncomfortable. Once again the scenery was great, and we saw our first view of the salt plains – so my Bolivian friend who was sitting next to me told me. It’s a common theme when you sit next to a local on a bus or plane, they always want to make sure you are enjoying their country and they are keen to tell you about its best factors, particularly the natural wonders.
We all checked into the same place. We went for a meal and planned to book our trip to the plains for the next day. However given Bolivian service (it can easily take an hour for your food to arrive, and never all at the same time) and the late hour, by the time we’d finished the meal the place was closed. We resolved to do it in the morning. We went for a drink instead at the Extreme Fun Pub. There were five people in it...
Ask
Thursday 15 April
Sucre – Potosí
When you’re in a new town, you don’t know where everything is, or how to get what you want. However as a traveller there’s an easy way around this. You just as at reception at the hostel. Easy. So I needed to buy some sunglasses before I went to the salt flats, as without them I’d probably be blinded by the sun.
So I asked at the reception where I was staying about sunglasses, given the unsuccessful attempt yesterday. The people at the place I was staying were a bit grumpy and didn’t have the best English (not that my Spanish is great obviously) but through a use of basic language and hand gestures they told me where to go. So I went to a small knick-knack market and found a pair for 25 Bolivianos, or something less than £2.50. Cheaper than the $5 pair that I lost in Rio. And significantly less than the 350 Bolivianos from yesterday!
Also when I was walking around town I kept on hearing what sounded like gunshots. It turned out that it was a procession of some sort, with people letting off small amounts of gunpowder from bamboo tubes, just to add to the festivities. This all cumulated in the main square where people paraded around with banners, marching bands and people intermittently shouting slogans like Viva Sucre! and other Viva-type things.
I caught a bus at midday to Potosí with Jan the Czech who was also staying at the hostel with me. We worked our way through the Andes and I took some pictures of the landscape, although it wasn’t as beautiful as Patagonia. I checked into my hostel which was pretty nice though strangely empty. I wanted to charge my camera battery to make sure it didn’t run out while I was on the salt flats. But when I went to look for the charger I couldn’t find it. I had no idea where it went. I didn’t leave it anywhere that I could remember, and I don’t think I lent it to anyone and forgot to ask for it back. It’s unlikely that anyone would have stolen it, since I have plenty more valuable possessions that would be more appealing to a potential thief. It must have been left behind somewhere or fallen out.
So once again I asked at reception where I could find a shop selling camera accessories. The people here were even more grumpy and had even less English than the people in Sucre, but they seemed to be able to suggest somewhere. So I went along and much to my surprise, within about 10 minutes I had found what I was looking for. And it wasn’t too expensive. Result!
I didn’t do too much in the afternoon. In the evening I had made arrangements to meet up with Jan in a bar in Potosí and when I arrived there, it turned out Jarrod was there already. So I hung out with him and shortly afterwards Jan turned up too. We had a fairly quiet night in the pub and that was it.
Potosí was very cold. Unsurprising as by some measures it’s the highest city in the world at 4,100 metres. It is also by some measures the poorest city in the world, which, given that it was the richest city in the world 300 years ago is pretty bad luck. The town is dominated by the Cerro Rico (rich mountain) – a conical peak that contained around 60,000 tons of silver at one stage. The mines still operate in terrible conditions and you can take a tour, but I didn’t fancy it. Potosí was only a stopover on my journey to Uyuni.
Once in bed under the pleasingly thick covers I found it hard to sleep as the room next door had the TV on loud and the ventilation system in the hotel - essentially glassless windows in the bathrooms - meant I could hear it well. I went and knocked on the door and asked them to turn it down. Thankfully they did. I think they may have been using it to mask the sound of sex, I’m not sure. Either way I fell asleep soon enough.
Sucre – Potosí
When you’re in a new town, you don’t know where everything is, or how to get what you want. However as a traveller there’s an easy way around this. You just as at reception at the hostel. Easy. So I needed to buy some sunglasses before I went to the salt flats, as without them I’d probably be blinded by the sun.
So I asked at the reception where I was staying about sunglasses, given the unsuccessful attempt yesterday. The people at the place I was staying were a bit grumpy and didn’t have the best English (not that my Spanish is great obviously) but through a use of basic language and hand gestures they told me where to go. So I went to a small knick-knack market and found a pair for 25 Bolivianos, or something less than £2.50. Cheaper than the $5 pair that I lost in Rio. And significantly less than the 350 Bolivianos from yesterday!
Also when I was walking around town I kept on hearing what sounded like gunshots. It turned out that it was a procession of some sort, with people letting off small amounts of gunpowder from bamboo tubes, just to add to the festivities. This all cumulated in the main square where people paraded around with banners, marching bands and people intermittently shouting slogans like Viva Sucre! and other Viva-type things.
I caught a bus at midday to Potosí with Jan the Czech who was also staying at the hostel with me. We worked our way through the Andes and I took some pictures of the landscape, although it wasn’t as beautiful as Patagonia. I checked into my hostel which was pretty nice though strangely empty. I wanted to charge my camera battery to make sure it didn’t run out while I was on the salt flats. But when I went to look for the charger I couldn’t find it. I had no idea where it went. I didn’t leave it anywhere that I could remember, and I don’t think I lent it to anyone and forgot to ask for it back. It’s unlikely that anyone would have stolen it, since I have plenty more valuable possessions that would be more appealing to a potential thief. It must have been left behind somewhere or fallen out.
So once again I asked at reception where I could find a shop selling camera accessories. The people here were even more grumpy and had even less English than the people in Sucre, but they seemed to be able to suggest somewhere. So I went along and much to my surprise, within about 10 minutes I had found what I was looking for. And it wasn’t too expensive. Result!
I didn’t do too much in the afternoon. In the evening I had made arrangements to meet up with Jan in a bar in Potosí and when I arrived there, it turned out Jarrod was there already. So I hung out with him and shortly afterwards Jan turned up too. We had a fairly quiet night in the pub and that was it.
Potosí was very cold. Unsurprising as by some measures it’s the highest city in the world at 4,100 metres. It is also by some measures the poorest city in the world, which, given that it was the richest city in the world 300 years ago is pretty bad luck. The town is dominated by the Cerro Rico (rich mountain) – a conical peak that contained around 60,000 tons of silver at one stage. The mines still operate in terrible conditions and you can take a tour, but I didn’t fancy it. Potosí was only a stopover on my journey to Uyuni.
Once in bed under the pleasingly thick covers I found it hard to sleep as the room next door had the TV on loud and the ventilation system in the hotel - essentially glassless windows in the bathrooms - meant I could hear it well. I went and knocked on the door and asked them to turn it down. Thankfully they did. I think they may have been using it to mask the sound of sex, I’m not sure. Either way I fell asleep soon enough.
Living in a Box
Wednesday 14 April
Santa Cruz – Sucre
I had made a tactical error. Arriving in Santa Cruz at about 1.30 am I had a flight to Sucre booked for about 8 am. So I had about seven hours to kill in Santa Cruz. But I hadn’t booked a hostel. I can’t remember why I didn’t do that. Perhaps I thought I could sleep in the airport. This wasn’t really an option in the traditional sense.
I say traditional because it wasn’t going to be a case of sleeping on the benches. But purely by chance I found a place that was offering box rooms with beds in them. It was much like those Japanese cubicle things except for more room-like. It was a bed – mattress and pillow only, no duvet – with a plasma screen showing cable, and a gap under the bed to put the bags. There was even a bedside table and a minibar. It was actually pretty expensive but it was what I needed so I wasn't complaining.
It turned out I couldn’t sleep in my clothes without a cover so for the first time since the start of the trip, my sleeping bag finally saw some use as a replacement duvet. The first time in three months. It was also at this time that I realised I had lost my sunglasses. There was a small opaque window in the door that was letting in light from the terminal and keeping me awake so I covered my eyes with a t-shirt. I fell asleep and slept quite well.
I woke up and caught my flight to Sucre. This was a Bolivian airline so we’re talking different rules than most other countries. It was a dodgy, old 727 and the landing was one of the bounciest I’ve had for a while. I caught a taxi to the hostel and saw Sucre for the first time. The colonial centre is fairly pretty with nice white buildings that have to be whitewashed once a year by law. For some reason there is a dentist on practically every block, if not two. Maybe the whiteness of the buildings has made people super-aware of their teeth. Probably not. But it seems a bit weird.
I check in to the hostel and find I’m in a very small and cramped six bed dorm, that I don’t fancy staying in. I decide to upgrade to a private room, which is a good idea. I sort myself out and have some lunch. I look around for sunglasses but in the one store I find the cheapest pair is 350 Bolivianos – a little more than £30! And I thought Bolivia was supposed to be cheap. I don’t bother with them for now.
The other thing about Sucre is that all the buses are Japanese. They still have the Japanese writing on them, with the Spanish Bolivian signs overlaid where necessary. Good to see the global economy in action.
In the evening I meet up with some Australians I met briefly in the dorm when I checked in, and join their extended group which includes more Australians a couple of English girls and a German guy called Philip. We go for a meal in a place called Florin and the food is pretty good. I have a good chat with German Phil about geology – he has been studying it in Chile and Argentina and I have to say geology is one of my big areas of curiosity, essentially wanting to answer the question, why does it [insert interesting piece of landscape here] look like that? Geology rocks (geddit?!? I just thought of that!). And if you’re into Geology, then there’s no better place than the Andes, as Phil pointed out.
We all have a good chat and after the meal head off to Joyride, another bar. While we’re there it turns out that we’re all due to go to the salt flats in a couple of days. This is awesome – I needed to find a group to go round the salt flats with and here was exactly that. We sorted out emails as we were taking different routes to get there over the next couple of days. We end the night drinking and having fun before heading back to the hostel.
Santa Cruz – Sucre
I had made a tactical error. Arriving in Santa Cruz at about 1.30 am I had a flight to Sucre booked for about 8 am. So I had about seven hours to kill in Santa Cruz. But I hadn’t booked a hostel. I can’t remember why I didn’t do that. Perhaps I thought I could sleep in the airport. This wasn’t really an option in the traditional sense.
I say traditional because it wasn’t going to be a case of sleeping on the benches. But purely by chance I found a place that was offering box rooms with beds in them. It was much like those Japanese cubicle things except for more room-like. It was a bed – mattress and pillow only, no duvet – with a plasma screen showing cable, and a gap under the bed to put the bags. There was even a bedside table and a minibar. It was actually pretty expensive but it was what I needed so I wasn't complaining.
It turned out I couldn’t sleep in my clothes without a cover so for the first time since the start of the trip, my sleeping bag finally saw some use as a replacement duvet. The first time in three months. It was also at this time that I realised I had lost my sunglasses. There was a small opaque window in the door that was letting in light from the terminal and keeping me awake so I covered my eyes with a t-shirt. I fell asleep and slept quite well.
I woke up and caught my flight to Sucre. This was a Bolivian airline so we’re talking different rules than most other countries. It was a dodgy, old 727 and the landing was one of the bounciest I’ve had for a while. I caught a taxi to the hostel and saw Sucre for the first time. The colonial centre is fairly pretty with nice white buildings that have to be whitewashed once a year by law. For some reason there is a dentist on practically every block, if not two. Maybe the whiteness of the buildings has made people super-aware of their teeth. Probably not. But it seems a bit weird.
I check in to the hostel and find I’m in a very small and cramped six bed dorm, that I don’t fancy staying in. I decide to upgrade to a private room, which is a good idea. I sort myself out and have some lunch. I look around for sunglasses but in the one store I find the cheapest pair is 350 Bolivianos – a little more than £30! And I thought Bolivia was supposed to be cheap. I don’t bother with them for now.
The other thing about Sucre is that all the buses are Japanese. They still have the Japanese writing on them, with the Spanish Bolivian signs overlaid where necessary. Good to see the global economy in action.
In the evening I meet up with some Australians I met briefly in the dorm when I checked in, and join their extended group which includes more Australians a couple of English girls and a German guy called Philip. We go for a meal in a place called Florin and the food is pretty good. I have a good chat with German Phil about geology – he has been studying it in Chile and Argentina and I have to say geology is one of my big areas of curiosity, essentially wanting to answer the question, why does it [insert interesting piece of landscape here] look like that? Geology rocks (geddit?!? I just thought of that!). And if you’re into Geology, then there’s no better place than the Andes, as Phil pointed out.
We all have a good chat and after the meal head off to Joyride, another bar. While we’re there it turns out that we’re all due to go to the salt flats in a couple of days. This is awesome – I needed to find a group to go round the salt flats with and here was exactly that. We sorted out emails as we were taking different routes to get there over the next couple of days. We end the night drinking and having fun before heading back to the hostel.
Wednesday 7 July 2010
Crosstown Traffic
Tuesday 13 April
Rio de Janeiro – São Paulo – Campo Grande, Brazil – Santa Cruz, Bolivia
I spent my last day in Rio just faffing around. I went for a walk on the beach to catch my last few rays before heading to the Andes again. So my flight was at 7.30 in the evening. I got a cab just before 5 – it takes about half an hour to get to the airport. Although perhaps I should have considered that it was rush hour. You forget about things like that, and days of the week, when you are travelling. Normality isn’t important.
Except when you have a plane to catch. I don’t know if rush hour traffic in Rio is normally really bad, or whether there was some crazy car crash or emergency road works, but we hardly went over ten miles an hour for a couple of hours. As we inched along the road I could see the airport agonisingly close on the right hand side as the road seemed to go past it and take the longest route possible. I was watching the time and making various justifications as the minutes ticked away. “Well if I get there with an hour to spare I’ll still be able to make it.” I couldn’t do much while I was still in the car so I resigned myself to my fate and tried not to get too anxious.
I arrived with less than thirty minutes before take off. As I dashed out of the cab I had forgotten that I had left my sunglasses on my lap. They were gone. Second pair lost this holiday. Given that they were only $5 it wasn’t the biggest problem.
I ran into the airport and tried to find the departure board. My flight wasn’t listed. That wasn’t a good sign. As I was flying with Gol I found their next flight and worked out where their check in desks were. I ran through the airport with people jumping out of the way, fearing for their lives. It was kind of funny but I needed to get a move on.
I arrived at the Gol area and pleaded with the girl who stands in front of the desks to greet people. She went off to talk to someone. Eventually she came back and said that I could check in despite it being officially closed. This wasn’t Ryanair at least.
I checked in and went through security. The guard seemed to want to fuck around with me, looking through my bags for no reason. I wanted to punch him in the face. I raced through to the departure lounge. There was no one at the gate on my boarding card. I checked the information boards. It said the flight had taken off. Arrrrrgh!
One of the passengers pointed me to another gate. I went there but the sign on the gate was for a different flight. I found a Gol employee and tried to ask in a mixture of English and Portuguese if the flight was still here or not, or what was happening. There wasn’t a clear answer. I was persistent. The first person started talking to other people. There was more talking. Nothing was clear. Eventually they pointed me to the gate that the other passenger had pointed me to before. There wasn’t much English spoken. I noticed from the boarding cards that the other people in the queue were holding that they were on the same flight. It hadn’t taken off! Everything was OK!
I flew to São Paulo, an airport that isn’t very nice. You have to guess where you are meant to go for your connecting flight. After going to a couple of wrong terminals I eventually found the right place. There was a Brazilian woman sitting next to me who tried to talk to me in Portuguese for part of the flight. That was interesting. We flew to Campo Grande (where?) and a few people left the plane before heading off to Bolivia.
Rio de Janeiro – São Paulo – Campo Grande, Brazil – Santa Cruz, Bolivia
I spent my last day in Rio just faffing around. I went for a walk on the beach to catch my last few rays before heading to the Andes again. So my flight was at 7.30 in the evening. I got a cab just before 5 – it takes about half an hour to get to the airport. Although perhaps I should have considered that it was rush hour. You forget about things like that, and days of the week, when you are travelling. Normality isn’t important.
Except when you have a plane to catch. I don’t know if rush hour traffic in Rio is normally really bad, or whether there was some crazy car crash or emergency road works, but we hardly went over ten miles an hour for a couple of hours. As we inched along the road I could see the airport agonisingly close on the right hand side as the road seemed to go past it and take the longest route possible. I was watching the time and making various justifications as the minutes ticked away. “Well if I get there with an hour to spare I’ll still be able to make it.” I couldn’t do much while I was still in the car so I resigned myself to my fate and tried not to get too anxious.
I arrived with less than thirty minutes before take off. As I dashed out of the cab I had forgotten that I had left my sunglasses on my lap. They were gone. Second pair lost this holiday. Given that they were only $5 it wasn’t the biggest problem.
I ran into the airport and tried to find the departure board. My flight wasn’t listed. That wasn’t a good sign. As I was flying with Gol I found their next flight and worked out where their check in desks were. I ran through the airport with people jumping out of the way, fearing for their lives. It was kind of funny but I needed to get a move on.
I arrived at the Gol area and pleaded with the girl who stands in front of the desks to greet people. She went off to talk to someone. Eventually she came back and said that I could check in despite it being officially closed. This wasn’t Ryanair at least.
I checked in and went through security. The guard seemed to want to fuck around with me, looking through my bags for no reason. I wanted to punch him in the face. I raced through to the departure lounge. There was no one at the gate on my boarding card. I checked the information boards. It said the flight had taken off. Arrrrrgh!
One of the passengers pointed me to another gate. I went there but the sign on the gate was for a different flight. I found a Gol employee and tried to ask in a mixture of English and Portuguese if the flight was still here or not, or what was happening. There wasn’t a clear answer. I was persistent. The first person started talking to other people. There was more talking. Nothing was clear. Eventually they pointed me to the gate that the other passenger had pointed me to before. There wasn’t much English spoken. I noticed from the boarding cards that the other people in the queue were holding that they were on the same flight. It hadn’t taken off! Everything was OK!
I flew to São Paulo, an airport that isn’t very nice. You have to guess where you are meant to go for your connecting flight. After going to a couple of wrong terminals I eventually found the right place. There was a Brazilian woman sitting next to me who tried to talk to me in Portuguese for part of the flight. That was interesting. We flew to Campo Grande (where?) and a few people left the plane before heading off to Bolivia.
Sail Away
Monday 12 April
Rio de Janiero
I had a good sleep last night, what with the lack from the night before and the lack of any disturbance in the dorm. A Kiwi guy called Philip (or should I say Phulup), a guy who I met in Florianopolis, was also in my dorm so I hung out with him during the day.
We both went for haircuts, going back to exactly the same place that I had my first South American haircut about a month and a half ago, when I was in Rio the last time. For 8 Reals (about £2.60) it’s not bad value. I did some research on Bolivia in the afternoon and then hung out again with random people in the hostel for a few drinks. The guys from Oxford were there again, Kiwi Phul and we talked to a Dutch guy who was typically tall.
There was a boat party advertised in the hostel that evening and I was toying with the idea of not going due to the journey to Bolivia the next day, but a combination of convincing both of myself and others meant that eventually Kiwi, Oxford, Dutch and I all ended up going.
Before that I had dinner with Phul and the Dutch guy at a nice Arabic restaurant. It became clear that the Dutch guy was relentlessly horny which is always entertaining. He spent most of the night on the boat hitting on a hot Norwegian girl. And the damning evidence from Facebook suggests that ultimately he hooked up in some shape or form with the girl in the Oxford group, which is also amusing.
So anyway we all went on the boat party that was a largish boat that basically pottered around Guanabara bay for about five hours. It departed from Marina del Gloria which was where we went to the Armin van Buuren rave on Mardi Gras (Pancake Day). We went all the way to a big bridge thing that crossed the bay and there was also an huge oil platform within the bay itself. Though we weren’t convinced it was for oil – Phul works in the industry and didn't think it was – it did seem out of place. We also went past one of the airports where there was a big Varig hangar, which is notable since Varig doesn’t exist any more, and that the Varig logo is very 1920s (blocky, art deco style type) as the town of Rio itself.
The party was pretty good although the generator for the music and lights cut out for about half an hour at the start of the trip which got everyone worried. Once it was consistently back on the party was in full swing. Phul covered himself in glow sticks. We all danced to the cheesy dance pop songs that are played the world over. You know the ones. They played the “Revalation” song and the “Brap-pa-pa” song. Towards the end we all kinda wanted to go to bed. Got back to bed at about 5 I think.
Rio de Janiero
I had a good sleep last night, what with the lack from the night before and the lack of any disturbance in the dorm. A Kiwi guy called Philip (or should I say Phulup), a guy who I met in Florianopolis, was also in my dorm so I hung out with him during the day.
We both went for haircuts, going back to exactly the same place that I had my first South American haircut about a month and a half ago, when I was in Rio the last time. For 8 Reals (about £2.60) it’s not bad value. I did some research on Bolivia in the afternoon and then hung out again with random people in the hostel for a few drinks. The guys from Oxford were there again, Kiwi Phul and we talked to a Dutch guy who was typically tall.
There was a boat party advertised in the hostel that evening and I was toying with the idea of not going due to the journey to Bolivia the next day, but a combination of convincing both of myself and others meant that eventually Kiwi, Oxford, Dutch and I all ended up going.
Before that I had dinner with Phul and the Dutch guy at a nice Arabic restaurant. It became clear that the Dutch guy was relentlessly horny which is always entertaining. He spent most of the night on the boat hitting on a hot Norwegian girl. And the damning evidence from Facebook suggests that ultimately he hooked up in some shape or form with the girl in the Oxford group, which is also amusing.
So anyway we all went on the boat party that was a largish boat that basically pottered around Guanabara bay for about five hours. It departed from Marina del Gloria which was where we went to the Armin van Buuren rave on Mardi Gras (Pancake Day). We went all the way to a big bridge thing that crossed the bay and there was also an huge oil platform within the bay itself. Though we weren’t convinced it was for oil – Phul works in the industry and didn't think it was – it did seem out of place. We also went past one of the airports where there was a big Varig hangar, which is notable since Varig doesn’t exist any more, and that the Varig logo is very 1920s (blocky, art deco style type) as the town of Rio itself.
The party was pretty good although the generator for the music and lights cut out for about half an hour at the start of the trip which got everyone worried. Once it was consistently back on the party was in full swing. Phul covered himself in glow sticks. We all danced to the cheesy dance pop songs that are played the world over. You know the ones. They played the “Revalation” song and the “Brap-pa-pa” song. Towards the end we all kinda wanted to go to bed. Got back to bed at about 5 I think.
Shaking Through
Sunday 11 April
Buenos Aires, Argentina – Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
I wake up at some devilish hour like 8 am and get dressed and leave. I say one last goodbye to the guys and head out. I get the taxi to the airport and it’s actually the smaller airport near the centre of the town and just off the Rio de la Plata. It smells of fish and sea water which is unusual for an airport.
I go to check in and they tell me that the reservation I made has been cancelled. Which is strange. When I check later they I discover that they sent me an email that my request has been received and that they will send a confirmation later. Of course they never sent me a confirmation so that’s why I didn’t notice. Importantly, they didn’t also send me an email saying the reservation had been cancelled and in addition, they took my payment details when I made the booking so the whole thing seemed to be set up to cause confusion. That’s what you get for booking with a Uruguayan airline I guess. But it all was sorted out in the end.
Once on the flight it was interesting to note that the planes were neither Boeing nor Airbus. They were in fact Bombadier. I don’t remember having flown one of the them before. I’ve flown a DC-10 and a jet-prop ages ago but never a Bombadier. What was interesting about them it that they had two jet engines on the tail, there were four seats across the cabin, and that they were very quiet and smooth. It felt like you were gliding unlike most Boeings. Maybe due to the engine position. But it was a nice flight.
Montevideo airport was very modern and swish and clean too. When I arrived in Rio the hostel I had booked was very nice as well. Just the right mix of clean and sociable. I hung out at the hostel for a bit having some drinks with the people there. There were three English kids from Oxford on a mini gap year who were good fun, and some random others. I went out that night for a few drinks at a bar a few blocks away with a few of the people from the hostel. It was a pleasingly international group and though I was tempted to go to a club I decided not to. Not surprising really as I’d spent the whole day hungover and tired from the lack of sleep and the travelling. So getting to bed was a relief.
Buenos Aires, Argentina – Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
I wake up at some devilish hour like 8 am and get dressed and leave. I say one last goodbye to the guys and head out. I get the taxi to the airport and it’s actually the smaller airport near the centre of the town and just off the Rio de la Plata. It smells of fish and sea water which is unusual for an airport.
I go to check in and they tell me that the reservation I made has been cancelled. Which is strange. When I check later they I discover that they sent me an email that my request has been received and that they will send a confirmation later. Of course they never sent me a confirmation so that’s why I didn’t notice. Importantly, they didn’t also send me an email saying the reservation had been cancelled and in addition, they took my payment details when I made the booking so the whole thing seemed to be set up to cause confusion. That’s what you get for booking with a Uruguayan airline I guess. But it all was sorted out in the end.
Once on the flight it was interesting to note that the planes were neither Boeing nor Airbus. They were in fact Bombadier. I don’t remember having flown one of the them before. I’ve flown a DC-10 and a jet-prop ages ago but never a Bombadier. What was interesting about them it that they had two jet engines on the tail, there were four seats across the cabin, and that they were very quiet and smooth. It felt like you were gliding unlike most Boeings. Maybe due to the engine position. But it was a nice flight.
Montevideo airport was very modern and swish and clean too. When I arrived in Rio the hostel I had booked was very nice as well. Just the right mix of clean and sociable. I hung out at the hostel for a bit having some drinks with the people there. There were three English kids from Oxford on a mini gap year who were good fun, and some random others. I went out that night for a few drinks at a bar a few blocks away with a few of the people from the hostel. It was a pleasingly international group and though I was tempted to go to a club I decided not to. Not surprising really as I’d spent the whole day hungover and tired from the lack of sleep and the travelling. So getting to bed was a relief.
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