The Waters of Lake Titicaca looked a deep, clear, blue colour. 60% belongs to Peru, but we drove down to Copocabana on the edge of Bolivia´s 40%. Across the lake 6000m peaks glowed with snow in the golden afternoon light. It is said that the sun was born here and the light and beauty made the fable believable.
We took a boat over to the Island of the Sun (Isla del Sol) with another traveller named Euan, where we intended to take a rowboat back to the mainland and walk the 17km back to Copocabana along the lake. Legend has it that the floors of Lake Titicaca near the Island of the Sun are littered with gold as the rulers used to ceremoniously cover themselves with gold before jumping into the lake in honour of the sun. High altitudes make diving dangerous though so any gold there, is left to inspire rumours. On the Isla del Sol we soon found we had things the wrong way around for transport - there were only motor boats whose owners wanted an extortionate amount of money to take us the short distance to the mainland where all the rowboats were lined up in neat rows. We were able to negotiate a slightly lower fee with one of the ferry operators to drop us off instead. The ferry didn´t leave until 3:30pm giving us only just enough time to do our walk before dark.
Our companion Euan, from the Isle of Wight, is in Peru doing a study on whether Fair Trade coffee actually has an effect on the local workers. As you know, fair trade products are usually a little more expensive with the idea the extra money gets filtered down to the farm labourers. So far, Euan had found that the farm owners gained some small benefits but the labourers had never heard of fair trade, even those working on the fair trade plantations. It was really interesting to talk to him. As we talked the scenery unfolding next to us was sublime. Small villages, fish farms and locals in their beautiful traditional clothing all superimposed themselves into our cameras. At one point some children ran up to us to ask us for money - instead we thoroughly interogated them on their schooling, favorite foods and life in general. As dark fell a storm blew up, lightening blazed on the horizon and a dirt bearing wind whipped up just as we made it back to our hotel. We were stoked with where we were staying. For around $12 we had a huge room, private bathroom, free tea and candies and fruit and a really helpful guy on the front desk who helped us with booking boat tickets, then later bus tickets on to La Paz.
Our bus to La Paz wasn´t too fancy, but the ride was interesting. At one point we were unloaded for a river crossing. Some extremely dodgy looking wooden barges transported vehicles across the 1km wide water. Our bus looked like it might take the barge down with it, but managed somehow to make it across. We were put on a small motor boat and met the bus up again on the other side. Shortly down the road we got a flat tire. Most bus drivers seem to be mechanics as well, we were soon on the road again. An hour or two on we came to the outskirts of La Paz. It was raining and the streets looked muddy and dismal. Suddenly we came to the edge of the valley where the city proper lay. The entire bowl was full of red square buildings haphazardly blanketing every spare surface. In the distance a snow capped mountain stood sentinal. We soon were descended into the madness. Our bus dropped us off outside a budget hotel which all of the tourists mutinously turned their backs on. We had our conversion rates all wrong and were shocked at how expensive everything seemed. We found out later we had been turning our back on nice, clean rooms being let for about $15 or slightly less. We ended up in an $8 dive, so decrepid it didn´t even have a name. It was dark and dingy and smelt funny. Located in the witches´ market, we had to pass old crones selling talismans, lucky charms and all sorts of odd and horrible things from cat skins to dried llama fetuses to get to our room. The putrid sweet smell of their stalls made me dry retch every time we walked by. We went out and explored the markets. One street sold floor tiles, another electric lights - an odd sight to see the entire street lit up with the wares. Euan joined us for dinner at a restaurant where we ate a set menu of soup, fried chicken and flambeed bananas. Exhausted we had an early night.
In the morning we got up and went shopping. Well, window shopping anyway. We found some great art galleries and I discovered you could buy leather handbags for less than $10 - there was no question, of course I bought one. We also bought some wooden dolls hand carved and painted to represent a certain Bolivian Indian tribe. We went and checked out the gold muesem which housed old Inca treasures. We were surprised to find the treasures were of very thin leafed gold and the patterns were quite plain. We booked onto a mountain biking trip for the world´s most dangerous road, the next day and also a plane trip down to the Amazonian jungle and wetlands near Rurranbaque.
Our bike trip left at 7:45am. We were given protective equipment by a mad Englishman who was the lead guide for Downhill Madness, our company of choice. We piled into a van and were driven an hour or so out of La Paz to the top of the World´s Most Dangerous Highway. It is so called because it is a narrow dirt track that winds down from over 4000m with a cliff on one side and a precipice on the other. Buses and trucks regularly plunge their passengers to their deaths. The last incident had been a few weeks before we rode down where a bus with 40 passengers dropped down to the valley below, killing everyone. A new road is due to open in January which will leave the old road to the tourist groups and their bicycles. The first part of the bike ride was on tarmac and everyone set off at a breakneck speed. The general rule seemed to be to touch the brakes as little as possible. Of course this is opposite to my bike riding philosophy so I took the rear position for the day. After an hour of riding we came to the windy dirt road. The drop was on the left and we had to ride on the left, pulling off if another vehicle was coming up. Lollipop people employed by the truck drivers (we were shocked the tour companies don´t contribute to their wages), gave us red or green signs which helped a lot. Marty was in his element, riding at the front and taking great joy in the speeds reachable, skipping over the rocks and spending time in the air. I stayed at the back. It was a relief to get to the bottom of the road about 2-3 hours later, with no falls or injuries. After a cold drink our van took us up to a hotel to shower and have lunch. Marty made good use of a swimming pool up there too. We both felt like we had earned our free t-shirts. Driving back up the road in the van to get back to La Paz was almost scarier than riding a bike down, fortunately there were no accidents on this day.
The next day dawned cool and cloudy. We packed our bags and went up to the airport where we discovered a Burger King outlet. To our shame we didn´t even hesitate, we both ordered burgers and fries as soon as we were checked in to our flight to Rurranbaque. Rurranbaque is a small village brought to the backpacker´s eye by a resident Israeli who sent out reports of having found paradise there. It sits on the banks of the Beni River which later turns into the Amazon. Multiple tour groups arrange backpacker trips into the Amazonian jungle or pampas (wetlands). Marty and I chose the pampas as it seemed to have more wildlife to see. We went with an agency recommended in La Paz that seemed to have the best accomodation options. After talking with them we were happy to find we would have a room to ourselves and no other tour groups would use the lodge so it would be quiet and peaceful. After making our booking we spent the afternoon and evening talking to another English traveller who was on holiday from his guiding job in Europe. Our hotel was next to a kareoke bar and once that closed other guests made lots of noise so we had little sleep.
The morning dawned bright and clear. We had a bit of a wait for our ride but eventually the 4X4 showed up at the office. The fact it already had other tourists in it despite our agents plea there would be no other groups than his outfit there seemed a little suspicous, but our companions were wonderful. We met a couple from Lithuania who spoke about 4-5 languages each, and a Spanish lad named Antonio who had a lot of personality. We bumped our way over gravel roads for about 3 hours before arriving at a place for lunch that had a lot of exotic pets for us to play with. We played with a strange animal that is related to a pig and I petted a baby deer. A parrot followed the deer around, they were clearly good friends. We had a lot of fun playing with the animals and taking photos of them.
15 minutes down the road we reached the point where we transferred to boats. The boats were long, wooden canoes made from single trees, then boarded up, with an outboard motor attached. Our guide/boatman was also called Martin and had a birthday on almost the same day as Marty. While we waited to leave, we saw two pink dolphins break the surface of the disturbingly black water. At the boat transfer point everything was a little mad as all groups going out that day were dropped off by vehicles and baggage and food was transferred to boats. Mosquitos had a field day with all the new blood around. We didn´t mind the madness thinking we would soon be going in a different direction to everyone else. Once moving on the water the mosquitoes couldn´t keep up. We saw a lot of alligators skulking under bushes in the water and some more dolphins. Another boat full of young screaming Israeli girls kept most wildlife away however. At one point we found a bush full of little monkeys. Martin stopped the boat and fed them bananas - they went completely mad! It made good photography though went slightly against the environmental grain. Feeding wild animals teaches them to depend on humans for food and also to aggressively expect it from other humans when it may not be appropriate. We also saw a Jabiru bird feeding a nest full of babies high in a tree.
After another couple of hours, Martin brought the boat to a stop next to a couple of shacks. Marty and I were not amused in the least to discover this was where we would be staying. It was NOTHING like the lodge shown us by the agent back in Rurranbaque. We were even less impressed when two more boatloads of noisy Israelis pulled in, to add to the 3 or more boats already there. Not only did we not have a room to ourselves, we were in an open air dormitory with about 30 other people if not more, and 20000000000 mosquitos. One slightly positive thing was there were monkeys playing in the trees right by us and a pet aligator sat out in a swamp out the back. It was soon obvious Martin had no idea we had arranged to stay somewhere else so we just had to go with the flow. After a late afternoon tea where they chased us off from the table before we were finished for the next group, we got back in our boat and went down to another place called the Sunset Bar where a selection of soft drinks and beers were on sale. After watching a spectacular sunset over the wetlands we went back for dinner. Though simple, the food wasn't too bad. Several ladies worked really hard in a rather small kitchen the entire time we were there. While eating, Martin came in and said he had caught an aligator for us. We had asked him not to as we didn´t want to interfere with the wildlife, merely view it, but since he had anyway, we went out to look. Marty held it. The skin was soft, not hard and scaly as it looks and it felt warm. Martin lay it on the ground and stroked it on the stomach to put it to sleep. It was amazing, after being roped and handled by people, lying on it's back with a few pets on the stomach and the aligator fell into the deepest sleep. Martin took the rope off it's snout and clapped loudly. After a couple of sudden loud noises it suddenly awoke, wriggled onto it's stomach and ran down into the water where it swam away.
After finishing our food we went for a night boat ride. Shining our torches across the water we could see aligator eyes glow red back at us. We were happy that Martin didn't manage to catch any others though it wasn't for trying.
The night was torture. Young girls yelled across the dormitory to each other well past midnight. Outside a group of guys smoked grass and giggled. Mosquitoes found their way into our net and feasted on my legs. Usually we would have a bit more tolerance, but we were bone tired and annoyed that we were in a situation we hadn´t agreed on being in. I was thinking about asking them to take us out the next day, but we did want to see the area.
The pampas were vaguely reminiscent of Kakadu in the wet season with floating lilies and trees reflected in the water that covered everything. There the resemblance ended. The waters were black and harboured piranhas, aligators (rather than crocodiles) and anacondas. After breakfast the next morning, we were all taken to an open grassland area where, with the protection of rubber boots we waded through ankle deep water looking for the infamous snakes. On the way we passed the place we were meant to be staying at - it was shut up. Eventually we came to a channel waist deep with murky water. Knowing this was where the giant snakes lived made walking across feel a little insecure, but walk across we did. On the other side a shout went up. A cobra anaconda had been found (I don't know if this name is correct but it was the one assigned to it), and it had slithered into a hole beneath a tree. All the guides went running and soon had a small fire going in the roots of the tree to smoke the poor creature out, while others stabbed into the ground with machetes. At last the snake was driven out enough to give one guide a purchase on it's tail. Once out it tried to strike at it's molesters. It even struck itself several times. Once it had settled down, people took turns draping it around their necks for photos. It had a cut near it's tail from one of the machetes. After a while another shout went up that an anaconda had been found. This time the guides nochalantly wandered over in the general direction. Later we read in an information office in Rurranbaque that they often have a snake bagged and pull it out at an appropriate moment. The first snake was wild, but the second definitely seemed staged (though at the time I called Marty a cynic for spotting it). As everyone left to see the second snake, the first one was released, it stayed still - in shock - for a moment before squirming down the hole beneath the tree. The second snake was huge - yellow and black, it's skin shone. The guides kept it to take back to camp for some reason.
After lunch we played cards for siesta time then got back in the boats for a swim with the Amazonian pink dolphins. The water was so black and so obviously full of nasty things I wasn't tempted in. Marty was more brave. The pink dolphins have a reputation for occasionally attacking and biting a swimmer, but they also attack aligators so the philosophy is that anywhere pink dolphins are, aligators aren't. A dolphin surfaced near the boat so Marty, Antonio and Geirdre jumped in. Geidre climbed back in the boat and Martin motored it around some nearby trees to see one of his friends in another boat leaving Marty and Antonio alone in the swimming hole. Marty said it felt quite strange, knowing that these dolphins are around but not being able to see more than a few inches through the water, and not having the security of a boat to leap back into. Fortunately Martin didn't leave it too long and we had the men safe and sound back in the boat.
From there we went back and changed at the camp, then went straight back in the boat to go out to a house/shop with a football field out the back. Once again it was a spectacular sunset. The guys from our boat and one or two others, played football while Geidre and I chatted. It felt nice to be somewhere a little more peaceful. We went back for dinner then Martin took us around to another shop/house place. This one was on poles above a swamp, with a boardwalk/bridge to another building on poles more hidden in some trees. As the boat pulled up to the steps, an aligtors eyes glowed red at us. It had been lounging on the bottom step and we almost ran it over. At the very last moment it plunged off into the water. Martin hadn't seen it or heard us calling. We bought a cold drink and sat upstairs playing yahtzee. At least 4 pairs of aligator eyes glowed in the swamp below. We were the only people there and very much enjoyed the experience. Later, back in the camp things were a lot quieter this night. We were relieved.
November 27 dawned bright and warm. We were given a more relaxed start to the morning. After a while we went out for some more pink dolphin spotting. Far down in the wetlands we found a pool with about 4-5 dolphins. Surprisingly they reacted the most when they heard the motor in the water, jumping from the water and coming close. When we sat there quietly, they also remained quiet. On our way back to camp we stopped and dropped lines over the side to see if we could catch a piranha. Apparently they go down deep in the wet season and with the water running black it is almost impossible to catch them. We certainly didn't have any luck.
The ride out was a lot quicker than our ride in. We motored fast across the water, a relief to me as it gave respite from the ever ferocious mosquitoes. This time we saw a lot of turtles sunning on logs. They would tip themselves off into the water as we went by. We were loaded straight into a 4X4 at the transfer point. About half an hour down the road one of the wheels fell off. The driver lost control but luckily we came to a stop just off the side of the road. The driver's usual mechanic skills came in useful and he soon had it fixed up and we were on our way again. We stopped briefly at a small pool where a lot of other tourists had dropped in lines to catch piranhas. We had a small try but there weren't even any bites. The drive back to Rurranbaque was long, hot and dusty. Once there the random tour agency we had ended up with gave us a cold cup of coca cola that went down really well. We then walked all over town looking for a decent, clean place to stay with quiet house guests. We finally found one to our liking and moved in. We went to confirm our flights for the next day and discovered the airline was having problems. After visiting them a couple more times we discovered we were leaving 2 hours later - it could have been a lot worse! We had dinner with the Lithuanian couple then went back to the glorious peace of our own room.
The flight out was uneventful, landing us safely in La Paz around lunchtime. We hoped to take a bus straight to Potosi in order to do a mine tour the next day. The closest bus didn't leave until 6pm and had us there at 4am. We booked on in the hope some cafe or something would be open that early for us to sit in and stay warm. We then had a couple of hours to do any last minute sightseeing or shopping in La Paz. Coming back up to high altitude hit me hard this time, so Marty left me in a cafe while he went looking for fossils or a nice alpaca sweater. He had some luck with fossils and bought a nice example. The sweater on the other hand was more difficult. The tourist market was for cheap and shoddy, we couldn't find anything quite right. Finally we went back to the bus station. Someone was selling blowup pillows so we bought one each for the overnight ride. We slept intermittently, waking up at each stop the bus made. We were dropped at 4am in Potosi and took a taxi into the central Plaza de Armas. The golden lights made the renovated buildings glow romantically. The chilly morning air encouraged us to walk around. Eventually as the sun finally rose we piled our bags at the door of the tour agency we wanted to do the mine tour with.
The Potosi mines are run as a co-op. The men get together in groups and work for their own profit, digging various minerals such as silver, copper, zinc, tin etc. They process it and send concentrated ore off to other countries. The miners make about 10 times more than the average Bolivian wage but in return live a shortened life span due to breathing bad asbestos and dust laden air in the mine shafts and tunnels. Often children are put to work in the mines as well. Though illegal, no one enforces the law. Children beginning work as runners at the age of 10 or 11 can expect to live until around 30. Adults beginning work around 18 years of age can expect to live until 40. In the processing plant the men can expect to live until around 50 which is the average expectancy for a Bolivian person anyway. Ironically health and old age benefits awarded by government don't kick in until the age of 65. Most Bolivians don't even see that year. Anyway, we decided to go with an agency that gives 15% of profit to the miners. Last year that amount was awarded as food - something like 250kgs of rice 100 litres of cooking oil and some other basics. For our money, we were given protective clothing and rubber boots and a miners torch. We had to buy our own breathing masks though most of the miners don't wear protective breathing aparatus at all. We had bought some extra masks to give some of them but Marty ended up saying to them "por su hijos" or "for your children" as the macho thing is not to use safety gear. We joined a bus load of people and were split into groups of about 8 for the tour. The first stop was to the miners market where you can buy dynamite, coca leaves and soft drinks for the men as well as various safety equipments. After stocking up on gifts we went to the processing plant where they use flotation methods to concentrate their ore. Finally we headed up to the Potosi mines. We stepped into the tunnels and into another world. The first place we were taken was an underground muesem where the ceiling was laced with asbestos fibres. I was glad we were wearing masks! Notes on the wall talked about the history of Potosi and figures showed examples of miners and one figure showed a 'Tio' (spanish for 'uncle'). The miners are all Catholic by religion, however, they believe that as heaven is in the sky and we are able to worship God in the wide open, down below earth belongs to the Devil and hell. They sacrifice coca leaves and cigerettes to images of devils or the tios, in the hope that they will look after them and not wreak mischief. They also drink 96% proof alcohol for an hour every Friday. They drink as close to pure alcohol as they can in order that the tios will give them back pure seams of metal. They think if they drink mixed alcohol the tios will give them mixed metals which aren´t worth so much.
Next we walked down a tunnel with train tracks running down the centre. The roof was propped up with wooden boards bent beneath the weight of the earth and rocks above. Occasionally we had to stand aside as a cart used to transport earth was pushed past. Down lower, filled with earth, these carts can move with incredible speed - enough to kill a man if you don't get out of the way quickly enough. We stopped at an intersection to let a cart by and I realised I was out of breath. Clouds of dust hung in the air and still at high altitude, I couldn't recover my breath. The guide joked we still had 25m lower to go. The idea of breathing becoming harder and not being able to get to the surface quickly suddenly scared me and I asked to go back out to the surface. As I walked back out with a group of school children and I examined the roof, I realised this was exactly like the old mine tunnels in NZ that my father had always told me to stay out of as they are so dangerous. The miners had had some experts come in to evaluate the mines and had been told that they had 7 years of mining life left. That 7 years came and went, on reevaluation they said maybe another 7 years before the entire mine collapsed. That had been 4 years earlier than now. Still they blow up more earth and dig more tunnels every day. I was pleased to see the sky but worried for Marty who was still down there. While I played hangman with a couple of the school children, Marty was crawling on hands and knees through narrow tunnels, climbing down holes where the ladder doesn't even start until 6 feet below the hole entrance, dropping down chutes and dodging racing carts full of earth. When he came back out safely I was so relieved. To celebrate we blew up a stick of dynamite. One of the miners showed Marty how to set a fuse into the dynamite then they planted it a safe distance away where we could watch the cloud of dust it sent up.
Back in town we handed back our protective clothing and booked tickets to Uyuni on a bus for that evening. We had an afternoon to look around so enjoyed coffee and cake, used the internet, bought a small cloth coloured by insects, coca leaves and some sort of root, then ate pizza before boarding our dodgy chicken bus. Sure enough, an hour down the road the driver was out fixing a flat tire again. They drive until bald tires explode, using every little piece of life available. Our Lithuanian friends from the pampas compared Bolivia to communist times where the mentality is to fix things not replace them. Our bus limped into Uyuni at 1am and exhausted we allowed a tout to take us to a hotel where Marty could get a hot water shower. The bed was incredibly comfortable and we slept like the dead.
In the morning Marty was a true angel of mercy, or maybe he was just looking at the long term picture of how miserable it would be for him having me tired and cranky, either way, he let me sleep in while he got up and arranged a tour of the altiplanos for us to join. He came back with a few options to discuss. We went with a company that had been recommended to us and had about 2 hours to pack our bags, breakfast and get our exit visas stamped before we would leave. After a low pressure, but thankfully hot water shower (thanks to an electrical cable attached to the shower head), we went down and got our exit stamps in our passports. The customs official was friendly but it was a little shocking to have him seated beneath a rather explicit girly calendar.
Our driver was named Pio, (Joe) and was pretty quiet, only occasionaly speaking to point out a sight in Spanish. Our other travel companions consisted of two Swiss gentelmen, and English girl and another Aussie. We were pleased the agency had grouped people according to their language. It was fun to be in a group of English speakers and not have to worry about communication issues.
A few minutes out of Uyuni we drove onto the salt plains. All that can be seen in any direction is a blaze of white beneath a clear blue sky. It looks like ice, and the crisp air adds to that illusion, but it is a thick crust of salt. 8 meters down there is water and in some places the salt thins out and water bubbles to the top. Unwary tourists taking their own cars out have been known to disappear as there are no roads. One of the great mysteries of the altiplano tours is how the drivers know where to go with no road signs or even other wheel tracks some of the time. We stopped at a small salt processing town on the edge of the salt lake where dice and small crude sculptures of salt were for sale. We then drove on to where a man with his bicycle was digging salt into piles for a truck to come and pick up. He made it clear he didn´t want us to take photographs of him and it felt a little awkward to be stopped there as he was alone in his work. Finaly we left and drove on to a hotel made of salt. Salt had been cut into big slabs and blocks and the entire place from the walls to the furniture where constructed with the odd building material. We made the mistake of buying a cervecina - a dark sickly and undrinkable beer. Marty left his sitting on a salt table. For better or worse I gave mine to our driver who was happy to chug it down. He told me it was a tonic and I had to agree it certainly tasted like a bad sort of medicine.
Our next stop was at Fish Island, a fish shaped, rocky outcrop, covered in large cacti. Some of the cacti were up to 1000 years old. Theory has it that thousands of years ago, there was a high altitude ocean where the salt lake now resides. The island has a walk that takes you past fossilised coral and gives spectacular views of the plains. We had a hot lunch of potatoes and some unnamable cassarole then went out onto the salt to have fun taking photos.
One of the observations we had made while booking onto different tours were that a lot of agencies had photos of previous tours, usually with one or two of naked people - invariably Israeli. While everyone was clowning around with silly photography, we had to laugh to see a group of young and very nice Israeli gentlemen soon had their gears off. An old Bolivian man on a bicycle rode up from out of nowhere to tell them off.
There was a lot of pressure to get back in the vehicle and soon we were racing off across the salt again. In places it was dry and cracked, in others it was smooth and wind blown. The texture to touch was hard and rough, but from the truck windows it looked smooth and sleek. We were taken to a lodge on the edge of the plains with huge windows looking out over the salt. As the sun went down the salt and some rocky mountains in the distance caught on fire. Remote and wild, the salt plains quickly fell into darkness.
We woke refreshed after a night of card playing and joviality. We breakfasted on dry bread rolls and jam then hustled back into the truck and raced off into the post dawn light. Today we left the salt flats behind and headed into the mountains. Our first stop was by a volcano that sat on the Bolivia/Chile border. Lava flows had solidified creating waves and arches, wierd and wonderful shapes and contusions that had everyone going wild with their camers again. I surfed on a rock that looked like a breaking wave and Marty sunbathed on top of an arch. We hustled back on to the truck and raced off through valleys and over small passes. For hours we sat bouncing and jostling over dirt trails or sometimes no trail, below colourful mountains and volcanos, in to a Dhali painting. Coming over a rise, spread before us was a lagoon with salt crusts and flamingos of pink and white reflected in the shallow water. Behind ochre red and yellow mountains cast their shadows or caught rays of sunlight. It was a superb moment and I had to sit alone to soak in the other worldliness, the beauty and the surrealness of the landscape. It created emotions that ached to be expressed but I wouldn´t know how.
But the tour had to go on and we were called back to the truck to go on to another bigger lagoon around the corner. In this place tragedy had struck. Somehow an acid had got into the water killing off a large percentage of flamingos. That year no babies had hatched which didn´t spell good things for the flamingos future. I watched a pink flamingo come in to land, it looked like an elegant lady in high heels, it´s wings resembling a scarf to throw around her shoulders.
We had tuna salad for lunch, then continued on. We drove up into a valley that continued on forever. There wasn´t really a road and no other vehicles were in sight. Ocassionaly wild vicuana ran off from our noisy motor. On our left a mountain with streaks of yellow, red and various shades in between came into sight. It was named La Montana de Siete Colores or The Mountain of the Seven Colours. Rich in minerals it too stands on the border of Chile and Bolivia. We rushed on and on to the stone tree. In this part of the sweeping, sandy valley, winds get up to high velocities carving out huge lumps of stone and rock. One of these closely resembled a gnarled and windblown tree. Another resembled a mushroom and others just made fantastical shapes and arches. Another fun photo stop.
From here we dropped down into the National Park. A few minutes on we reached our accomodation for the night. Like the night before it was dormitory accomodation but here the beds were concrete or stone pedastals with mattresses layed on top, cardboard in between for insulation but very warm blankets on top to thwart the chill of the altiplano nights. There wasn´t a lot of space between the beds and no privacy for anyone. Marty and I went and walked down to a large lagoon with salt cubes and growths along the shore. Two little girls were playing and one was losing her skirt and getting a little upset about it. I tried to help her sort it out but was a dismal failure so told her she had better go and ask her mother. She was so cute, her friend tried to help her too but it was a lost cause.
Dinner was an interesting experience. Despite room for everyone they had set a table with twice as many people as could comfortably sit there. The swiss guys were a little uncomfortable with no elbow room and sat down at another table. Spaghetti was on the menu and there was barely enough. We had to ask for more sauce and the lady organising the meal wasn´t impressed. She looked around suspicously at the people who had sauce already for taking too much then grudgingly supplied a little more for the 5 remaining people. Any request was met with saucepans flying around the kitchen, children and husband ferociously scolded, then whatever caused the disturbance slammed down on the table in front of the impertinent person who dared to ask for more. We were glad when the meal was over. Back in our dormitory one of the girls went missing for a while, eventually she came back in groaning in agony. She had a severe case of food poisoning and had fainted in the rather rank bathroom a couple of times. She lay in bed groaning for an hour or two before it subsided with the help of some immodium. At around midnight one of the Swiss guys suddenly went tearing out and we heard him vomiting down the corridor. Marty had a bad cold setting in as did the other girl. Of the 6 of us only 2 were left in good health and none of us had much sleep as we were woken for an early morning start at 3:30am.
The stars were still in full brilliance above us as we packed ourselves into the truck. The pre-dawn was freezing and we were all groggy. As the first light appeared, our driver stopped at the first of 3 hot springs. In the cold air, the water only felt luke-warm to me. Noone in our group were tempted in for a swim though other car loads were piling in. We drove on to a geyser field. The early morning light and cold air made the sulphurous steam seem denser. Mud boiled and spat in crators in the ground. There were no barriers or even paths to keep to and the earth felt warm beneath our questing fingers. The cold wind was too much for me and I waited in our car while the others took magical photographs. The terrain we drove through looked like the pictures you can see on the internet of Mars. Completely devoid of life, the earth was a reddish colour. We passed more hot springs but continued on still untempted by the tepid waters. We drove up to the final lagoon before meeting a bus that would take us over the border to Chile. This lagoon was similar to the first one, the still waters reflecting the flamingos and mountains alike. The wildness of it was so heartbreakingly beautiful... something that breakfast wasn´t. After the night before, we were feeling a little raw. The kitchen that gave us breakfast was run in a similar vein as the kitchen that gave us dinner the night before. Dry bread rolls came out for breakfast and we had to request jam, which inspired a whole new burst of rattling saucepans and a stream of outcry from the lady of the kitchen. She sent out a container with little in the bottom of it. Another group seated themselves at the other end of the table and had enough, but when the other tables started to fill it was soon clear it just wasn´t going to go around. One lucky young man managed to extract some cheese but no one knows how he managed it. No more jam was forthcoming, and it was on that note that we bid farewell to Bolivia.
Our truck took us to a small border outpost where we boarded a bus for Chile.
Photos: www.katmarty.smugmug.com
