With my illness conquered, the last week has been one of rest and recuperation. Great for me, but not for the content of my blog.
Monday began with the usual breakfast of yoghurt, granola and bananas, fruit juice, omelette and American pancakes in syrup. This was followed up by some internet activity and the film The Holiday. It was a bit soft but it´s what I needed at that particular moment. Trent and his wife Charlie then invited me to join them and some friends for a pork lunch which was excellent and filled my stomach with joy. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting with Trent and chums while they drank beer and vodka. I was still on the antibiotics so I had to manage with lollies and fruit juice.
By nightfall I´d been joined by a couple from Sweden and we ventured out for dinner before I rounded the day off with Wedding Crashers.
The next day followed a similar pattern, this time enjoying Lucky Number Slevin in the afternoon and dining out in the evening with a couple of Kiwi fellas and another from Michigan. Not much else happened so I´ll save characters and time and end it there.
Wednesday came and with it, my final day in Samaipata. After three weeks there, this day was long overdue. My cinematic cravings were satisfied by Habana Blues and after a lenghty afternoon nap, I made my way to La Oveja Negra to enjoy some pasta and have some farewell beers with Ben who took me on my Che tour and generally treated me well during my lenghty stay.
Yesterday, after one final epic breakfast and a fond farewell to my adopted parents, Trent and Charlie, I hopped in a taxi with several Bolivians and made the two and a half hour journey back here to Santa Cruz. This place is baking and the humidity is high, so as soon as I could, I found a cafe and sunk a jug of fresh pineapple juice.
Back at the hostel I had a well earned dip in the pool before annihilating the BBQ that they laid on for the guests. Last night was my first night back in a dorm after three weeks of solitary confinement and although some of the other nine occupants weren´t the quietest, I did enjoy a fairly decent sleep.
Today I posted some mail and will upload some pictures from the last month. Tomorrow, I escape this tropical cocoon and escape to Ginger´s Paradise somewhere in the jungle to volunteer for a while. There I hope to learn about organic farming, how to milk a cow and how to make my own beer. Hopefully I´ll be there a good week or so, so luckily you may not hear from me for a while...
Friday 29 January 2010
Sunday 24 January 2010
Fighting fit
What better way to mark the half way point of my trip, than with my first bout of illness in South America. Reduced to a physical and mental ground-zero, the food poisoning that levelled me for two weeks, if nothing else, served as slightly unwelcomed reminder as to how lucky I have been until now; able to enjoy and embrace anything that´s come my way. Right now, I´m just looking forward to a beer again.
That luck was still intact three weeks ago when I enjoyed a strange night of luxury in the room Che stayed in some half a century ago. A little like Most Haunted but without the moving tables and floating orbs, I had a very enjoyable night but the laundry tab gave me a good cold slap of reality as it came to more than my actual bill for the room. Still, it was a one off so I took it like a man. In the morning I entertained myself with some FA Cup football. Shamefully United got knocked out by Leeds and I tried to soothe the pain with a deep, bubbly bath.
Eventually it was time to head off and catch my seventeen hour bus trip to Santa Cruz in the east. As is the norm on overnight buses, the temperature tends to plummet after midnight so after my mountain hike of the week before, I was armed with scarves, woolie hat, gloves, fleece and jumper. No surprise, it was the hottest bus journey of my life. Not once did the temperature even threaten to sink below ´warm´, so there I sat with my pile of winter woolies, dumbfounded and generally a few degrees hotter than I´d have liked. Hot or cold, the Bolivians remain oblivious to the climate and most of them did little to put me at ease, sitting comfortably in their thick llama wool blankets from start to finish.
A slightly sweaty wreck, I made it to Santa Cruz where I had a stroll while I waited for my room to be prepared. The city itself is very different from the other cities I´ve seen in Bolivia as there´s far less poverty, indigenous people and far more greenery.
In the evening I treated myself to what the Lonely Planet described as ´possibly the world´s cheapest and best Japanese restaurant´. Obviously it fell way short of the hype but it was still pretty good and I´d recommend ´Ken´ to anyone whose passing through.
The following morning I made my way to Samaipata Taxi HQ and awaited departure. In order to leave for Samaipata, some two and a half hours away, we needed two extra bodies to fill the car. This unfortunately meant waiting two hours but it did mean I could fit in a fried chicken dinner while we were waiting. Eventually my travel companions surfaced and we were away. The car was an import from Japan and this was made plainly clear by the fact I was facing the dashboard, with speedo and fuel guage, while the steering wheel had been ripped out and mashed into the passengers side along with the pedals. It all appeared to work though so I had little complaints and if I used my imagination, I could occasionally pretend I was driving. What a thrill.
We arrived in Samaipata on schedule later in the afternoon and I checked in at the holiday home belonging to my tour guide for the next few days, Ben Verhoef. A very spacious little joint, more suitable for a family but sufficient for me, with it´s own patio, garden and views out across the valley. The village itself is also beautiful, perched high in the mountains with a spring climate nearly all year round, it was a welcome change from the humid and claustraphobic Santa Cruz. In the evening I ate with Ben and his wife Suzanne beside the village plaza and got an early night ahead of my Che trip that lay ahead.
We arose early and jumped in Ben´s 4x4 before heading south in the direction of our first stop, the town of Vallegrande. After stopping en route for some mammoth watermelons, we made it and our first port of call was the town´s museum which housed a Che Guevara exhibition. On display were photographs of his capture and subsequent display to the public, accounts of soldiers who fought against him, lists of the men who were killed in the Bolivian war and paintings in tribute to him. Next, we along with a local guide made a short trip to a memorial site where a group of guerillas who were ambushed and killed before Che, were secretly buried and eventually unearthed some years later. All their remains are now in their countries of birth but the site is a permanent memorial to them, most notably Tamara ´Tania´ Bunke, the only woman to have been killed in the war.
Next it was to the site where Che´s remains were buried until 1997. Until this point nobody knew of their whereabouts and upon their discovery, were shipped to Cuba where they remain until this day. The memorial was quite impressive for Bolivian tourist standards but then it was paid for by the Cubans so that probably explains everything.
By now we were ready for some food and Ben didn´t let me down, sharing an enormous sweet and sour chicken dish while also swiftly necking a litre of the local beer in minimal time.
With our energy levels boosted, it was to the local hospital and the laundry room where Che´s cold body was laid out for all the world´s media to see. Having seen many pictures of this site, it was particularly eerie especially as so little has changed since he lay there all those years ago.
After a walk around the town´s market, we got back in the jeep and headed deeper into rural Bolivia.
Our next stop was in Pucara, a small village with pigs and dogs aplenty. We got some excellent views from the playground and I had some fun coming down the big slide.
Finally, by late afternoon, we´d arrived in La Higuera, the village where Che met his end. Our night was spent in the cosy Casa del Telegrafista, the old telegraph house which features in Che´s Bolivian Diaries and was where he and his guerrillas discovered that the locals had been talking and doom was therefore impending.
On the Thursday morning, we were up bright and early, armed to the teeth with a healthy pack lunch and a few bottles of water. Our seven our treck was both gruelling yet fascinating. We started by making our way to the site where Che was captured, deep in the forest at the bottom of a ravine. We also saw a house where a dwarf lady lived who allegedly tipped off the army as to Che´s whereabouts and we also got great views of the mountainside where the wounded Che would have been dragged up, having been captured. Next it was an hour and a half hike down a river to the rocky cave where Che spent his last night in freedom. This was especially interesting as within a few years, this will probably collapse and little evidence of it will remain. Here we sat and had lunch with plenty of contemplation.
Then it was back upstream and at last back to La Higuera. Here we visited the old schoolhouse which is now a pretty poor museum and the site where Che was eventually executed, a day after his capture. Also in the village are three statues in his name. One was fairly amusing as it fell over not long after being erected, so now he has a thumb and finger missing. Poor chap.
In the evening I met a lovely Belgian couple travelling on motorbike and soon a whole party had assembled and we were enjoying beers around a camp fire.
The following morning, I visited a shop owned by a lady called Irma, who was the maid who served Che his last meal. It was peanut soup, empanada and a coffee. Bit of a waste as he was dead about an hour later. In order to be polite, I said I´d buy something but all she had was a garish A1 print of Che which was nailed to the wall. With a little help from a screwdriver and pliers, it was soon mine.
To conclude our tour of the area, Ben took me down to see some mysterious human remains that lie beneath a huge rock. Nobody knows how old they are or who they belong to but the local farmer doesn´t seem to care and appreciates the income it brings.
Soon we were back in Samaipata and the following day, I bumped into the Belgians from La Higuera. On Saturday afternoon, I hired a motorbike and we set off to the local pre-Inca remains at El Fuerte. The site wasn´t all that spectacular but it was interesting and the bike ride alone made me happy enough. In the evening we ate at Ben´s Black Sheep restaurant.
On Sunday, again I hired a bike and me Tom and Sophie made the twenty kilometre trip to Las Cuevas waterfalls. We had a nice little picnic before refreshing ourselves under the water. In the evening we enjoyed a farewell meal at a swanky eatery.
Monday came and so did my illness. I had intended to move on on this day but that wasn´t going to happen. For the whole week, each day followed the same pattern; no sleep; no energy; no appetite; temperature; diarrhea. I moved hostels, visited the local doctor but nothing was changing. Some eight days later, I eventually made the decision to make the trip back to Santa Cruz and pay one of Bolivia´s finest clinics a visit. Here I stayed for three nights, enjoying ESPN, multiple movies but not the hospital cuisine. Slowly I was going mad but eventually my time came and I was ready to leave. Having left on Friday, I´m now back in Samaipata, recovering and trying to stuff as much food in my stomach as possible so it functions properly once more. I´m staying at the excellent La Posada del Sol which is run a by a tremendous Texan named Trent. Here I´ve been eating huge breakfasts and gorging on the vast selection of pirate DVDs they have on offer. Hopefully in a couple of days, I´ll be back to my best and ready to take on a pint again.
As for pictures, they´ll arrive when I´m back in Santa Cruz.
That luck was still intact three weeks ago when I enjoyed a strange night of luxury in the room Che stayed in some half a century ago. A little like Most Haunted but without the moving tables and floating orbs, I had a very enjoyable night but the laundry tab gave me a good cold slap of reality as it came to more than my actual bill for the room. Still, it was a one off so I took it like a man. In the morning I entertained myself with some FA Cup football. Shamefully United got knocked out by Leeds and I tried to soothe the pain with a deep, bubbly bath.
Eventually it was time to head off and catch my seventeen hour bus trip to Santa Cruz in the east. As is the norm on overnight buses, the temperature tends to plummet after midnight so after my mountain hike of the week before, I was armed with scarves, woolie hat, gloves, fleece and jumper. No surprise, it was the hottest bus journey of my life. Not once did the temperature even threaten to sink below ´warm´, so there I sat with my pile of winter woolies, dumbfounded and generally a few degrees hotter than I´d have liked. Hot or cold, the Bolivians remain oblivious to the climate and most of them did little to put me at ease, sitting comfortably in their thick llama wool blankets from start to finish.
A slightly sweaty wreck, I made it to Santa Cruz where I had a stroll while I waited for my room to be prepared. The city itself is very different from the other cities I´ve seen in Bolivia as there´s far less poverty, indigenous people and far more greenery.
In the evening I treated myself to what the Lonely Planet described as ´possibly the world´s cheapest and best Japanese restaurant´. Obviously it fell way short of the hype but it was still pretty good and I´d recommend ´Ken´ to anyone whose passing through.
The following morning I made my way to Samaipata Taxi HQ and awaited departure. In order to leave for Samaipata, some two and a half hours away, we needed two extra bodies to fill the car. This unfortunately meant waiting two hours but it did mean I could fit in a fried chicken dinner while we were waiting. Eventually my travel companions surfaced and we were away. The car was an import from Japan and this was made plainly clear by the fact I was facing the dashboard, with speedo and fuel guage, while the steering wheel had been ripped out and mashed into the passengers side along with the pedals. It all appeared to work though so I had little complaints and if I used my imagination, I could occasionally pretend I was driving. What a thrill.
We arrived in Samaipata on schedule later in the afternoon and I checked in at the holiday home belonging to my tour guide for the next few days, Ben Verhoef. A very spacious little joint, more suitable for a family but sufficient for me, with it´s own patio, garden and views out across the valley. The village itself is also beautiful, perched high in the mountains with a spring climate nearly all year round, it was a welcome change from the humid and claustraphobic Santa Cruz. In the evening I ate with Ben and his wife Suzanne beside the village plaza and got an early night ahead of my Che trip that lay ahead.
We arose early and jumped in Ben´s 4x4 before heading south in the direction of our first stop, the town of Vallegrande. After stopping en route for some mammoth watermelons, we made it and our first port of call was the town´s museum which housed a Che Guevara exhibition. On display were photographs of his capture and subsequent display to the public, accounts of soldiers who fought against him, lists of the men who were killed in the Bolivian war and paintings in tribute to him. Next, we along with a local guide made a short trip to a memorial site where a group of guerillas who were ambushed and killed before Che, were secretly buried and eventually unearthed some years later. All their remains are now in their countries of birth but the site is a permanent memorial to them, most notably Tamara ´Tania´ Bunke, the only woman to have been killed in the war.
Next it was to the site where Che´s remains were buried until 1997. Until this point nobody knew of their whereabouts and upon their discovery, were shipped to Cuba where they remain until this day. The memorial was quite impressive for Bolivian tourist standards but then it was paid for by the Cubans so that probably explains everything.
By now we were ready for some food and Ben didn´t let me down, sharing an enormous sweet and sour chicken dish while also swiftly necking a litre of the local beer in minimal time.
With our energy levels boosted, it was to the local hospital and the laundry room where Che´s cold body was laid out for all the world´s media to see. Having seen many pictures of this site, it was particularly eerie especially as so little has changed since he lay there all those years ago.
After a walk around the town´s market, we got back in the jeep and headed deeper into rural Bolivia.
Our next stop was in Pucara, a small village with pigs and dogs aplenty. We got some excellent views from the playground and I had some fun coming down the big slide.
Finally, by late afternoon, we´d arrived in La Higuera, the village where Che met his end. Our night was spent in the cosy Casa del Telegrafista, the old telegraph house which features in Che´s Bolivian Diaries and was where he and his guerrillas discovered that the locals had been talking and doom was therefore impending.
On the Thursday morning, we were up bright and early, armed to the teeth with a healthy pack lunch and a few bottles of water. Our seven our treck was both gruelling yet fascinating. We started by making our way to the site where Che was captured, deep in the forest at the bottom of a ravine. We also saw a house where a dwarf lady lived who allegedly tipped off the army as to Che´s whereabouts and we also got great views of the mountainside where the wounded Che would have been dragged up, having been captured. Next it was an hour and a half hike down a river to the rocky cave where Che spent his last night in freedom. This was especially interesting as within a few years, this will probably collapse and little evidence of it will remain. Here we sat and had lunch with plenty of contemplation.
Then it was back upstream and at last back to La Higuera. Here we visited the old schoolhouse which is now a pretty poor museum and the site where Che was eventually executed, a day after his capture. Also in the village are three statues in his name. One was fairly amusing as it fell over not long after being erected, so now he has a thumb and finger missing. Poor chap.
In the evening I met a lovely Belgian couple travelling on motorbike and soon a whole party had assembled and we were enjoying beers around a camp fire.
The following morning, I visited a shop owned by a lady called Irma, who was the maid who served Che his last meal. It was peanut soup, empanada and a coffee. Bit of a waste as he was dead about an hour later. In order to be polite, I said I´d buy something but all she had was a garish A1 print of Che which was nailed to the wall. With a little help from a screwdriver and pliers, it was soon mine.
To conclude our tour of the area, Ben took me down to see some mysterious human remains that lie beneath a huge rock. Nobody knows how old they are or who they belong to but the local farmer doesn´t seem to care and appreciates the income it brings.
Soon we were back in Samaipata and the following day, I bumped into the Belgians from La Higuera. On Saturday afternoon, I hired a motorbike and we set off to the local pre-Inca remains at El Fuerte. The site wasn´t all that spectacular but it was interesting and the bike ride alone made me happy enough. In the evening we ate at Ben´s Black Sheep restaurant.
On Sunday, again I hired a bike and me Tom and Sophie made the twenty kilometre trip to Las Cuevas waterfalls. We had a nice little picnic before refreshing ourselves under the water. In the evening we enjoyed a farewell meal at a swanky eatery.
Monday came and so did my illness. I had intended to move on on this day but that wasn´t going to happen. For the whole week, each day followed the same pattern; no sleep; no energy; no appetite; temperature; diarrhea. I moved hostels, visited the local doctor but nothing was changing. Some eight days later, I eventually made the decision to make the trip back to Santa Cruz and pay one of Bolivia´s finest clinics a visit. Here I stayed for three nights, enjoying ESPN, multiple movies but not the hospital cuisine. Slowly I was going mad but eventually my time came and I was ready to leave. Having left on Friday, I´m now back in Samaipata, recovering and trying to stuff as much food in my stomach as possible so it functions properly once more. I´m staying at the excellent La Posada del Sol which is run a by a tremendous Texan named Trent. Here I´ve been eating huge breakfasts and gorging on the vast selection of pirate DVDs they have on offer. Hopefully in a couple of days, I´ll be back to my best and ready to take on a pint again.
As for pictures, they´ll arrive when I´m back in Santa Cruz.
Saturday 2 January 2010
Feeling high
When in the city of La Paz, you can go one of two ways; indulge in the chemical offerings that come with the intense nightlife or throw yourself at the many physical challenges that this erratic landscape provides. I chose the latter.
Again I think it´s been a little too long since my last post and with many of you still possibly nursing hangovers, I´ll try and keep it brief.
Starting way back on the 20th, apart from writing my blog, me, Max and Sascha played it safe and had a curry at an authentic English-Indian restaurant. Though the tikka massala wasn´t quite up there with what I usually get on Burton Road and the naan was more like a stale loaf of Hovis, it was still a very tasty meal and it did it´s job in offering up something a little different.
The following day, a Monday, was comprised mainly of walking the streets of La Paz with the standout period being a visit to the Coca Museum. Here , we learned about the benefits the coca leaf brings to the indigenous population and the other side of the coin; the mass scale production of cocaine. After a very informative tour, we sat down for coca tea and cookies that although green, were rather delicious.
Tuesday the 22nd hit me quick with an early start and an excursion to Tiwanaku, a pre-Inca site located close to the Peruvian border. Although there were many fascinating revelations, I´d have been more than happy to just read about this in a book as visiually it was a little underwhelming. I did eat more llama though and have a good sleep on the way back.
In the evening we went to a fancy restaurant for Sascha´s birthday (the day after) and I had my finest Bolivian pasta to date. On a roll I tried the tiramisu but this was largely frozen so I went home in a bit of a slump.
On the Wednesday I did very little apart from sit at an internet cafe trying to upload as many pictures as I could. I also said goodbye to the Dutch people as they went in search of the jungle for a few days. From Loki Hostel, I moved to Adventure Brew Too, where I enjoyed the daily free beer.
Of my previous 26 Christmas Eves, this one was not one of my best. In the morning I set out with a fairly warm group of people who individually were pleasant but nonetheless later showed a darker side as a collective. With the original objective of booking the ¨Death Road¨ bike ride together, things soon fell apart when we arrived at the biking office. In a short space of time, we discovered there were only four places available for the five of us. Naturally, I iniitally thought of alternatives like a different date or agency but then a disturbing silence and threatening atmosphere presented itself. I sensed the group looking my way until eventually I caved in and offered to pull out of the trip. With little thanks or consideration, everyone promptly agreed and continued to sign the papers and try on the gear. Meanwhile, my mood toward the group took a bit of a nose dive. The rest of the day was filled with some shopping for tea and then a buffet in the evening. Fortunately I was rescued by a fella called Ryan and we went for a few beers over the road with another great character, Andrew. We laughed about my miserable day and enjoyed a good session of man banter while overlooking the city.
Christmas Day started with a brief present-opening session followed by a trip to the bus station to wave goodbye to my close one-day friend Andrew. Me and Ryan then made our way to an English pub where we eagerly awaited Christmas dinner, as booked by the group I met the previous day. I suppose unsurprisingly, we got bumped off this as well, as overnight they made more friends and eventually filled the table of fourteen with new feet and faces. On the way out I made a point of waving goodbye, angered at their treatment of fellow travellers at such a time of year.
The result from the fallout was a spaghetti carbonara for me while listening to Chris de Burgh in an Italian retsaurant with Ryan. Back at the hostel we endured three hours of the fim Alexander.
Boxing Day felt a little more normal as it was largely dominated by watching football at a pub. After watching three games back-to-back, I went to book my biking tour and a three day trek up Huayna Potosi. As fate would have it, a few people had dropped out of the biking trip meaning I would be going with the group of scoundrels afterall. This made my day.
Despite a slight air of tension in the mini-bus, we all made it in one piece to the start point of the bike ride on Sunday morning. For those who may have missed Top Gear this Christmas, the road we were to cycle down is known infamously as the World´s Most Dangerous. Why? Well, it runs for around 65km and for the most part, there are sheer drops of up to two thousand feet with no barriers to be seen and rarely does it get much wider than eight or nine feet. Only in the last few years has an alternate road been built, meaning buses and trucks travelling from La Cumbre to Coroica no longer need to use this narrow and heart-stopping track.
Anyhow, we got on our bikes and started the eleven thousand feet descent with a section of tarmac and plenty of wind in the hair. Myself and a couple of Dutch amigos set the pace for the most part and eventually we arrived at the true start of the ¨Death Road¨. From here on down, it was an epic and nerve-jangling experience; passing crosses, waterfalls, mammoth drops and the odd truck lying in the bowels of the valley. By lunchtime we´d made it to the bottom where a hotel pool and buffet dinner greated our trembling bodies.
Back at the hostel, me and the Dutch cyclists discussed our days triumph and were rewarded further with a free beer, although it came at a cost; carrying up two barrels of beer over four floors which greatly upset my fingers.
Monday was fairly calm and served mainly as a day of preparation for my mountain trek the following day. From the ¨Black Market¨ I managed to pick up some thermal gloves, a woolly hat and a few pairs of long socks. I enjoyed my free beer more than normal that evening, knowing it´d be my last for three days.
On Tuesday morning I was joined outside the Travel Tracks office by Cliff, a Kiwi (not in the same context as a mango or peach), and Sarah, a physio from London. We climbed in a van with two guides and for two hours rumbled our way up out of La Paz and towards the base camp of Huayna Potosi.
Often regarded as one of the world´s easiest six thousand metre climbs, the mountain is nevertheless one hell of a challenge. With base camp already at four thousand seven hundred metres, oxygen is already scarce and if you´re not already well aclimatised, you will doubtless fail the trek.
Arriving at around noon, we filled our bellies with rice, chicken and potato before taking a one hour walk to the base of a glacier for form ice-climbing. Here we mastered this art to a sufficient level and I also enjoyed a light snack of glacier ice while witnessing substantial areas of the glacier melt away as if it were being microwaved.
We returned to the refuge and proceded to play just short of forty games of ¨Uno¨ before another meal and an early night.
Again on Wednesday we rose early, this time climbing over five hundred metres with our fully loaded backpacks to High Camp. Sarah, being the smaller of the group undoubtedly had the hardest task as her backpack almost dwarfed her own body.
With the final day looming we ate plenty and were in bed for 6PM. Although shattered, we had much to ponder having seen roughly fifty percent of the previous days climbers fail the trek. We weren´t taking this lightly and this weighed heavy throughout the night.
With Thursday barely a minute old, we were awoken by our guides and promptly served breakfast. By 1Am we were geared up and ready to take on the six hour, one thousand metre high gauntlet that lay ahead. With two nights-worth of snow covering our path, life was made even more difficult but soon we got into a slow but efficient rythm.
Along the way, Sarah vomitted several times whilst me and Cliff took altitude sickness tablets and paracetemol at regular intervals. By the time the summit was in striking distance we´d covered several miles of terrain while also scaling two ice walls. The latter was only a few metres short of the summit, but covered in thick snow, it was equivalent to the travelator on the Gladiators. Only far more difficult. I hacked away with my ice axe like Michael Myers and my arms and legs behaved like the paws of a gerbil in it´s spinning wheel.
By 7AM we´d done it and oh my life was it worth it. From the peak we could see Lake Titicaca in Peru, the Amazon and the entirity of the Cordillera Real mountain range. As planned, I lit a Cuban cigar to celebrate the moment, despite the almost complete lack of oxygen.
The mood was soon quelled however with the realisation that we still had a two hour descent in the baking sun ahead of us. We made it but by the time we´d arrived back at base camp at noon, we were all completely broken.
The minibus took us back to La Paz and for most of the afternoon, I was a curled up ball of tranquility back in my bed. In the evening we rendez-vous´d for a meal with the returning Max and Sascha and reflected on one of the greatest chellenges of our lives. To celebrate the New Year we stood on the roof terrace at the hostel and enjoyed a panoramic firework display over the city. I barely made half past twelve and so it was a tired but exceptional end to 2009.
Yesterday I took it easy, wandering around the city, making phone calls and hanging out in internet cafes. Of my acheivements, I booked myself into the Hotel Copacabana where I am staying tonight in the same room once occupied by a certain Che Guevara. For supper our group of five enjoyed a very lively Lebanese meal and afterwards me and Cliff found a popular drinking spot to see out the night.
Today I moved into my hotel room, complete with four beds, two TVs, a bath and large balcony. With my three day Che trip starting on Wednesday, I thought it only fitting that I follow the route he took some forty four years ago, begining in room 304 but hopefully not ending in death in the hamlet of La Higuera.
Again I think it´s been a little too long since my last post and with many of you still possibly nursing hangovers, I´ll try and keep it brief.
Starting way back on the 20th, apart from writing my blog, me, Max and Sascha played it safe and had a curry at an authentic English-Indian restaurant. Though the tikka massala wasn´t quite up there with what I usually get on Burton Road and the naan was more like a stale loaf of Hovis, it was still a very tasty meal and it did it´s job in offering up something a little different.
The following day, a Monday, was comprised mainly of walking the streets of La Paz with the standout period being a visit to the Coca Museum. Here , we learned about the benefits the coca leaf brings to the indigenous population and the other side of the coin; the mass scale production of cocaine. After a very informative tour, we sat down for coca tea and cookies that although green, were rather delicious.
Tuesday the 22nd hit me quick with an early start and an excursion to Tiwanaku, a pre-Inca site located close to the Peruvian border. Although there were many fascinating revelations, I´d have been more than happy to just read about this in a book as visiually it was a little underwhelming. I did eat more llama though and have a good sleep on the way back.
In the evening we went to a fancy restaurant for Sascha´s birthday (the day after) and I had my finest Bolivian pasta to date. On a roll I tried the tiramisu but this was largely frozen so I went home in a bit of a slump.
On the Wednesday I did very little apart from sit at an internet cafe trying to upload as many pictures as I could. I also said goodbye to the Dutch people as they went in search of the jungle for a few days. From Loki Hostel, I moved to Adventure Brew Too, where I enjoyed the daily free beer.
Of my previous 26 Christmas Eves, this one was not one of my best. In the morning I set out with a fairly warm group of people who individually were pleasant but nonetheless later showed a darker side as a collective. With the original objective of booking the ¨Death Road¨ bike ride together, things soon fell apart when we arrived at the biking office. In a short space of time, we discovered there were only four places available for the five of us. Naturally, I iniitally thought of alternatives like a different date or agency but then a disturbing silence and threatening atmosphere presented itself. I sensed the group looking my way until eventually I caved in and offered to pull out of the trip. With little thanks or consideration, everyone promptly agreed and continued to sign the papers and try on the gear. Meanwhile, my mood toward the group took a bit of a nose dive. The rest of the day was filled with some shopping for tea and then a buffet in the evening. Fortunately I was rescued by a fella called Ryan and we went for a few beers over the road with another great character, Andrew. We laughed about my miserable day and enjoyed a good session of man banter while overlooking the city.
Christmas Day started with a brief present-opening session followed by a trip to the bus station to wave goodbye to my close one-day friend Andrew. Me and Ryan then made our way to an English pub where we eagerly awaited Christmas dinner, as booked by the group I met the previous day. I suppose unsurprisingly, we got bumped off this as well, as overnight they made more friends and eventually filled the table of fourteen with new feet and faces. On the way out I made a point of waving goodbye, angered at their treatment of fellow travellers at such a time of year.
The result from the fallout was a spaghetti carbonara for me while listening to Chris de Burgh in an Italian retsaurant with Ryan. Back at the hostel we endured three hours of the fim Alexander.
Boxing Day felt a little more normal as it was largely dominated by watching football at a pub. After watching three games back-to-back, I went to book my biking tour and a three day trek up Huayna Potosi. As fate would have it, a few people had dropped out of the biking trip meaning I would be going with the group of scoundrels afterall. This made my day.
Despite a slight air of tension in the mini-bus, we all made it in one piece to the start point of the bike ride on Sunday morning. For those who may have missed Top Gear this Christmas, the road we were to cycle down is known infamously as the World´s Most Dangerous. Why? Well, it runs for around 65km and for the most part, there are sheer drops of up to two thousand feet with no barriers to be seen and rarely does it get much wider than eight or nine feet. Only in the last few years has an alternate road been built, meaning buses and trucks travelling from La Cumbre to Coroica no longer need to use this narrow and heart-stopping track.
Anyhow, we got on our bikes and started the eleven thousand feet descent with a section of tarmac and plenty of wind in the hair. Myself and a couple of Dutch amigos set the pace for the most part and eventually we arrived at the true start of the ¨Death Road¨. From here on down, it was an epic and nerve-jangling experience; passing crosses, waterfalls, mammoth drops and the odd truck lying in the bowels of the valley. By lunchtime we´d made it to the bottom where a hotel pool and buffet dinner greated our trembling bodies.
Back at the hostel, me and the Dutch cyclists discussed our days triumph and were rewarded further with a free beer, although it came at a cost; carrying up two barrels of beer over four floors which greatly upset my fingers.
Monday was fairly calm and served mainly as a day of preparation for my mountain trek the following day. From the ¨Black Market¨ I managed to pick up some thermal gloves, a woolly hat and a few pairs of long socks. I enjoyed my free beer more than normal that evening, knowing it´d be my last for three days.
On Tuesday morning I was joined outside the Travel Tracks office by Cliff, a Kiwi (not in the same context as a mango or peach), and Sarah, a physio from London. We climbed in a van with two guides and for two hours rumbled our way up out of La Paz and towards the base camp of Huayna Potosi.
Often regarded as one of the world´s easiest six thousand metre climbs, the mountain is nevertheless one hell of a challenge. With base camp already at four thousand seven hundred metres, oxygen is already scarce and if you´re not already well aclimatised, you will doubtless fail the trek.
Arriving at around noon, we filled our bellies with rice, chicken and potato before taking a one hour walk to the base of a glacier for form ice-climbing. Here we mastered this art to a sufficient level and I also enjoyed a light snack of glacier ice while witnessing substantial areas of the glacier melt away as if it were being microwaved.
We returned to the refuge and proceded to play just short of forty games of ¨Uno¨ before another meal and an early night.
Again on Wednesday we rose early, this time climbing over five hundred metres with our fully loaded backpacks to High Camp. Sarah, being the smaller of the group undoubtedly had the hardest task as her backpack almost dwarfed her own body.
With the final day looming we ate plenty and were in bed for 6PM. Although shattered, we had much to ponder having seen roughly fifty percent of the previous days climbers fail the trek. We weren´t taking this lightly and this weighed heavy throughout the night.
With Thursday barely a minute old, we were awoken by our guides and promptly served breakfast. By 1Am we were geared up and ready to take on the six hour, one thousand metre high gauntlet that lay ahead. With two nights-worth of snow covering our path, life was made even more difficult but soon we got into a slow but efficient rythm.
Along the way, Sarah vomitted several times whilst me and Cliff took altitude sickness tablets and paracetemol at regular intervals. By the time the summit was in striking distance we´d covered several miles of terrain while also scaling two ice walls. The latter was only a few metres short of the summit, but covered in thick snow, it was equivalent to the travelator on the Gladiators. Only far more difficult. I hacked away with my ice axe like Michael Myers and my arms and legs behaved like the paws of a gerbil in it´s spinning wheel.
By 7AM we´d done it and oh my life was it worth it. From the peak we could see Lake Titicaca in Peru, the Amazon and the entirity of the Cordillera Real mountain range. As planned, I lit a Cuban cigar to celebrate the moment, despite the almost complete lack of oxygen.
The mood was soon quelled however with the realisation that we still had a two hour descent in the baking sun ahead of us. We made it but by the time we´d arrived back at base camp at noon, we were all completely broken.
The minibus took us back to La Paz and for most of the afternoon, I was a curled up ball of tranquility back in my bed. In the evening we rendez-vous´d for a meal with the returning Max and Sascha and reflected on one of the greatest chellenges of our lives. To celebrate the New Year we stood on the roof terrace at the hostel and enjoyed a panoramic firework display over the city. I barely made half past twelve and so it was a tired but exceptional end to 2009.
Yesterday I took it easy, wandering around the city, making phone calls and hanging out in internet cafes. Of my acheivements, I booked myself into the Hotel Copacabana where I am staying tonight in the same room once occupied by a certain Che Guevara. For supper our group of five enjoyed a very lively Lebanese meal and afterwards me and Cliff found a popular drinking spot to see out the night.
Today I moved into my hotel room, complete with four beds, two TVs, a bath and large balcony. With my three day Che trip starting on Wednesday, I thought it only fitting that I follow the route he took some forty four years ago, begining in room 304 but hopefully not ending in death in the hamlet of La Higuera.
Friday 1 January 2010
Taking a break: In Pictures
Mmm, there´s some super pictures below from Tupiza and Potosi...
A great cure for constipation.
Arriving in style.
A low-flying-birds-eye-view of Tupiza.
I swear the horses were real.
Vanity hits hard when in such surroundings.
The narrow streets of Potosi. Damn wall.
Cerro Rico. You´d rather work at McDonald´s.
Not a laughing matter.
A team talk with the boss. Where´s the exit again?
Shit! Like a scene from Indiana Jones but this was no PG.
A great cure for constipation.
Arriving in style.
A low-flying-birds-eye-view of Tupiza.
I swear the horses were real.
Vanity hits hard when in such surroundings.
The narrow streets of Potosi. Damn wall.
Cerro Rico. You´d rather work at McDonald´s.
Not a laughing matter.
A team talk with the boss. Where´s the exit again?
Shit! Like a scene from Indiana Jones but this was no PG.
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