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.