An intense and solitary number of days, La Paz was gritty. The journey there was cool as there were some English speakers on the bus. We saw Lake Titicaca for the last time as we and our coach crossed on our respective ferries. The view of bowl-like La Paz came suddenly in to view a few hours later. The day I arrived was the signing/swearing in of new Parliament, at least I think that´s what my Argentine room-mates said. The short journey to my hostel saw hoards of military uniforms, two impeccable naval officers (perhaps) on a very bad motorbike, another gun-filled white naval parade marching towards the bus terminal, army everywhere with guns, guns, guns. Wasn´t sure whether to feel extra secure or the opposite. Had my first ceviche with some young kiwis staying at Hostel Milenio at the top of the city. I spent the next few days buying supplies (headphones, diazepam, replacement phrasebook for three times the price as the UK, odd for Bolivia which was otherwise very cheap), ate some llama chorizo, then split for Cochabamba.
I didn´t see any other Westerners or backpackers in hardy Cochabamba which wasn´t much to look at until you left the centre of the city when it was beautiful and with some great graffiti. The bus terminal was massive and chaotic, and was surrounded by shops selling various types of armoury, balaclavas, bullet belts, etc. This area was renowned for being dangerous and I wondered what came first. Saw man on the corner demonstrating to a circle of people the health benefits of aloe vera as he poured its contents into his eye. I had a dodgy cab ride, a bank card that no longer worked, failed internet banking and a weird night where I thought the hostel was being ransacked (in fact it was just one of the hostel workers trying to coax someone out of their dorm throughout the night by prying the door open with a knife, but that´s another story). So Cochabamba saw a few problems and torrential rain. Called Grandma.
The ´old route´ journey from Cochabamba to pituresque Santa Cruz featured a three hour night-time traffic jam in the cold mountains, which worked out well for me as it meant arriving at dawn, and not in the dark. Taxi driver worked in Brixton for seven years so spoke some English. Random brass band in the Plaza de Armas with untucked shirts, chatting players and a rhythm-keeper with no rhythm. Liked it.
At Hostel Santa Barbara I drank with two Germans, Oscar and Leo, and later met another Oscar (Bolivian) who had a real obsession with the Falkland Islands. He pulled out his massive folded map and sure enough, he´d highlighted it on the map. So we met for breakfast the next day to discuss it more. During our journey back we met a street vendor who reckoned I had a face like an apple. I pounded practically every street of Santa Cruz. Leafy residential streets and the best papaya in the world.
I travelled on to Sucre, Bolivia´s prettiest town, or so I´d read and I agree. Amazing indoor market and plenty of churches before checking into great 7 Patas at noon, recommended by Swiss couple in Santa Cruz. Climbed to Sucre´s viewpoint way up high and I reckon Baldwin Street in New Zealand, allegedly the world´s steepest street, should have its title taken away because these streets were STEEP. Bumped into the Dutch girl who I´d last seen at the fateful Bolivian border crossing. Had two nights of spinach soup at a vegetarian restaurant in an effort to acquire some vitamins because a diet consisting mostly of empanadas cannot be good! Liked local bank name, ´Prodem´.
It was approaching rendezvous time with American Matt who I met in Lima at the beginning of my trip. We´d agreed to meet in Iquique, northern Chile, on 4th February so I left Sucre for Oruro (but not before seeing the Dutch girl for a third time at the terminal), where I managed to narrowly catch a connection on to Chile, negating the need for an overnight stop. The bus journey from Sucre was freezing cold, very fast, and the bano stop was just an invitation to squat next to the bus. Setting off at 6am, it involved four hours alone sliding through mud and rainwater. We took a couple of wrong turns and amazingly we weren´t ever bogged, miles from the nearest town. Slightly reminiscent of the road to Siam Reap, if it weren´t for the flamingoes, endless cactus, mohawk-like grass, nosey llamas and mud brick abodes and countless rock foundations of what went before. One group of cactus looked like a family posing for a portrait and I swear another was wearing sunglasses...I was fairly sleep-deprived by this point. The five hour wait at the desert border corssing at Cochane meant this represented my longest journey yet at 26 hours. Hung with three Chilenos and we shared a hostel room the night we arrived in Iquique, drank beach-side beer the following day and generally basked in this great town which was so much bigger than expected. Happy times were to follow in Iquique and the difference from Bolivia was massive.
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| Mud abodes, Bolivian highlands |
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| Fault lines in the Bolivian highlands |
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| Bolivian highlands |
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| Cochabamba´s graffiti |
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| Pretty streets in Santa Cruz |
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| Every day is market day in Bolivia |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
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| Sucre |
