Potosi and Plan B

As suggested last post, the prospect of cycling through the emptiness and dirt roads of Bolivia in a cold rain has us looking for options. Perhaps it was a sign, or even a gift, but upon researching our situation we learned of a train that begins in Oruro – where we were – and ends at the Bolivia-Argentina border town of Villazon – our target entrance into Argentina. Upon questioning the cargo guy about the idea of transporting our loaded bikes to Villazon as “cargo”, his reply: “no problema”. And so it was, for the sum of 9 dollars and no small amount of trepidation, we handed over our bikes and panniers into the custody of the Bolivian railway – thereby leaving us and our daypacks to join the Lonely Planet gringo trail. So that’s Plan Bolivia: bikes on the train headed for the border; us on the gringo bus trail with daypacks heading south to rejoin our bikes at the border in a couple weeks.  Will we ever see our bikes again? Let’s not go there.


First stop: Potosi – population 140,000, elevation 4070 m (one of the highest cities in the world, of course). By the magic of bus travel we arrived in Potosi yesterday in 6 hours – a journey that would have taken a week or so by bike, and likely left us scarred for life given the weather. Potosi is in Bolivia’s central highlands, meaning we left the altiplano and climbed through the mountains. Near constant rain, flooded valleys, and snow in the higher elevations confirmed that viewing the stunning scenery from the comfort of our seats on the bus was the right plan. The llamas don’t seem to mind though...rugged beasts they are.


So Potosi. Fascinating history. Relatively unknown to us gringos, Potosi holds a grandiose and famous position in Latin America history. In 1544 silver was discovered in a mountain the Spanish subsequently named Cerro Rico, or “Rich Hill”. The ginormous quantity and quality of silver in Cerro Rico was such that Potosi – the boom town that ensued – became one of the largest and most affluent cities in the world. So much so, that it literally bankrolled the Spanish occupation of the Americas for centuries (obviously the Spanish claimed the silver as theirs). The story goes that the amount of silver extracted from Cerro Rico was enough to build a bridge out of pure silver extending from Potosi to Spain. Mythology aside, and suffice it to say, it was a boom town of epic proportions.


But, as with all boom towns, it all came crashing down as the silver dwindled. It was a good run though – a few hundred years of astounding wealth is nothing to sneeze at. So, Bolivia is a rich country, right? Wrong obviously – Bolivia remains one of the poorest countries in the western hemisphere. In classic imperialist form, virtually all accrued wealth was exported back to the motherland. For their efforts in supporting their Spanish masters’ quest for riches, the indigenous inhabitants received enslavement and starvation wages. When their ranks thinned due to the ridiculously high mortality rate among miners (more on that below), African slaves were imported and in similar fashion sent to their deaths in the mines. In all, it has been estimated that in three centuries of colonial rule (1545 to 1825) 8 million indigenous Bolivians and African slaves died in the Potosi mines.



Zoom to 2014. Potosi today is, incredibly, still a mining town (zinc, lead, and tin have replaced silver as the main product). And, with 140,000 inhabitants, it’s an important regional centre. Walking around the downtown core, complete with its remnant colonial buildings, iconic stone churches (the Spanish built over 80 back in the day), pedestrian malls, pubs and restaurants, it all doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, a fairly decent place to hang out for a few days all in all. Our current room in Hostal Eucalyptus could have the hottest and best shower yet. Again, it’s that head-spinning difference between downtown city X and rural nowhere.


The number one attraction in town is the mine tours, and the reason Potosi is on the gringo circuit. The mines today, while owned and operated by local co-ops (which is huge; the miners basically work for themselves), have changed little in 400 years in terms of mining technology. The wages haven’t changed much either. While there are low-paying, backbreaking, filthy, exhausting jobs everywhere in the world, the Potosi mines provide one inexplicable major difference: a death sentence. The average male in Potosi begins working in the mines as a teenager, and, exposed to a constant plethora of toxic gases and dust, has approximately 10 to 20 years before incurable silicosis pneumonia (lung disease) sets in and eventually takes his life. Our guide, an ex-miner who quit after 2 years, when questioned about it, confirmed that virtually all miners die in their 40s and 50s. When asked why they do it?....”there are no other jobs”. Ya, but...!!!


The tour is real and in-your-face. With no modern technology or transport, it’s more like cave exploring than a mine tour. Not for the faint of heart, or claustrophobic, it’s a serious mission (crawl really) to the front lines deep inside the mountain. Needless to say, 16^th-century mining technology in action – all work from drilling, excavation, to getting the ore out is done by hand hundreds of meters below the surface in appalling conditions – is a shocking sight. Not a piece of safety equipment or escape routes in sight...lights, air, drinking water, facilities of any kind...forget it. Accident rates are off the charts. Toxic dust hangs in the air like a cloud. Spending 2 hours down there is more than we need for the rest of our lives. Hopefully the damage to our lungs is temporary. It truly is “the job from hell”.




OK, next stop on Plan Bolivia: Sucre. From all accounts, a beautiful and charming colonial city in the heart of the central highlands. Our plan, if the beautiful/charming part is true, is to hunker down and take another round of Spanish lessons. Good way to pass the rainy season we figure J Only a couple hours by bus away, vamos mañana. As always, more on that soon. Adios.

Oruro - back on the bikes and into nowhere

Happy New Year Everyone!

Bolivia has arrived. It’s been an eventful week. Spending New Year’s eve in La Paz turned out to be fun, if not memorable. We had read warnings about being careful of the random fireworks that locals seem to have a passion for on this occasion (any occasion from what we can tell). We thought we would be spared the brunt of it from our hostal’s rooftop-terrace party, which provided fantastic views of the chaos in the city. It was quite spectacular to see hundreds if not thousands of fireworks light up the sky as far as we could see. It was pretty amazing – until the guy next to us lit something up that seem to backfire and exploded in the crowd. Then he did it again, just in case we missed it! Lots of smoke, and screaming from all the gringos. I guess we just don’t have the fireworks gene they do. Luckily no one got hurt, and in the end, fun was had by all. Nothing like bringing in New Year’s with a bang (and a little smoke inhalation).

Despite the late night, we were itching to get out of town and back on the road. The 6:30 am watch alarm came early on New Year’s day, but we hopped to it and packed up our rigs. The 4-day ride south out of La Paz, into nowhere Bolivia, and then to the city of Oruro was rather enlightening in many ways.  On a side note, we have both been dealing with “intestinal issues” since arriving in Bolivia, which zaps the energy out of you and makes for some hard biking at times. Something crawled inside of me back in Copa and did an excellent job of turning my colon inside out. Amy’s detailed descriptions of her side-of-the-road movements have been most entertaining as well. Ah hey, you aren’t really traveling if you aren’t dealing with the joys of explosive diarrhea. All part of the fun!

So, middle of nowhere Bolivia. Hmmm, so far, the roads are bad, the weather is bad, and the accom-food infrastructure is bad. Not a great mix – in fact, those are the three big things you want out of cycle touring, with roads being a critical go-no-go situation for us. While Bolivia seems to be inching forward in road development, the reality is that only about 8% of the roads in the country are paved. We had hoped that the major centres would be connected with decent roads, but the other reality is that there are varying degrees of what we call “paved”. The route from La Paz to Oruro was great in places, but heinous in others, and downright dangerous much of the time, mostly due to the seemingly endless construction.

While the word “construction” might sound innocuous, it’s very different from the few kms of “construction” one encounters in North America. Rather, “construction” here applies to the entire route stretching hundreds of kms, and, seemingly to be in the same state it was 5 or 10 yrs ago (judging from blogs written in 2008 where the term “construction” was also used – and interestingly, we didn’t see one construction-type person actually working on the road anywhere). Long story short is that we just aren’t set up for gravel roads, or those under construction. We will abandon Amy’s road bike and skinny tires on the side of the road in a broken rusting heap if there is much more of what we just did. Unfortunately, our intel (reception guy in hostel) tells us that the roads get worse from here, and that there are no paved roads stretching to the border of Argentina. That also seems to be the conclusion of my google research. Then there’s the weather. Bolivia in the rainy season. Think Nelson in November...on dirt roads. OK, who planned this trip anyway? J So hmmm, might be time for plan B. Problema: there is no plan B just yet.

All whiny complaints aside (I haven’t even reviewed Amy’s opinion on the lovely accom situations we have run into; the word “shithole” is being tossed around rather loosely these days), cycling through rural Bolivia is an eye-opener. The vastness and starkness of the Altiplano is surpassed only by the hardiness and resilience of the people. We are continually humbled, and somewhat embarrassed, to be complaining about the wet and the cold, while clad head to foot in the finest MEC outer wear, while gazing out over a field of women working the soil in a downpour with only a shawl strung across their shoulders. They seem oblivious to the weather (or simply have no choice).

On that note, the indigenous women are truly the symbol of this vast place, and should be immortalized on their flag. They are definitely a cultural highlight and a defining image for us. With their bowler hats and aguayo (the colourful blanket used as a carryall backpack for transporting everything from babies to firewood), it would be hard to imagine an iconic photograph of Bolivia without them. Ironically however, the standard outfit donned by Indigenous women here (Bowler hat, skirt, chompa [sweater], aguayo) was only recently imposed upon them by the King of Spain in the early 18^th century. One can only assume they got used to it, and now enjoy the look. Thank god. The men are boring (western clothing).

At the moment we’re sitting cozy in our room in Oruro (population 200K), complete with decent bed, hot shower, and satellite TV. That’s another eye-opener: the contrast between downtown city X and rural nowhere. In a matter of hours we went from dirt floors and no running water to skinny jeans and i-phones. It’s a real head spinner. The hard facts are that the majority of Bolivians live below their own definition of poverty, and according to the Gini inequality index Bolivia is the 8^th most unequal (income) country in the world. You either have nothing including teeth and water, or you drive a Ford Explorer and your kids complain when their smart phone becomes outdated.  
 

So plan B for Bolivia. Not sure on that just yet. We’re working on the options and will keep you posted. For now, another Nescafe...oh ya. Feliz Año Nuevo!

La Paz

Formally known as Nuestra Senora de La Paz, or Our Lady of Peace, the big smoke of La Paz is a bustling city of 1.4 million at the bottom of a hole in the altiplano. The city centre, or el centro, sits at the bottom of a canyon at about 3600 m, while the rest of the city stretches up the preposterously steep canyon walls up to the rim of the altiplano at about 4100 m. La Paz is the “defacto” capital of Bolivia, making it the highest seat of government in the world (defacto because federal departments are shared with the city of Sucre).

At this elevation, basically everything gets to be labelled “the highest whatever in the world”, including the airport, which sits up on the altiplano just outside town at 4061 m, and is, wait for it...the highest international airport in the world (with all kinds of landing/takeoff adjustments due to reduced air pressure). Then there’s the “highest Irish pub in the world”, and of course the “highest professional sports stadium in the world”. Interesting story actually concerning that one. In 2007, FIFA (futbol’s international governing body) banned La Paz’s stadium from holding official World Cup matches. There were too many protests from other teams stating that the home team had an unfair advantage due to the altitude/oxygen issue (which is very real btw). But after a series of protests from the Bolivians, FIFA relented and gave them an exemption (the official FIFA rule is no stadiums over 3000 m can hold FIFA matches). Things get interesting when you’re living at 4000 m.     

The two-day ride from Copa was an adventure – our first real taste of nowhere Bolivia. The riding itself was fantastic. Climbing out of Copa, the remarkably good road twists and turns up into the Puna (high-elevation grasslands similar to our tundra) to about 4300 m then drops back down to the altiplano at 3850 m or so. Much of the ride hugs the south shores of Lake Titicaca making for stunning views. At one point, riding through some very aromatic pine-eucalyptus forests with sparkling blue water below, we were pinching ourselves to make sure we weren’t in the Mediterranean or some such place. Very nice.

We overnighted in a middle-of-nowhere town along the way, and came to some realizations. As mentioned in previous posts, Ecuador is a bit more run down than Columbia, Peru is a bit more run down than Ecuador, and, Bolivia is a lot more run down than Peru. A collection of buildings off in the distance (in most places referred to as a town), which usually represents offerings of civilization useful to us (e.g., stores, accom, food), cannot be counted on for anything, and more often than not is just that: a collection of buildings, usually mud or stone, and usually unfinished and seemingly unoccupied. Looking back, middle-of-nowhere Bolivian infrastructure makes Columbia seem like downtown Toronto. We may have to rethink our strategy of not carrying food or extra water. Being self-sufficient is probably going to be important. Our breakfast of mayonnaise and stale bread may not be sustainable over the long haul. However, partially finished brick structures provide good shelter from oncoming storms! There’s always a bright side.

All of that said, descending (45 minutes of coasting on a freeway) into La Paz was surreal. We landed at the Adventure Brew Pub B&B (yes, you read that correctly) that Amy found on-line. Within hours of stale bread, mayonnaise, and no running water, we were sitting on a rooftop patio enclosed in glass, listening to trendy music, drinking a micro-brewery amber ale, served to us by a bro from California. What a head spinner. Life in the big city.

Speaking of life in big cities, one of the big draws to La Paz is the shopping. Known for it’s buzzing markets, everyday is market day in La Paz. The streets are bursting with colours and endless fabrics. Whatever you want or need, big or small, from q-tips to plasma screens, it’s for sale on the streets of La Paz. The big ticket item here for gringos is Alpaca wool and the infinite forms it can be spun and woven, from socks to sweaters to guitar cases. And at Bolivian prices (alpaca sweaters for 10-15 bucks), it’s hard not to succumb. Amy grits her teeth every time I remind her that we can’t carry anything, so don’t even go there. But she has to, and continues to torture herself by browsing every step of the way. One of the downsides to long-term cycle touring is that you can’t really take on more stuff, so market opportunities like these, to people like Amy, are like waving a hot dog in front of a dog’s nose. It’s painful to watch. Funny, we both talk about someday being on a normal trip where we could splurge on the markets to our hearts content. Next trip!

So we’re taking a few days to soak in the big-city vibe, including some tasty micro-brewery ales, hot showers with real pressure, high-speed internet, and all the other trappings of civilization. From here we climb out of La Paz and continue our quest south into the “real’ Bolivia and towards the Argentine border. As always, more on that soon. Hasta la proxima. 

 

Feliz Navidad from the birthplace of the sun

Bolivians don’t seem to get as excited about Christmas as we do. While there’s the odd little fake Christmas tree around (although we did see a tree strapped to a car roof – Canadian-style), and the odd tacky electronic device spitting out pseudo Christmas carols (think jingle bells coming from your watch), there’s not much Feliz going on. I don’t think they do the mall Santa arriving via helicopter or on a fire engine. In fact, Santa doesn’t seem to be part of the picture here at all. If you’re a Christmas keener – i.e., Christmas isn’t Christmas without the decorations, Christmas sweaters, mulled wine, and the Michael Buble Christmas CD – do not come to Bolivia for Christmas. Although, that’s kind of self-evident isn’t it J

So we’ve been kickin’ back the past few days here in Copa, enjoying daily trips to the market, and a side trip to Isla del Sol. As mentioned last post, we’re milking our relatively luxurious accom set-up so that we spend Christmas here, instead of taking a chance with La Paz (big city of). Contrary to what we were expecting from the weather, it’s been surprisingly good. Mostly sunny skies and 15 to 20-degree days. Pleasant surprise given the middle of the rainy season. You know, it’s funny. This is the umpteenth time the weather isn’t what it’s “supposed to be”. Our first encounter with that was in Columbia, pretty much right out of the gates and our first night on the road. Hernan, our Columbian host was overcome by frustration trying to explain the Columbian Caribbean seasons to us. “Well, it’s supposed to be our wet season, but it hasn’t rained in 6 weeks...things are changing.” That seems to be the bottom line: things are changing.

One of the bigger draws to Copa is access to the infamous Isla del Sol, which, true to its name was indeed the island of sun for our 3-day village-to-village trek. A 2-hr barco (boat; why it’s a barco here and a lancha in Puno?) ride took us to the north end of the island where we found a basic bed for the night (basic = 4 walls, a roof, and a bed; you want what?...toilet paper?!). And, interestingly, a white-sand beach right out of the Caribbean, complete with two Euro chicks in bikinis. Uhh, where did we just beam in from? G-strings in Bolivia. Not sure who was more surprised, us, or the little old Quechua ladies sweeping their dirt floors. Things are changing.

The pre-Inca Arymara inhabitants called the island Titi (puma) Kala (rock), which is the namesake of the lake. The Inca considered the island to be the birthplace of the sun and several other important entities. In turn, the contemporary indigenous people of Peru and Bolivia regard these legends as their version of creation. No surprise then, this is one important island around here!

A semi-arid, pseudo-Mediterranean chunk of rock about 70 km² large, Isla del Sol boasts some of the most beautiful and striking scenery in the region. Here again, no roads, no combustion engines. All transport is by foot or donkey. The island is riddled with Inca and pre-Inca ruins, including a magnificent Inca “road” running down the spine of the island from north to south. The weather was bluebird for our traverse of the island, and an absolutely stunning hike along the Inca pavement. Views from the ridge tops were second to none. The south end of the island hosts more of what we call civilization including an array of hostels and pizza restaurants. We graciously accepted a cliff-edge table overlooking the universe to enjoy a sunset pizza and a not-too-bad bottle of 3-dollar Bolivian wine. Wine is getting better and cheaper as the distance between us and the Argentine border gets smaller. On another side note, it’s fascinating how pizza has become the default gringo-travel-food all over the world. No complaints...it’s my favourite food group!

So Christmas in Copa. Our plan is to trade up to a place with a kitchen for the 24^th and 25^th. Amy wants a Christmas feast (again, no complaints here!). I agree that it would be difficult to prepare a turkey dinner on our MSR camp stove (which has however been providing delicious one-pot meals for us lately). Although, finding a turkey could be an impossible task. We actually have no idea what the locals do on the big day. Again, not much hype on the streets so far. The town cathedral – another fine example and bastion of Spanish colonialism – should be an interesting place for us to visit; midnight mass maybe? Pass the egg nog.

From the birthplace of the sun, Merry Christmas Everyone! Feliz Navidad! Joyeux Noel!

 

 

 

Adios Peru...Hola Bolivia!

(note: fibre-optic internet does not seem to have made it to Bolivia yet, and has a very hard time dealing with photos -- reduced photo sets into the foreseeable future)

Another day, another border crossing. Despite all the on-line hype about the dreaded border crossings, we sailed through another one. This one was actually one of the easiest. No line-ups, no gringos, just like clockwork. Once you understand the Latin American border system, which requires one to have an exit stamp from the country you’re leaving, then followed by a dated entrance stamp from the country you’re entering, you’re laughing. Where the actual “border” resides is actually irrelevant. No one is standing on the road checking people going by. It’s all about the passport stamps and finding the right guy in the right building with the right stamp. Our panniers could be loaded top to bottom with cocaine, and no one would know or care (but that would be rather stupid).

So Peru. In retrospect, a good place, no regrets. Despite that fact that we literally flew over a gigantic piece of it, what we saw and did – the best parts we think – were worthy missions. In total we spent 37 nights in Peru. Ironically, the majority of that was spent off the bikes, either soaking up sand and surf, hiking in the mountains, or island-hopping in a boat. Kind of speaks to the fun and adventure to be had in this land of the Inca (we didn’t even scratch the surface).

OK, Peru trip stats and Amy and Rob’s top pros/cons on Peru...drum roll please:

Total kms on bikes: 939
Number of riding days: 13
Average kms per riding day: 72
Cheapest accom*: $7
Most expensive accom*: $30
Average cost per night accom*: $21
Highlights: Beaches of the north, high Andes of the south (do I need to say Machu Picchu?)
Highest elevation: 4610 m (Salkantay Pass)
Lowest elevation: 0 m (Mancora)
Rob’s fav street food: salteñas (going to be hard to beat)
Amy’s least fav local beverage: Pisco
(*accom = private room)

 Amy’s top pros/cons on Peru:

 

         +                                                                         —

Salkantay Trek/Machu Picchu            heavy horse blankets piled 6 thick on a bed
Highland grazing farm animals          vehicle horns
South America on steroids                  getting gringoed

Rob’s top pros/cons on Peru:

 

         +                                                                       —

great food                                                 insane drivers

big snowy mountains                              incomprehensible Spanish
wine is getting better and cheaper      general lack of street food**

 **Note: salteñas could be the best street food item on the planet, however, they only appeared at the end of our sojourn through Peru, and only in one town (Puno). In general, food on the streets was lacking.  

The 2-day ride from Puno (Peru) carried us across into Bolivia and to the resort town of Copacabana (aka Copa). As mentioned previously, not the infamous Copa, Brazil (the subject of Barry Manilow fame), but Copa, Bolivia – population 6000, elevation 3800 m, and nestled on the south shore of Lake Titicaca upon South America’s altiplano (Peru and Bolivia share Lake Titicaca). The site of Bolivia’s only public beach, Copa appears to be popular with vacationing Bolivians (La Paz, Bolivia’s capital, is only a 2-hr drive away). Although, who would venture into the 10-degree water is beyond us (haven`t seen any swimmers yet). But the scenery is stunning and there is plenty to keep a gringo traveller busy.

The ride from Puno has confirmed our fears: Bolivia is cold. Amy is pretty much done with it already. Of course writing to a predominantly Canadian audience, “cold” is a relative term. It’s not winter-in-Canada cold, but not what one thinks of when cycling for fun either. Our timing is perfect for their rainy season, which means we can expect a lot of cold rain (5 to 10^oC). Nights are down-jacket weather. We have officially unearthed all of our cold-weather clothing that has been buried in our panniers for the past 4 months, including my very sexy wool tights J And, we are in the process of supplementing our stores. Amy picked up a smashing pair of tights (20% wool, 20%spandex, 60%rabbitfur) for the outrageous sum of 4 dollars. I’m on the lookout for a pair of gloves to beef up my rather girly pair of Swix cross-country ski gloves, which just aren’t going to cut it around here. However, when the sun is out, it’s hot, so there is hope! Here’s to el sol...please show us your power and have pity on two silly Canadians trying to cross the altiplano on bikes.

On a high note, Amy’s on-line accommodation sleuthing skills have become second to none (new talent...who knew?). As such, we have landed what could be our best accom situation thus far. A lovely Inca-motif suite with private garden and view of Lake Titicaca. With the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, one would be forgiven to think vacation home in Tuscany (Amy is in absolute heaven). Given our current surroundings, described as “enchanting” and “charming” by Lonely Planet, and the proximity to Christmas, we have decided to milk our stay here in Copa so that it overlaps with 25 December – in other words, Christmas in Copa! The alternative is to make our way to the big smoke of La Paz, a crime-ridden city of 1.4 million, and spend Christmas in the midst of the urban chaos. But that would be wrong.

So we’re digging in and going to stay put for a while. The area has a lot to offer, including another island called Isla del Sol (sun island), which sounds intriguing. It’s also a good chance to clean the bikes, gear up for the cooler weather, and hey, just get used to being in Bolivia. So that’s the plan. More on Isla del Sol and Copa in the days ahead.  Adios.