Wednesday 16 July 2014

Beautiful Bolivia: Pico Tunari, Toro Toro, Willkakuti, Salar de Uyuni

I shan't attempt to summarise my entire stay in Bolivia in just one blog post, as two months in this wonderful country have provided me with a plethora of stories, insights, memories and ruminations. Rather than write chronologically about my time there, I thought I'd approach telling you about it slightly differently. I lived in the city of Cochabamba, but first, let me tell you about five trips I took outside of Cochabamba, to remote and beautiful areas and other cities. Incidentally, I'm writing this from a balcony in Corfu, one of the Greek Islands, and the parallels between the life, landscape, attitudes and customs here and back in Bolivia are remarkable. In many ways I feel as though I have not moved geographically, but simply travelled forward a couple of decades in time. It's a comparison I hope to ruminate on at more length later on this blog. But first, let's journey to the wilds of Bolivia.

Pico Tunari
Fresh from my trek in the Peruvian Andes I arrived in Bolivia hungry to do some more hiking and see the Bolivian mountains. My chance came almost immediately with a trip to Pico Tunari, the highest peak in the Tunari mountain range of the Bolivian Andes, at 16,518 feet; a good 2,000 feet higher than our summit in Peru. The trip was organised by Sustainable Bolivia, the organisation I would be volunteering with, but at the last minute the person leading the trek fell ill and couldn't go. Rather than cancel, they decided to press on as a couple of the group had been there before.

The plan was to meet at 7am in the market square of the town of Quillacollo (pronounced 'kee-ah-coy-oh'). I rocked up at the appointed time, in my hiking garb, wandering around looking for a group of gringos I'd never met. The market square of Quillacollo is named after Simon Bolivar, the army chap who liberated the country and subsequently donated it his name. At this time of the morning Plaza Bolivar was a hive of activity, with many Bolivianos selling their wares. It was here that I had my first taste of what would become a breakfast staple: Api and Bunuelo. Api is a delicious drink of red berry fruits, thickened with something-or-other and sweetened with something-or-other else. In fact, I've no idea what it actually consists of, but it's nutritious and delicious, hot, thick and warming on a chilly winter's morning. Bunuelos are holey pieces of batter, deep fried and covered with icing sugar. Yep, the breakfast of champions.

Finally I spotted a couple of gringos across the square and hastened towards them, abruptly questioning if they were part of the party heading to Pico Tunari. Thankfully they were, and we continued wandering to find the rest of the gang. Soon we were 16 people in all, and headed towards the street where the trufis hang out in order to haggle for a lift. Trufis are one of the main forms of transport in Bolivia and are basically white mini-vans for hire, some with set routes around the city advertised by the handwritten fluro cardboard signs in the front window, and others lingering in Quillacollo waiting for a commission. Two of our party with the best Spanish haggled with the drivers and soon the 16 of us were crammed into a mini-van intended for 12 people and heading to the base of the mountain.

It was fun to meet a new bunch of people here in Cochabamba, especially as I knew I'd be working with quite a few of them over the coming weeks. Some of them have become firm friends since then. Our guides for the day were Kori, who had pulled an all-nighter the night before and 'thought he might be able to remember the way' and Emma, who had been to Pico Tunari once before and was happy to assist if we got lost, providing she recognised the part of the mountain we were on. It didn't sound promising!

Icicles on the route



But the hike was splendid. We spent a good six hours on the mountain after our uncomfortably bumpy ride to the base. I would imagine it was around four hours ascending and two descending, although I didn't pay attention, as I was far too busy gawking at the magnificent views and navigating the perilous route. We crossed many different types of terrain – dry, rocky paths meandering round lakes, across thin bridges over dams, through thick, icy snow on a very steep mountainside and up huge cragged rocks where I was immensely grateful for my walking boots (as opposed to walking shoes which would have had no ankle support). I thought wistfully back to my days hiking with Paddy and his well-stocked first aid kit and intense medical training. We were really left to fend for ourselves and luckily no-one came to any harm. The views across the mountain range and down to the valleys were definitely worth the challenging climb. Despite the warm winter sun here we were severely whipped by the wind at the summit and hastened back down towards the trufi before the sun disappeared behind the neighbouring peak, as it reportedly gets very cold very quickly here. One of our party was also suffering from altitude sickness as he had not long been in this part of the world, so we were keen to get him to a lower altitude as soon as possible.

A great introduction to the joys of hiking in Bolivia and some of its spectacular terrain.


A steep snow-covered climb



Toro Toro: here be dinosaurs
I and a group of recently acquired girlfriends decided to journey to Toro Toro for a weekend. Some judicious internet research led us to a bus stop at 6pm for a 5-hour bus ride to the small village. By Bolivian standards this was a 'short' bus ride so we brought a few snacks and our hiking gear for the weekend. We'd researched accommodation options but hadn't booked anything, figuring we'd sort it out upon arrival. About three quarters into the bus ride we stopped suddenly on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere without explanation and remained stationary for some time. We kept ourselves occupied by watching a fiery electrical storm some miles away, with illuminating flashes of lightening appearing over the hills. Noone seemed to be interested in letting us know what was going on, but all of a sudden the bus jolted and we realised they were changing the wheel, with all the passengers still inside the bus! Hilarious. Soon we were back on our way, but it meant that we arrived in Toro Toro after midnight with no place to stay. Thankfully we found a hostel which was open where a bleary-eyed woman led us to two rooms for 4 people, and we immediately got our heads down for a good night's sleep.

Late-night car maintenance: new wheel

The next day we were up early to get a guide for a day's canyoning, hiking and exploring. Our first port of call was a riverbed just outside the town where dinosaur footprints had been preserved in the rocks beside the river. I'm not sure of the science of this but it was astonishing seeing the footprints and imagining the dinosaurs themselves walking through this valley. We giddily placed our feet in the cavities, knowing that any other country on earth would have this cordoned off and we'd be lucky to get a close-up view, whereas here in Bolivia we can just walk right in the footsteps of dinosaurs – amazing!

Loons in the Toro Toro town square


Breakfast Api and Bunuelo

Dino footprints!



Meat drying on someone's washing line




Our guide was a sandal-wearing, knowledgeable local with many stories and facts to impart. We saw a prickly bush and he told us of the myriad uses of its needles by mountain folk – as sewing needles, pest deterrents and in medicines. Amusingly, these plants never used to grow on the mountain, but apparently goats had eaten them and new plants had grown from seeds nurtured in their poop, spreading the bushes onto different terrain.


The canyon gorge was magnificent, and a fairly long, steep drop down. We made our way down to the bed of the canyon where we stopped to eat and take a dip in the natural pools made from rock springs. Our hike back up was a little arduous in places but the constantly changing scenery kept us engaged. We returned, exhausted, after a strenuous six hours, thankful for a shower, hot meal and bed.





Donna above the canyon







The next day we split into two groups, with one bunch heading off to go caving while three of us went on another hike in search of the giant turtle cemetery. These ancient creatures, long since extinct, once lived in this area and there are eggs and giant turtle remains fossilised in the red earth near Toro Toro. We made our way through the countryside and eventually found the spot. Our guide around the cemetery was about 9 years old, sullenly resigned to his job of wordlessly leading us around the land and pointing to where the eggs and fossils were located. We weren't really sure what we were looking at and he was extremely unforthcoming with any information but the landscape was certainly impressive and I'm sure there were ancient fossils in there somewhere.




Tracey and Michelle

Stunning landscape

Our guide


The main market of Toro Toro


Ice cream sellers

After a great weekend our ride back to Cochabamba was during the early evening light, so we got to see some of the incredible valley landscape we had missed on the evening bus out there. The mountains loomed large above the dry riverbed and our bus took us across the riverbed itself on many occasions. I wonder how they get there during the wet season when the rivers must be full! I sat next to a woman with a small child who was fascinated with everything else on the bus for the whole 5 hours. Exhausting. But not as exhausting as the ride was for the man who fell asleep on the shoulder of my friend Tracey!









Willkakuti (Andean New Year)
In the Andean mountains of Bolivia, Chile and Southern Peru, the new year is celebrated on the winter solstice rather than 31 December, as this is the start of a new agricultural cycle and marks the new year of the Aymara calendar. On 21 June 2014 the Aymara year 5522 would begin, so we decided to head to the mountains to celebrate the Ano Nuevo with the Aymara Bolivians.

Once again a bunch of us crammed into a minivan, this time along with two dogs, a mattress and a bundle of firewood, and made our way along the winding road past Cipe Cipe and up the mountainside. I was intrigued to see what the new year traditions were here and how they differed from ours in England and Australia. We stopped at a likely-looking spot and set up camp – many jostling to display their outback skills by building and lighting the campfire. The rest of us put on extra layers of clothing and made ourselves comfortable, and it wasn't long before the rum and coke materialised. Some folks wandered off among the other groups of people to do a bit of bartering, returning with old litre water bottles filled with some unidentifiable home-made alcoholic concoction. Those from the United States initiated the rest of us on the splendours of 'smores' – a sort of sandwich-esque thing made with a square of chocolate and a freshly fire-roasted marshmallow squashed between two crackers. A taste sensation.




Sporting the latest in Andean knitwear


Soon the mountain was dotted with similar groups of Bolivians, each gathered round their own fires, telling stories, singing songs, drinking, laughing – coming together for the night to await the dawn of the new year. The night grew darker, colder, and the campfires glowed on the mountainside while we lay and watched the magnificent display of stars above us. I saw over 20 shooting stars, it was such a dark, clear night. As the wee hours of the morning set in we grew delirious, some dozing, others singing, others sharing stories and laughing about inane things, finding solace in minutae to pass the time.

Finally at around 5am people began to stomp out their fires and gather their belongings, heading en masse towards the side of the mountain facing the east. We followed suit, our way lighted by the early morning pre-dawn glow of the sky and our cold bones glad of the warming exercise. A traditional Andean band struck up a song while four llamas were herded towards the centre of the crowd, and people expectantly faced the direction of the impending sun. A hush fell on the crowd as dawn approached, and when the first rays of the new year burst above the horizon every person on the mountain held their arms up in the air, palms facing the sun to soak up the energy from the rays for this year's work, bringing luck and fortitude. There was something humbling and magnificent about this gesture, and I thought about how much more symbolic and appropriate it felt to celebrate the breaking of a new year with the dawn rather than the arbitrary moment of midnight.

Waiting...



The Andean flag



Suddenly there was a commotion and we realised that the poor llamas were meeting their fate below us in the crowd – two of them were slaughtered in an annual tradition – their blood splattering on nearby onlookers and subsequently carried in bowls by women to smear on everyone's faces. Having the 'sangre' (blood) of the llamas on your skin would bring luck in the forthcoming year.

Some crazy guy wandered round the crowd with his dubious-looking homebrew in a plastic water bottle, urging people to drink from a coconut half and toast the new year. We took it in turns to humour him and sample some of the toxic drink, pouring a few drops on the ground first to appease Pachamama (mother earth).


Blood-splattered friends


Finally, with a somewhat anti-climactic feeling, we turned and made our way back to the van, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion and looking forward to getting home to our beds to catch up on our missed sleep. Despite the llama blood, luck was not on our side, and the van wouldn't start, leaving 21 of us us stranded on the mountain, with little hope of finding an alternative way to make the 90-minute journey home. We split into groups and found enterprising trufi drivers, between us all managing to make it back, but it only served to heighten our exhaustion and draw out the missed night of sleep even more.

Even after the intense cold and the effects of lack of sleep, I'm so glad I experienced these Aymara traditions and felt the power of the dawn of a new year. It seems I've been up before the dawn many times on this trip, but this was the first time I'd sat out the night waiting for dawn to break. Perhaps the ensuing delirium ensures one is more receptive to the powers of the sun's rays? Whatever, it was a memorable night.


Pina the wonderdog


Potosí and Sucre
Long bus rides are a staple part of Latin American life, and in my three months in the south of this continent I've spent more than 10 hours on a bus on many occasions. The large coaches store luggage underneath, with the majority of the seats on the second deck. Most of the long journeys are 'semi-cama', where the seats recline quite impressively and a footrest comes up to meet your seat giving the illusion of a sloping bed and allowing a fairly decent night's sleep on the overnight buses. My strong preference is for overnight buses, as the roads are unlit, unpaved and usually on windy roads with sheer drops on one side, so I'd rather be asleep or riding in the dark, unable to see where I am and what perils surround me. The drivers make the entire route without respite, chewing coca leaves to stay awake and encourage alertness. There are rarely working toilets on these buses, so usually at some stage during the journey the driver stops randomly and unannounced, gets off to take a pee and suddenly there is a flurry of activity as people scramble to get off and pee themselves. Invariably we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere and use torches to find a suitable rock to pee behind, before dashing back to the bus to get back on board before the driver pulls away. There doesn't seem to be any kind of system and I'm sure people have been left behind on more than one occasion.

Although it may sound crazy to you, the thought of heading to Potosí on an overnight bus one Friday, nipping over to Sucre on a 3-hour bus Saturday evening and heading back to Cochabamba on an overnight bus on Sunday night seemed perfectly rational to me and my group of friends, keen to do the trip without taking time out from our volunteer placements. We rocked up at Cochabamba coach station for our 11-hour bus ride to Potosi. The coach station is a hive of activity, with reps for each of the bus companies walking round the main atrium shouting various destinations repetitively, to snap up interested travellers. 'Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz!'... if you spend any length of time waiting there it drives you crazy! Weary travellers hang out on benches, their belongings usually wrapped in brightly-coloured cloths which they hoist onto their shoulders when ready to set off. Enterprising vendors circle the station, thrusting various foodstuffs enticingly under your nose. As well as purchasing a bus ticket, each traveller must buy a separate ticket from a different kiosk to enable them to leave the station. This costs about 2 Bolivianos (30 cents) and why they don't just include it in the cost of the ticket and charge the vendors is beyond me. It results in a panic-y throng of people jostling at the counter in the middle of the station while glancing desperately at their bus gate hoping their bus doesn't leave without them. No sooner is the ticket in the traveller's possession than it's thrust hastily into the hand of the station doorman as the traveller leaves the station and runs for their bus. Not sure this is the most efficient system, but it's interesting nonetheless.

People seem to bring their entire worldly possessions with them travelling on coaches, and you won't catch a Bolivian getting a bus without a massive blanket to drape over themselves as they enjoy their night's sleep. The things which end up clogging up the aisle can be mind-boggling: in particular blankets wrapped round strange-smelling wares and even trays and trays of fresh eggs! It's not uncommon for a salesman to board the bus, stand in the middle of the aisle and hastily deliver his sales pitch for something-or-other (in this case, ginseng extract) in the time it takes the bus to reach the outskirts of the town, where they drop him off, along with the money he has made from the easily-persuaded passengers. Usually at this pause, a group of women will come alongside the bus, holding aloft bags of bread rolls and dinners they have cooked to sell to travellers. People pass Boliviano notes out of the window and in exchange take hold of a plastic bag or cardboard tray filled with rice, chicken, potatoes and some kind of sauce. Enterprising women feeding hungry travellers, although it does tend to stink the buses out somewhat.

So we made our way to Potosi, and immediately got ourselves onto a tour of one of the mines, the main reason we had chosen to visit. In the early days of Spanish colonisation, Potosi was one of the richest cities in the world, and was the hub of Latin American colonial life. The triangular multi-coloured mountain which rises above the town was discovered to contain the richest veins of silver in the world, and was dubbed 'Cerro Rico' (Rich Hill). They say that event the horses were shod with silver in the great days of the city of Potosi. Merchants grew rich and built themselves mansions; thousands of workers from all over the continent gravitated towards the city for the back-breaking work in the mines. The society was ostentatious and extravagant, with opulent churches and grand fiestas. But the money was sent overseas, used to pay off Spain's debts, and when the mines began to yield less silver the wealthy merchants left, taking their profits with them. Some claim that Spain got enough silver from Potosi to make a bridge which would stretch from the tip of the mountain to the doors of the royal palace across the ocean. At the height of productivity Potosi had a larger population than what is now Argentina. Two centuries later Bolivia's entire population is a quarter that of Argentina's. Indeed, the city of Cochabamba largely grew as an agricultural hub to feed the city of Potosi, as the lands in the Cochabamba valley basin were much more fertile than those around the mines.

As is evident with so much of Latin America's history, the silver mines created rich and poor which ran along racial lines.

“In three centuries Potosi's Cerro Rico consumed 8 million lives. The Indians, including women and children, were torn from their agricultural communities and driven to the Cerro. Of every ten who went up into the freezing wilderness, seven never returned.” (Open Veins of Latin America, Eduardo Galeano)

Potosi now is a devastating shadow of its former self, although some of the mines are still operational, despite the meagre amount of minerals remaining in the mountain. The miners work long hours, often choosing to work continuously through a weekend for the extra pay it brings, not governed by any protective employment laws. On our tour we met a miner aged 14, and I'm sure there are workers there younger than that. Many of them numb the pain of the work by continuously chewing coca and drinking almost 100% proof alcohol.

It was fascinating to see the workings of the mine, the conditions in which people work and how rudimentary the technology is that they use. I'm sure the tools and techniques haven't changed much since the heyday of the mines. The air within the mines was thick and cloying to our throats. I can't imagine working there, let alone doing a continuous 14-hour shift! Although the experience was tough at times, I'm so glad I got the opportunity to witness this incredible part of Bolivia's history.


Donna in her miner outfit


Liquid silver


A silver ring!


Cerro Rico




Our guide with coca-bulging cheeks


In the mines we encountered a statue called Tio which the miners apparently visit regularly to give offerings of coca leaves and small bottles of alcohol, in order to appease the gods to bring luck and safety while they work. Judging by the statue itself I reckon he also brings virility to the men in this very masculine world. Indeed, before entering the mines we were warned by our guide that the culture there is very misogynistic and we were not to be surprised or offended if sexist comments were called to the girls in the group by the miners as we toured the mines.






The mint, where coins are forged


After the dust, dirt and poverty of Potosi, the white clean splendour of Sucre was a huge contrast, and felt positively genteel! The constitutional capital of Bolivia, this city houses the administrative and legislative buildings of the government and the Supreme Court of Bolivia. We visited the Casa de la Libertad (House of Liberty), where the Bolivian Declaration of Independence was signed in 1825, and where we learnt all about military leaders Simon Bolivar and Antonion Jose de Sucre who gave the city and country their names.

My favourite story was about Juana Azurduy de Padilla, who was born in what is now Sucre in 1780. Despite losing four children and her husband to the wars of independence, she continued to live a militant life and at the height of her power was in control of an army of roughly 6,000 men. A magnificent portrait of her stood in one of the rooms.

Selfie in the square





Juana Azurduy de Padilla

Bolivia's founders



Cristina jumping


Wandering round the streets here, with the clean white buildings, terracotta roofs against blue skies and brightly coloured flowers, I was constantly reminded of villages I'd visited in Greece. Even the church belltowers are similar.

Our hostel in Sucre is well worth a mention. A german-owned hostel, it provided the best breakfast I'd had in Bolivia so far! A month of breakfast with my host family had made me grow sick of the usual Bolivian breakfast of instant coffee and stale bread rolls, and the spread which greeted us in Sucre of fruit, banana bread, eggs, freshly squeezed juices and more was overwhelmingly delicious. I'm sure our response was not commensurate with what was on offer, but we were delighted.

The overnight bus trip back to Cochabamba was one of the worst I'd experienced, and introduced me to some of the less salubrious elements of coach travel. The bus had been oversold, so some travellers loitered in the aisle, one man in particular with his strong-smelling armpit centimetres away from my face for much of the journey, apart from when the night drew in and he settled himself laying completely flat on the floor. I counted six men sleeping on the floor, two people perched up front with the bus driver, and wondered if they'd all received cut-price fares. You'd have to either get a really cheap ticket or be determined to reach Cochabamba in order to suffer 10 hours laying in the aisle of a full bus.


Anti World Cup street art




Tiled poetry adorns many streets






Heather the Gringa tourist


Someone's lost their teddy!





Sucre's Eiffel Tower









Jacaranda!





Crammed into a taxi


Salar de Uyuni
Friends of mine who had previously lived in or travelled to Bolivia unanimously urged me to make a trip to the salt flats the top of my list of things to do while here, so I made plans with my Spanish friend Cristina to head there after our volunteer placements ended. We decided to take the scenic route to Uyuni and travelled by train from Oruro, a magnificent journey across a massive lake, with spectacular views of the sun setting on one side of the train and the moon rising on the other.

Women selling food to passengers



View to the left of the train

View to the right of the train


Uyuni is a small town with nothing much going for it other than its position as the starting point for all tours of the salt flats, from the one-day whistle stop glimpse to the four-day trip through this magnificent part of Bolivia. We opted for a three-day tour and merrily got into our jeep on Saturday morning with our fellow travellers – two girls from Brazil, one from Germany and one from Switzerland. With Cristina hailing from Spain and my British-Australian background we were a thoroughly multi-national group and switched between English and Spanish as our common languages over the three days. With the six of us confined to a jeep for much of the tour we soon became firm friends. Our trip began with a brief visit to the train graveyeard just outside of Uyuni -- an eerie spot where old locomotives go to die.



'Wanted: Experienced mechanic'






The Salar de Uyuni is mindbogglingly amazing. It is the world's largest salt flat, at 10,583 square metres, and is 12,000 feet above sea level. It was formed from vast pre-historic lakes which became encrusted with salt, which now covers a giant pool of brine and 70% of the world's lithium reserves. It's hard to believe, as you hurtle across the salt flats, that there is still liquid beneath the surface. The salt is still harvested, piled into little mounds to dry in the sun and then gathered up to clean, bag and sell, although it is not exported outside of Bolivia. The bright sunshine and pure white flatness of the land make this area perfect for photography which plays with perspective, and we had lots of fun trying to create silly photos on the flats.

Mounds of salt










Lunch

Strangely-shaped crystals




But the salar was not the only wonder of our trip. In the middle of the salt flats was an island called Incahuasi, covered in giant cacti, with stunning 360-degree views of the salt desert. We also drove past huge luminous lakes peppered with pink flamingoes, journeyed through fields of weird Dali-esque rocks and passed beneath the base of towering live volcanoes. We saw natural geysers, hot springs, powerful jets of sulphuric gases shooting from the ground and warm pools bubbling beneath the surface. This vast, uninhabitable landscape felt pre-historic and was filled with awe-inspiring sights. At night we stayed in primitive dwellings with no running water after 9pm and where we shivered even after donning 12 layers of clothes and piling 6 blankets on top of us.



Pixie with giant cactus!









We made a mistake with the tour company we chose and had a terrible driver with no local knowledge or social skills, and we realised to our peril that he had no car maintenance skills either. Better planning from the tour company would have avoided the four hours we spent sitting in the middle of the desert after our tyre blew up, which also led us to have to cut one of our days short. This and many other things really caused an air of negativity, and the six of us pulled together to ensure it didn't entirely ruin our tour. Upon our return to Uyuni we learned that there was a bloquao which threatened our ability to leave the town. Bolivians are exemplary at staging protests, and the most effective of these usually take place around Uyuni, the country's main tourist attraction. They block all roads leading in and out of Uyuni, bringing the country to a standstill and getting their point across to the government, whatever it is. I had no wish to be trapped in Uyuni, so when I discovered I could not get back to Cochabamba I caught the first overnight bus to La Paz, even though it was in the opposite direction, spent a day wandering round the capital and then bid goodbye to the girls and headed home the next night. I was so glad I chose to do this, as the bloquao ended up lasting for over two weeks! That would have been an interminably dull time if I'd have been trapped in Uyuni.





Live volcano








Not quite sure what this sign is saying!

Classic traveller outfits

This sign is a lie

World's most remote picnic table

Wild fox


Mad cyclist crossing the desert


Dashboard icons did not help us


Staging our own bloquao



First sunlight


The ever-present Latin American football pitch



Tussocks!


Incredible landscape

Stuck in La Paz


I can't recommend Salar de Uyuni enough, and despite our terrible tour guide and the jeep breaking down, I still have amazing memories of the incredible sights I saw there. For those of you interested in motor racing, the 2014 Dakar race came through here in January 2014, and there is some magnificent footage available, so check it out.

Giant salt statue

(Disclaimer: I don't have a Spanish keyboard so I haven;t been able to put on the proper accents to various words. I'll have to work out how to do this in future!)

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