Month: October 2023

Well that’s our stint in Bolivia done! We’ve made it into Chile and the third country on our trip. It feels like we’ve been gone for ages, so it keeps being a reality check to realise we’re still only 7 weeks in, and Peru seems so long ago! All the more reason to look back at Bolivia, wrap it up, and cover anything we’ve missed. The chacana is still a major symbol here (although Max would be disappointed in my imbalanced rule of 3 instead of the Aymaran preference for an even number) so we’re sticking with it for now…

Bolivia Rule of 3 Summary

Highlights (Alex) – Toro Toro National Park (in particular the waterfall, lumpy landscape, and giant rock formations above Cuidad de Itas). Getting an upgrade on our room in Copacabana after 2 nights on buses in a row. The cholet tour and finding out about Aymaran culture

Highlights (James) – Toro Toro National Park (in particular the cavern), Uyuni salt flat itself, amazing Copacabana trout

Lowlights (Alex) – getting some gnarly gastro for 5 days just in time for the sauna-bus, thinking I couldn’t find the cholet tour and not having Internet to contact anyone, getting ripped off for laundry (digging deep for a 3rd!)

Lowlights (James) – severe 24h gastro, trying to go for a run in Sucre, finding out we’d booked the hostel for the wrong date and lost our booking

Takeaways (Alex) – don’t trust the blogs (apart from ours!)… this country is improving things rapidly so what was “hellish” is now standard; the trials and tribulations of lifting a country out of poverty; the shift in acknowledgement, pride and importance of its indigenous heritage is nothing short of inspiring and wonderful

Takeaways (James) – the constant mixture of noises which locals seem completely able to function with (overly loud TVs, shouting wares, dogs, bikes, buses, music…), still a developing country that you can see evolve before your eyes, exceeds expectations

How to Describe Bolivia (Alex) – vast, evolving, unpretentious

How to Describe Bolivia (James) – diverse (culturally and geographically), superstitious, uncut gem

Favourite Views

• The endless lake (that I kept calling the sea)
• The bumpy spines of the land pulled apart in Toro Toro National Park
• The lizard-like skin of the red rocks above the Cuidad de Itas
• Watching lightning storms roll over the city of Sucre from our flat
• The vast expanse of the salar de uyuni
• The many, many lakes and lagoons of varying colours, but still each stunning in their own way
• The view from lunch over the lagoon of the flamingoes, having their own
• The bluest of skies, against the glowing white moon, against the brown volcanoes, against the multicoloured lakes

Entertainment

Podcasts: Talk of The Devils, The Upshot, Short History Of…

TV & Film: Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, Lupin, premier league football, Rugby World Cup, music channels playing hits from the 00s and 90s (and us being disturbed how sexualised all the young, female artists were), Henry Sugar, Spirited Away, Grand Tour (Colombia Special)

Books: The Freeze, Second Watch, Sing Backwards and Weep (a stunning and dark read revealing the life of a rock star isn’t as glamorous as it may seem)

The Bits in Between

• Aymaran culture is important in Bolivia (as per La Paz post), but actually everyone we met outside of La Paz had their roots in Quechuan culture.
• In Uyuni, one side of the salar is Quechuan, the other Aymaran.
• Quechua and Aymara are taught as second languages, like English. They have to learn an indigenous language and a foreign language. Everything else is in Spanish.
• There are different dialects of Quechua, so what Odi taught us in Cusco doesn’t translate entirely to Albi in Torotoro, and same for Albi and Walter in Uyuni!
• The cholitas in La Paz wear bowler hats. The cholitas in Cochabamba wear straw sunhats.
• There’s still strong racism here against the campesinos, with people from Santa Cruz still thinking they are better than your average Bolivian (this was the case when I was here before).
• I forgot that you cross the border and two staples of my diet change name… avocado goes from ‘palta’ to ‘aguacate’, and strawberry goes from ‘fresa’ to ‘frutilla’.
• Lake Titicaca is shrinking. Rodolfo (from Torotoro) tells us this is largely because of industrial agriculture and mining ciphoning the water sources to their means and cutting off the supply.
• We’ve seen a huge amount of signs and notices about caring for the environment here, whether it’s about waste or the trees, there are constant reminders to care for your surroundings and pachamama. It’s nice.
• I think the Western world looks at Latin-America and thinks we’re more stable and got it sorted. Sure, politically it is, we swing nowhere near as far right or left (for now!), but the risk is poor governance here, not the risk of any war or invasion. The Western world, on the other-hand, looks so much more unstable from over here, with invasions, genocide and threats of another world war on the cards. Some political turmoil doesn’t seem so bad by comparison, I think we shouldn’t be throwing stones in our incredibly fragile glass house.
• Walter tells us that when he was growing up he had to do homework by candlelight, how infrastructure and access to basic utilities have vastly improved with Evo’s investments. However, the next generation take this all for granted, it’s what they’ve always had, and so he tells us they don’t really care for Evo.
• All that being said, Walter tells us there really isn’t much alternative (sounds familiar).
• Drug cartels are going to exist, they are going to produce drugs and make money, one way or another. The potential difference with Bolivia, is that ex-president (allegedly) Evo Morales made a deal with the cartels to make a lot of money, which he then used to improve the lives of Bolivia’s people (and took his cut of course). Is this not better than the cartels just taking the money for themselves and the country being ruined by them with nothing to show for it?
• Evo Morales is vying to be president again. One story is that the reason is because he still owes the cartels money. But you compare this to the presidents of other Latin-American countries (ahem, Peru), who have ciphoned off money from wherever they could (although not so blatantly or if at all from drugs) and just ran off with it… He’s a divisive character for a lot of reasons, but at least Evo gave something back?
• Triple carbs in acceptable
• The chaotic traffic is no longer terrifying
• The catholics tried to convince the locals that their beliefs weren’t dissimilar, that inti was Jesus for example, but the people saw through it and rejected it
• What did convert them was the fear of losing their souls and the catholics, realising this, they manipulated this to their advantage
• French people seem wholly capable of travelling with not just one child but multiple, and with the same amount of backpacks!
• The joy of home-cooked meals and vegetables
• A smiley face to lost and confused gringos will guarantee a sale
• Power gym playlists are the same across continents
• Lifting weights at altitude is way harder than we ever imagined (or we’ve lost all muscle mass)
• The beautiful gym bunny coming up to me and making conversation leading to her, out of nowhere, pointing out how curvy the women are (humble brag?)
• Whilst waiting 20mins on the road for James in La Paz, a cholita was selling her plastic bags of drink for 1B, she sold none in the time I was there, and even if she did, how is that an income?
• Rehydration salt sachets in Bolivia are for babies, and you have to dissolve them in a litre of water. Adults however are to seemingly drink a 5x2x12cm hard, plastic bubble of golden liquid, that looked like it would burst as soon as you cut the corner off it. I chose the baby option
• We’re both endlessly grateful to be in a time in history and a country that has accessible medicine that makes gastro a horrible inconvenience, but not life-threatening.

Photos from the Cutting Room Floor:

Beautiful flowers that are the colours of the Bolivian flag, that were painted all over the hostel in Copacabana:

Leaving The Freeze to travel onwards with someone else:

One of many signs reminding people to respect Pachamama and care for their surroundings:

Only in La Paz:

Enjoying a bit of ‘normal’ amongst the chaos of La Paz:

Is this what killed James…?

Teaching James how to eat salteñas:

Weird looking ‘fly’ in Toro Toro?

Tapping into memories of school to watch the partial solar eclipse:

Pretty, deadly, bush:

Just pretty:

Gyming in Sucre:

Food market in Sucre:

Killing time:

The rather friendly but playful kitten in our complex in Sucre:

How you move cargo from your 1st floor office down to bus-level for loading… essentially a rope with a hook on the end and you just lower it over the side, woe betide any passenger walking beneath. Includes anything from bikes to bed frames (not our bus or cargo I might add):

And the many many more photos we have from the Uyuni tour:

Day 2 – Swimming in the starlight

Breakfast is at 6.30am … no such thing as a lie-in on these tours. Alex gives her stomach a break while I devour the first batch of fresh tasty bread I’ve had in Bolivia, the rest has resembled cardboard. Benedict discovers the joys of dulce leche, basically a caramel spread that is very popular across South America. We pile back into the jeep and as I’m feeling much more refreshed today I ride shotgun next to Walter while Alex has a lie down across the backseats. Ben and Julia kindly ride in the back row to give Alex some space to spread out.

Our first stop is in a small town where local farmers live. On the way we pass one toiling away in the field by the roadside, an elderly man planting quinoa seeds one by one with his hands. In the town, there is a museum where Walter explains the lifecycle of growing quinoa, protecting it from the local wildlife, how to remove the spice and colours from the plant and how modernisation has helped evolve the process. He tells us that even though they are different colours plants, once processed the grain beneath is always white, and the colour is then added back in (although have been unable to verify this).

Next up is a photo opportunity at the railway line that passes through the area going all the way to Antofagasta in Chile. The train only passes through twice per day, once in the early morning and again late at night, so it’s perfectly safe for us to take some pictures! The train line used to be used for transporting minerals and other cargo as well as passengers around the area. Nowadays however this is mostly done using trucks and cars.

As we cruise through the desert we occasionally see a couple of cyclists who have opted to ride a challenging 5 day course across the Salar. We don’t envy their slog through this dusty, rocky, hot and windy environment. The main wildlife here is llamas and vicuñas and we spot many packs of each as we rumble across the plains.

The next viewpoint is where we can see the Volcàn Ollague, a cool 5870m tall. It may look like it has a snow covered peak but it is in fact sulphur. The local shop here sells llama sausages ‘hot dog style’ to daring tourists. Baring in mind how much we usually get for lunch, I pass up on the opportunity.

Our next couple of stops are to see the famous local wildlife, flamingos. There are 3 species here, the Andean, the Chilean and the James flamingo! Seemingly named after the person who discovered them. The pink on their tails is unbelievably vibrant. We learn that the ones without colour are actually the younglings, yet to get the pigment through. It feels as though we are in an episode of Planet Earth and we long for the dulcet tones of David Attenborough to narrate what we are witness to.

We sit on the banks of the lagoon while Walter busies himself preparing our lunch table. We have an incredible view of the surrounding area while we eat pasta, roast chicken, fresh and steamed vegetables, sweet potatoes, normal potatoes and fried banana. I’m glad I skipped the llama sausage!

Driving along after lunch we ask Walter about his personal life. His parents don’t live too far from here and own farmland where they grow quinoa and look after alpacas. Walter grew up there and learned to drive at 14 years old, after that he went to university in Sucre where he also learned English. He does these trips as often as he can to make money and pay off the loan he took out to buy his Toyota. Not all of the drivers own their tour cars but Walter likes it as it gives him flexibility. One day he would love to start his own business, offering motorcycle tours of this area as there seems to be a gap in the market as all other tour companies use jeeps. All the way through this trip he’s looked after us, informed us about the area, joked with us and asked questions about our home countries. Once again we’ve been blessed with a wonderful human as our guide and mentor.

The desert landscape morphs into a Mars-like plateau, we’ve driven for hours today and it’s impressive Walter knows his way around without any maps or road signs in this vast area with little to navigate by.

This afternoon we stop to see Viscacha, rabbit-like creatures populating the rocks and posing for photos.

We also stop at an unusual rock formation Ben appropriately dubs the ‘Stone Henge of Bolivia’, with the bright moon creating an extra layer of beauty to the contrasting colours of the area.

Pig or tree? You decide:

We then need to purchase tickets to the National Park, around £18 each… I’m slightly miffed as we’ve already paid quite a lot for this tour but in the end it is worthwhile. Nearby is the next viewpoint which looks out over the red lagoon, once again populated by flamingos. This is the spot where they lay their eggs, on the white islands in the distance that look a bit like icebergs or glaciers, safely out of reach of the desert foxes.

Our final stop of the day is the geysers. Here hot sulphuric gas rushes out of the ground and there are bubbling pits full of liquid that can reach up to 200 degrees! Due to frequent earthquakes in the area, the geysers can move location roughly every 3 months. We get out of the jeep to take pictures and watch our step, Walter warns us one wrong move and our legs will be “boiled like a chicken”. The gas howls furiously out of small holes in the ground, giant white clouds of steam form in the cold air.

We’re around 4800m up and in the shade it’s quite cold, the evening wind chills us to the bone. We take our pictures and get back in the warm jeep. As we drive to our hostel the sun sets behind us and the sky turns from dark blue to light, to dusty orange to lilac and peach. The pictures do no justice to nature’s masterpiece in the skies.

The hostel once again exceeds our expectations. I had envisioned bunk beds in a shared dorm with very basic facilities. Instead we have a nice spacious room with 5 comfortable beds that Alex and I will share with Ben and Julia. Ok there’s no WiFi but we’re used to that by now.

We’re soon summoned for tea and coffee followed by dinner. Tonight’s meal is vegetable soup followed by spaghetti bolognese with grated cheese and another bottle of red, result. As Alex is still recovering, I ferry supplies to her from the dining room to the bedroom where she is having a lie down.

The excitement isn’t over for the day as we’re invited to try the local hot springs under the twinkling stars and beaming moon. There are two options, a 40 degree pool or a 20 degree pool a bit further away. To no one’s surprise everyone opted for the 40 degree option but there is still plenty of room to find peace under the twinkling stars. I point out the constellations of Scorpio and Sagittarius I’d learned from our jungle experience. I also check my stargazer app and amazingly we can spot the Hubble Telescope blinking through the universe above us.

Day 3 – Onto Planet Chile

After a breakfast of pancakes and dulce leche we are off to see a final few viewpoints on the way to the border with Chile. First up is the Salvador Dali desert. It is called this because it is similar to some landscapes painted by the Spanish painter, although he never knew of the existence of this site. You can’t really see it well here, but at the far end of the photo is a big dune of sand with lumps of rock scattered across it:

Of the volcanoes facing it:

We drive to a spot between the green lagoon and white lagoon. However due to the weather and the time of day the colours are not particularly strong. Still, the backdrop is stunning with views of the Volcàn Licancabur that tops out around 5950 meters tall.

The next time we stop it’s sadly time to say goodbye to Walter, Ben and Julia as they are not crossing into Chile and will instead return to Uyuni. We pay a dubious 15 bolivianos “fee” to customs control and board a minibus full of strangers. We fill out a few forms, throw away some food we don’t want to risk being found by customs and cross the border. Our minibus enters a bizarre industrial building where our passports are stamped and our bags scanned for any contraband.

Before long we’re descending down towards the desert town of San Pedro de Atacama where our next adventure awaits…

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Adventure – Discovering so much more to this area than ‘just’ the salt flats, star-gazing from a hot pool

Excitement – Seeing flamingos in the wild for the first time, surprise bottles of red wine, feeling like we were on another planet

Trauma – Alex counting down until the next stomach cramps, James losing a Chasing Lights sock in the hot springs

Day One – Into the wild blue yonder

We begin our final voyage in the unusual planetscape of Bolivia with the familiarity of a night bus. This time with the bus company Emperador, I’m not sure how emperor’s like to travel but this bus resembles a sauna on wheels. Despite the night air of Sucre being a toasty 27 degrees, the radiators are on full blast all the way to Uyuni. Unbelievably, the local sat in front of me closes the small window, cutting off any chance of fresh cold air for the next 8 hours. To add insult to injury, the local and his family sleep under wool blankets, while Alex and I swelter and sweat throughout the night.

Having barely slept a wink, we arrive in Uyuni bus station at 5am. Collecting our luggage from the steamed up bus, we head to a local cafe to have breakfast and wait for our tour to start. Thanks to Zita who we met in Toro Toro, we’ve prebooked our tour based on her recommendation. From the bus station, we meet a fellow Brit called Lauren who helps lift our mood and chats with us over breakfast. There isn’t much to do in Uyuni town itself so we wander around and buy some supplies for the next few days, while the prices are still cheap in town. By this point, Gatorade is the first item on the shopping list, especially as Alex has an upset tummy from our last day in Sucre.

Around 10.30 there’s a bit of Bolivian chaos but eventually we’re in our group of 4 plus an English speaking guide and driver called Walter. A sweet and humble Bolivian who will guide us through hundreds of kilometers of salt flats and desert over the next three days. Also in our group are Benedict and Julia, a lovely couple from Munich. A short jeep ride from town is our first stop, the train cemetery. Around a dozen dusty locomotive engines and rusting carriages are scattered across the sand. A local wanted to create a train museum here but he sadly passed before fulfilling his dream. Still, the area is crawling with tourists and it’s a mesmerizing sight to behold.

Some unexpected guests visit the cemetery..

Back in the huge Toyota Land Cruiser and we’re off to the salt flats proper. We make a short stop at a local town where some buildings are built with bricks made out of salt! Walter gives us a quick tour of the local salt factory where salt is harvested, dried and cleansed before being packaged and sold within Bolivia. As Bolivia is a land locked country, thanks to Chile stealing its ocean access, this is the only place Bolivia can extract salt. We browse the local merchandise feeling a bit sad we won’t be able to buy many souvenirs on this trip.

Driving further into the Salar we witness the dry, sandy earth slowly start to turn white and almost crystal like. “This is just the beginning” Walter teases as we stop for lunch in a large structure made out of salt next to where the Dakar rally started in 2013. We find our table and chairs are made out of… you guessed it, salt!

Lunch is a large buffet consisting of giant slabs of beef, locally grown quinoa, avocados, tomatoes and steamed veg. Over lunch we get to know Ben and Julia. Though they are both from Munich, Ben currently lives in Amsterdam working for Rivian, an electric car company based in the USA, currently expanding to Europe and the Middle East. Julia lives in Dublin and works for a HR company, they’re planning to both live in Amsterdam some time next year. Alex and I feel blessed to have met such friendly, interesting and fun people in every group we’ve been in so far. Powered by 2L of coke and large chunks of watermelon for desert, we’re reenergized and ready to go.

Walter drives us deeper into the heart of the salt flats and we’re surrounded by large lines of crystals creating hexagonal shapes surface. Contrasted with the bright blue of the sky, it’s once again unlike anything I’ve seen before. We pull up with nothing to see for miles around except the odd volcano breaking the horizon. It’s time for some fun photos and Walter expertly guides us through the best poses and angles.

The penultimate stop of the day is Isla Incahuasi where we’re free to roam and take pictures for around an hour, while Walter waits with the jeep. This island in the middle of the flats is essentially a giant rock populated with hundreds of cacti and a few small birds. Some of the cacti are over 5 meters tall and only grow 1cm per year… so they have been here for quite some time.

Alex is besotted with the local birds and desperately tries to get a good picture of one as they flit around the island. Meanwhile I’m staring up at the bright moon, wondering whether I still want to go up there one day having seen such incredible sights down here on Earth.

Even all the way out here they have electricity and flushing, modern toilets, when you’ve had food poisoning you realize how important these things are that we usually take for granted back home!

We drive another 45 minutes across the crunching salt tiles, I’m fighting to stay awake and take it all in, remembering these vistas are rare and precious, despite how exhausted I am.

The final stop of the day is to watch the sun set and illuminate the sky all colors of the rainbow. Walter surprises us by setting up a table and bringing us snacks, biscuits, muffins and a bottle of Bolivian red wine!

We take some more epic photos and climb back into the warmth of the jeep as the air has taken a sudden chill and the wind whips up around us.

Our hostel for the night is surprisingly modern and clean. Sure it’s basic but we have a private double room with an ensuite bathroom, a hot shower and constant electricity. It may not sound like much but the accomodation would have been much more rudimentary a few years ago, as Alex was witness to on her previous visit here.

Still full from the huge lunch and sunset snacks again it’s time to eat! Dinner is bowls of quinoa soup followed by a giant bowl of pique macho. Despite our best efforts, we barely make a dent in these monster portions and retire to bed ahead of another busy day tomorrow.

From my last time backpacking Bolivia, I remembered Sucre (sugar in English, but named after revolutionary leader Antonio José de Sucre) to be a breath of fresh air. Looking at our itinerary a while back, we had decided that we should plan in some down-time, and Sucre seemed the ideal place. There’s not much to do here by way of tourism, it’s not at (extreme) altitude, it’s pretty modern, clean and not as crowded or chaotic as La Paz, Oruro or Potosi, it had some good apartment options, and it was still in Bolivia, so it was relatively cheap. We found a lovely flat just for us to do not very much. They also amazingly offered to let us check in super early at 8am, just after our bus was due to arrive, score.

Except we arrived to the bus terminal 3 hours early, at 4:30am, much to the surprise of most people on the bus. Despite the warnings of the journey between Cochabamba and Sucre to be “hellish”, we found nothing of the sort, perhaps they’ve made improvements along this part of the route too. Nevertheless, arriving anywhere at 4:30am is never a joy. However, it seems the only time a bus terminal isn’t a den of sensory overload of people yelling their destinations and offerings is this early in the morning. Some relative peace, at least, whilst we killed 3 more hours on the hard plastic chairs of Sucre bus station.

Our original arrival time finally met, we walk our way to our new abode, up the steepest incline we’ve ever seen:

Door unlocked, we instantly exploded our backpacks for the first time proper, and spread out over the wonderful 3 bed apartment. What then followed was excitement over the little things you miss when backpacking, such as being able to boil litres of water to put in the fridge and glug it out of a glass, instead of draw through our filter bottles. Also, proper toilet roll. And being able to watch Netflix on a screen larger than our phones! Bliss. Our days here have been full of not much, which is what we needed after 6 weeks on the go. Even the days not full of touristing were those waiting for night buses, which isn’t exactly recuperative, even if you aren’t actually doing anything.

The view from our new abode:

So, our time here has been broken up by:

• wandering around the city,
• stocking up on lush fresh fruit and veg from the local market,
• making real home-cooked meals,
• drinking copious amounts of lovely fridge-cold water,
• watching Netflix,
• reading,
• sunbathing,
• washing,
• sleeping,
• napping,
• going for all-you-can-drink-beer for 50Bs,
• watching football,
• watching rugby,
• catching up with family and friends,
• finding out the cinemas here only do dubbed films (next time!),
• eating amazing steak and chips,
• drinking surprisingly good 20Bs (£2-3) wine,
• feeling safe, at ease, and calm,
• bickering over nothing,
• getting over ourselves,
• doing a lot of planning for the next leg,
• going to an actual gym and working out,
• realising we were still at altitude and struggling to lift relatively low weights,
• dealing with DOMS for the first time in a long time, and
• watching immense storms roll through.

Upon looking back at my past travel blog to try and clarify a hazy memory, I read a line about how every (non-familial) local I had met across Peru and Bolivia seemed to treat me with disdain and instant dislike. It was a sad reminder, and one I’m glad to overwrite with my more recent interactions, including in Sucre. I don’t know whether it’s because tourism is now much more common-place/welcome, or because my Spanish is much better so I’m more comfortable talking, joking, making fun of myself not remembering a word, or I’m just less on edge having my partner by my side and acting as a barrier to the constant attention I would get when travelling as a lone, blonde, blue-eyed gringa. Maybe a combination of it all… either way I’m really glad my experience is totally different this time, for the better. And it serves as a reminder to me, to keep smiling, keep trying, keep joking, keep not taking myself or my Spanish too seriously, and to appreciate each time we interact with a smiley, friendly local. We can’t win ’em all.

Whilst this post may not serve much interest for those back home, it provides us a lovely memory of a break from the trials of backpacking. To recharge, reset, and re-energize for the next major stint. That involves finishing Bolivia through the Salt Flats, traversing Chile from deserts to snow-capped mountains (by plane thankfully) and Argentina’s hiking galore, money-changing challenges and our longest bus ride by more than double (less thankfully), before we fly up to Colombia.

Let’s go!

This blog post is brought to you by Gatorade.

Following a thrilling first day in the National Park we once again headed to the tourist centre just after 7am to find a group. Our aim for today was to do the caverns and ideally the Ciudad de Itas (City of rocks) too as they were close to each other and both half day activities. Immediately we found a chap named Ignacio from our hostel who wanted to do the same activities as us, result. As groups were a maximum of 6 we were halfway there… but the area is quiet, some groups have already formed and others want to do different activities. A group of 4 Brits wants to do the same as us but we’d feel awful abandoning Ignacio so we stay as a 3. Eventually, near 8am a couple of Bolivians turn up and join us, we’re relieved to have a group of 5 as it will save us some serious dollar.

AM: Rockin’ and Rollin’

We stock up on supplies for the day (we’re told the lunch spot is fully booked) so we buy sweets, nuts and of course, Gatorade. Alex and I climb into the back of a large Toyota jeep and off we go. The journey to the city of rocks is around an hour of driving uphill on a bumpy, dusty and rocky road. It is anything but comfortable as Alex and I bounce and roll around sat above the back wheels. Halfway up there is some rest bite as we stop to take in a fantastic view of the sprawling and unusual landscape.

Another half an hour of bumping around like being in a minecart on a bouncy castle and we reach the summit around 3200m above sea level. We pull ourselves together and enter the city of rocks.

Our guide is the same chap as yesterday, a young whippersnapper called Albi. We try to keep pace with him as he navigates up, down and sometimes between giant rocks. There are incredible views of the surrounding vista, unlike anything we have seen before, it feels once again like we are on another planet.

We pass by a set of humongous rocks resembling a tortuga (tortoise) and enter a giant cavern resembling a Gothic cathedral.

Next we find some rock paintings estimated to be 3000 years old and enter another vast cave where locals used to stay for shelter.

Outside the cave, two rather large bulls give us curious looks before passing us by… eventually they come trotting back towards us, giving everyone in the group a slightly raised heart rate. I find a safe hiding spot in a crack between the rocks!

We make our way back to the jeep, convinced that Albi is choosing a more challenging route across the rocks but it keeps it fun. We tumble back down the road to another system of caverns and caves. It feels very Indiana Jones as we cascade down into a giant, silent arena of rocks.

We exit to find a small sandy beach that has formed and Albi advises we can leave our bags here as we’ll return soon. We oblige and continue on to the edge of a cliff where we stop for a while to catch our breath and take in the views. The surface of the rocks is like nothing else up here, and in parts reminiscent of lizard skin. This sparks Alex’s imagination of Godzilla-esque creatures coming alive and roaming the lands.

Back to the jeep once more as we say goodbye to the fascinating city of rocks, that again, no photo can seem to capture fully.

PM: Journey to the centre of the Earth

We descend back down the mountain and pull over where Albi says we’ll stop for lunch as it’s approaching 2pm. Bare in mind we had breakfast before 7am and have been on the go all morning. We trek down a well laid stone path and cross a rickety bridge spanning a bone-dry riverbed. Albi bounces past us without any further instruction so we continue uphill in the fierce afternoon sun. We start to flag and are getting desperate for some shade and sustenance. Finally we catch-up with Albi who is resting at a shelter with a local cholita selling various wares. We refuel with the nuts and sweets we brought with us to keep us going, and enjoy some well deserved rest, both slightly apprehensive of what awaits us in the cavern ahead. Alex is nervous about the abseiling aspect and I’m not sure how I’ll cope with the claustrophobic narrow spaces we’ll inevitably need to crawl through.

Time to face our fears. We dump our day bag into a locker and are given helmets with headlamps attached. We walk a short distance to the entrance, a huge cylindrical porch probably 30m wide and burrowing down into the dark earth. Looking back to take in the last of the natural light before we enable our torches. Down we go…

Using ropes and the occasional metal rung we disappear down into the bowels of the cave system. We reach a small room surrounded by stalagmites and stalactites where Albi instructs us not to touch them as the oil on our skin prevents their growth. Keep in mind it takes a millennia for these to grow 1cm it doesn’t seem like we’ll make much difference but we oblige anyway, at least as much as we can in the tight spaces we find ourselves in. To reach the next section we must clamber around like monkeys on all fours, with little headroom and needing to avoid pools of dirty water that have formed on the floor. A helter skelter down a smooth sloppy rock awaits us on the other side.

Albi tells us a bit more about the cavern, points out a large pile of bat shit (they left as the tourism arrived) and takes great glee in informing us of guides that have heard children’s voices coming from the dark areas of the cave, but there were no school tours registered to have entered that day, ooooo. To toy with our emotions some more we must all turn our lights off and stand in complete darkness for a few moments. Frankly after doing this same exercise in the middle of the jungle at night, this is tame in comparison.

We sink further down and it is time for our first abseil, a 10 second demo and Albi is off down below. The descent is not too far but it is dark and the rocks are slippy. We all do a decent job of getting down with Albi’s guidance.

We pause to inspect some curious looking shapes that have formed in the rocks, see if you can guess what these are called.

Before long it’s time to face my fear as we’re guided through incredibly narrow gaps between the rocks. Crawling and squeezing through like some sort of human spider I see Alex up ahead and it looks like the walls are closing in on her. I wonder how the hell I’ll fit through being broader but somehow my body manages to mould into just the right shape. I’m glad we didn’t have a big lunch.

Luckily this is the narrowest part of our route and after a bit more climbing down we reach the halfway point. Here the sound of moving water surrounds us as it tumbles through the rocks forming a large lake where we stand. The lake is inhabited by tadpoles and small blind fish which we can just about spot.

Time to head back to the surface. I’ve no idea how people had the courage to come down here in the first place to discover this intricate network of narrow passages and hollow rooms, but I’m grateful they did. We take a different route back up and find Albi is as quick below ground as he is on the surface, hopping between sharp and slippy rocks like a mountain goat. We follow the sound of the water back up and I’m mesmerised by the reflections my head torch casts on the mini swirling rock pools. It’s been a challenge down here but another incredible experience we savour as we ascend back.

Before long we realize we’re back at the rope we started at and can make out the late afternoon sun illuminating our exit.

Exhausted, sweaty and starving we arrive back at our homely hostel where Ignacio smartly negotiates for some cold beers. Griselda says she will make us pork chops and potatoes for dinner and we freshen up. We sit down to eat with Ignacio who converses in Spanish with Alex about travel, politics and economies of South America. Dinner is a feast of chops, chorizo sausages, potatoes, salad, veg and bread. We inhale the lot and retire to bed, a thrilling but tiring day has me asleep before 9pm.

I had to get a picture of Cappuccino, one of the gorgeous hostel dogs:

Next stop: Sucre

Transfer day involves a lot of killing time as we will get a night bus from Cochabamba across to Sucre. We relax around the hostel until midday where a collectivo picks us up. We’re sat near the front on a row of 3 and for the first 20 minutes a local couple squeeze onto the row too. Luckily after they are dropped off, for the next couple of hours we can spread out, much to the envy of the rest of the sardines in the back of the vehicle. The return journey is a thousand times smoother than the way out, and we can see how this wonderful area will soon be a must on the tourist trail with this faster and less painful transfer now available.

After a hop across Cochabamba in another collectivo costing around 30 pence we are at the main bus station. With many more hours to kill we settle down in the food hall and share half a chicken with three types of carbs! Between playing phone games, chatting and reading the Kindle, time passes surprisingly quickly and we board our bus for the night. Leaving Cochabamba just after 9pm.

*****************

Adventure – Unique landscapes, being out of our comfort zones underground, lots and lots of trekking while trying to take it all in, collectivo driving through a road still being built

Excitement – Cold beers and a hearty home cooked meal, keeping pace with Albi, seeing daylight emerging out of the cave (we’d survived!)

Trauma – Bouncing jeep, no idea when we’d eat lunch, waiting for photoshoots to finish

Having myself done quite a bit of Bolivia before, and realising we had quite a bit of time to kill before our flights to Patagonia, and Bolivia being the cheapest place to kill said time, James was on the lookout for somewhere for us to explore as new together.

Having read many travel blogs, he came across mention of the Toro Toro National Park, with a small town attached called Torotoro (evidently they got bored adding the space when referring to the town). It seemed fairly off the beaten-track for most gringos, and elusive. The only way to get there was via a 6 hour collectivo from Cochabamba (a city 8 hours east from La Paz), then no way out other than going back the way you come in, and then another 8 hour apparently “hellish” night-bus to Sucre. It was a tough call as we’d so far been ‘spoilt’ by lots of clear guidance and information of what to expect in advance of everything up to this point (except buses, there’s no planning for Bolivian buses!). To go in pretty blind and just hope it would all work out when we arrived was a totally new approach. But we decided to go for it. After all the name looked similar to Totoro so there had to be something in it!

During the wait, a lovely old gentleman called Rodolfo came to chat to us and told us that he was from Torotoro, he had a hotel there himself (unfortunately not the one we were staying in). He’d actually founded the national park, but how tourism is good and bad for the area and country (Peru had learnt the hard-way). At 5:30am after a night-bus there was no doubt a lot more said that my brain did not fully take in, but my lasting impression was of another kind Bolivian we were lucky to cross paths with.

It turned out that whilst the journey used to take 6 hours a few years ago when the blogs we’d read were written, it now takes 3. Hooray! The State is improving the road, so whilst the journey out was incredibly bumpy, tight, dusty and hot, we were hugely happy to arrive in just 3.5 hours (after a few detours to drop off passengers picked up along the way, and having a face-off with the same said construction vehicles improving the road at the same time as it being used).

Our hostel (Como En Casa – Like At Home) was a breath of fresh air from our time in La Paz, and after 12 hours on buses. Not only were there 3 lovely dogs (Kaiser, Cappuccino and Robin), but a lovely sheltered seating area with a goldfish pond and tumbo fruit draping down:

Today was always going to be a rest day after the long journey, and rest we did. The only other thing we did was venture out for some food. I inhaled the best Pique Macho I’ve had (a bit like Lomo Saltado but with chorizo, an egg on top, and no rice) and James, still recovering from his upset stomach, braved chips, cheese and ham in a place styled as though we were in a cave (why will become clear in part 2):

After a bit of a reccy, thinking the tourist office was closed but finding out from another helpful Bolivian we were on the wrong side of it, we bought our National Park ticket. It was confirmed that to get on a tour you just have to show up in the morning and hope to find others to group with and also hope they want to group up with you to split the flat rate costs!

We headed back to the sanctuary, read, played games, napped and relaxed until it was time to eat again. After a bit of confusion (again!) for how the food situation in our hostel worked, we were served up a delicious trout with beetroot (VEGETABLES YAY!), tomato salsa, rice, chips, bread and then a tasty tumbo ice cream in chocolate sauce. The food was amazing and a lot better than anything “Como en mi Casa” (like in my home) at least!

The next day we were up early and ready to go and try and be the sociable extroverts we aren’t, in hopes of grouping up. Failing that, I hoped we could lean on my Spanish and offer to be a translator to win people’s favour (the guides here only speak Spanish). We showed up to the tour office and saw a solo gringa sitting on the steps and so we got chatting about her plan for the day. There were two things James wanted to do here (I was not involved at all in the planning so everything was a surprise for me), and our new best friend also wanted to do one of them, a tour of dinosaur footprints, and a dip in a pool of a waterfall. So we were 3. The vans take 6, so we decided to wait for a bit and hope some others would show up. We were out of luck with finding others, but we were definitely in luck with meeting Zita, who was a lovely Hungarian woman who had lived in the UK for 20 years.

Very much expecting a bit of a bimble along some footprints, seeing some nice views, then a dip in a pool, what came was a huge surprise, but a worthwhile one. Our guide (Albi for us, Albino for his tour guide mates) was young and on a mission to get this done as quickly as possible it seemed.

We got dropped off at the start of our (now known to be) hike to walk amongst the dinosaur footprints of the area and take obligatory hand in footprint photos:

The clarity and chance we got to walk amongst these were brilliant. Albi told us lots of info, which my Spanish brain has long since forgotten. We walked on a little bit more to find ourselves in what looked like a field of rock mushrooms, that you could easily imagine a mini citadel of rock people, borrowers, smurfs, (or as Albi put to us – minions), which of course made us feel like giants in some ridiculous episode of Power Rangers:

We then rapidly marched on to the edge of the canyon…

… then down into the canyon…

… back up out the canyon…

… through a cave in the canyon called El Chiflón (that we thankfully had torches with us by pure luck because Albi scuttled ahead so quick we were left in the literal dark of where to go)…

… walking along the edge of the canyon (above this waterfall is where we came out of the cave, try and spot the path, there isn’t really one!)…

… back out of the canyon by literally clambering up a rock wall that would never be a ‘route’ anywhere but here…

… before making it to the top for the last time to take a breath and enjoy the view…

… before dropping back down into the canyon for the Vergel waterfall part.

We were very grateful for our fitness and strength that we didn’t think we’d need! The views, geography and geology were spectacular and nothing like we’d ever seen. The different layers of rock are so evident, the separation of them and the plates making the canyon and lumps and bumps, it was really fascinating, and our breath was taken away as much by the altitude and trekking as it was this incredible national park. We felt so grateful that Bolivia is protecting this land, and that we got to enjoy it.

The second part of the leg was to drop down into the canyon once more and swim in a natural pool. This part was down some actual stairs (800!), and the end was a fantastic natural wonderland of lush greenery sprouting from the rocks where the water cascaded down. Albi tells us how this area was always known to the locals as the secret garden, and it was easy to see why when surrounded by the giant red rocks. We enjoyed a dip and a paddle in the pool that wasn’t actually as cold as anticipated (the slippery rocks under the surface may have thwarted my usual approach of a slow, managed decent into cold water!):

After a lovely time relaxing in the secret garden (El Vergel), unfortunately it was time to clamber back out of the canyon again. Thankfully we all found this relatively easy and a lot faster than anticipated. This was also aided by a glorious fresh watermelon awaiting us at the top as served by a friendly cholita (where there are tourists, there are cholitas selling sustenance):

A quick walk along the top again and we made it to the final viewpoint, a bridge over the canyon edge to provide some final Insta-worthy photos:

And seemingly that was that, we made it. Or so we thought. We got back in our van and felt very relieved to be driven the final way back. Until we get told just outside town, “time to get out”. Absolute silence and disbelief from the back seat as our minds were already thinking of food and water and beds, struggling to pivot back to more walking. Apparently there are some more footprints. Zita and I mutter to one another that if this takes long we’re happy to call it a day and miss whatever else is in store, we are satisfied. But Albi takes no prisoners and you’d have to catch up with him to tell him that first.

We are shown some more footprints that are just outside town, but only accessible with a guide. These are different to the others, they’re likely from a pterodactyl, and there’s also some that are somehow in relief, because of this Albi calls it Area 51. There are also some big splodgy round ones, likely from a diplodocus, and ones from an ankylosaurus (I forget which ones these are):

And with that, Albi finally walks us back to the main square, where we three sit and get our breath back from a day full of incredible views, sights, and challenges. We all head to a pizza place for a fizzy drink and some brilliant pizzas, then head back to our respective hostels to wash and recover. James and I enjoy another fantastic meal at our hostel, chicken curry today; I drink a Huari beer recommended by Albi whilst James has an Aperol Spritz! Another early night for a (hopefully) easier walk tomorrow through some caverns, let’s see shall we…

*************

Adventure – surprise caves, canyons of all colours, the whole shebang was totally unexpected for me and a hard but worthwhile adventure

Excitement – feeling the warm water cascade onto us from the waterfall, that sweet taste of watermelon when feeling massively dehydrated

Trauma – Worrying about whether we’ll find a group, Albi constantly walking off and us having no idea what the ‘safe’ route over the rocks is, relentless sun with little to no shade, dehydration, so much dehydration

Day One: Crossing the channel

We leave Copacabana after a final breakfast feast and board a rare day bus destined for La Paz (The Peace). Snaking along the hills above Lake Titicaca for around one hour, we stop and need to depart so we can cross a stretch of water. For safety reasons, we take a small passenger boat across the 200m wide lake while our bus is loaded onto a makeshift raft. We patiently wait on the other side and appreciate this odd spectacle.

Once back on the bus we soon come across what looks like a large protest blocking the main road, the highway full of stationary cars, trucks and people. However as we pass down the back roads it appears all of these people could just be watching a local football game! A large storm cracks overhead and under dark skies we pass through El Alto (The High). This new city sits above the bowl of La Paz and is essentially an area of poverty hovering above the main city at an altitude of 4150m. Amused by the amount of pollerias (chicken shops) and slightly alarmed at the equal amount of funerarias (funeral homes) we slowly pass through streets choc full of collectivos (minibuses) fighting for an inch of space. We descend pas a large monument of what I assume is a local hero (which Alex later informs me is infact Che Guevara) and we’re into La Paz proper.

We’re dropped off at the main bus station and cross the road to our nearby Rooftop Hostel, ideal! However, it becomes clear something is wrong with our booking and we realize we’ve booked the wrong dates and have arrived a day later than planned, doh. We find another hostel a bit further into town and trek 15 minutes with our heavy backpacks to Incas Room Hotel. Alex works her magic and gets us a room upgrade after the twin room they initially gave us resembled something from The Shining and had a wonderful view of a brick wall.

Exhausted from the day’s travel, hostel cock-up and the big dirty city we’ve just arrived in, we seek refuge in the Lucky Llama Irish Pub. Drinking a couple of questionable beers we enjoy a few games of pool and feel a bit more relaxed.

Day Two: Discovering La Paz

As Alex has already been to La Paz a number of times we decided to take separate walking tours, I will do the general city tour while Alex will take the Cholet tour (more on that later). We head to the chairlift station(!) where Alex will start her tour. Yes there is an entire network of modern chairlifts connecting La Paz and El Alto, with several lines similar to the London Underground. I note the manufacturer is Doppelmayr the Austrian cable car company logo I’ve seen many times on skiing holidays in The Alps.

Leaving Alex behind I head to San Pedro Plaza for my tour. The instructions are typically vague, so I wander the square and identify some other confused looking gringos, before long our group is formed and Denise from Red Cap Tours greets us. Below I’ll summarise each stop on the tour.

San Pedro Prison

This dilapidated structure, just off the main square in the San Pedro district, does not look like your typical prison and a huge line of locals are queueing to get in:

The building was a donation from the Spanish, intended to be used as a monastery and house up to 400 residents. However the Bolivian government saw an opportunity to save money and converted it into a prison, it currently houses over 3000 people!

A few years ago, due to rife brutality and corruption from the prison guards, the prisoners offered a deal to the government: let us run the prison ourselves and you can save money by not needing prisons guards. Amazingly the government agreed and the prison is a self-governed city, complete with its own restaurants, cafes and other businesses, all run and managed by the prisoners. Another creative job is to work as a “taxi” for prison visitors, essentially acting as their bodyguard and taking them to who they want to see, for a fee. Today the entire prison is guarded by only 27 police officers, mostly they just operate the incomings and outgoings at the main gate.

Another deal was made with the government, the male prisoners argued they could not afford to pay for their own cells (which is required in Bolivia) as well as paying for their families on the outside. The solution… the prisoners’ wives and children are allowed into the prison and can stay in the cells with the inmates. They can leave twice per day. In this self-governing prison, anyone foolish enough to assault these women or children will be punished by being beaten to death. The prison has a president, vice-president and “dispute settler”, the current president is a serial killer who murdered 7 people, so probably not someone whose resolve you’d test.

Unbelievably up until a few years ago, it was possible for tourists to visit the prison! However, due to a few unsavory incidents (two people were stabbed and one person was raped), plus pressure on the government, this was eventually abandoned. Of course this birthed illegal prison tours and there was one harrowing tale of two gringos paying an excessive amount of money to a local to take them into the prison for a tour. Once inside, their “guide” abandoned them and they had to beg the police officers to let them out. After making them sweat for a few hours, the police officers took them round every nearby ATM, rinsing them for thousands of dollars for their stupidity.

It is well known that there is a cocaine factory within the prison walls, our guide explains the prisoners would not risk their wives or children snuggling the goods out. Instead they throw the cocaine out of the makeshift roof into the street. Their choice of wrapping paper? Dirty nappies.

If you want to read more about the prison there is a famous book written by an inmate called Marching Powder.

Rodriguez Market

A huge farmers market with produce brought from the surrounding countryside sold by female vendors known as cholitas. There are pyramids of tomatoes, stacks of peppers, cabbages, avocados, onions, various types of squash, plenty of potatoes in all shapes, sizes and colours and many more fruit and veg unknown to my eyes. Supermarkets are a rarity in La Paz with locals buying from this market and street sellers all around the city.

Local people will have their favorite cholita, known as a Caseta, who will act as their vendor, friend and therapist. If these ladies spot you are not in your usual mood they will take you aside for a cup of tea and discuss what is wrong. They’re a shoulder to cry on or a friend to confide in as well as selling you your favourite food at a decent price. Their currency… Gossip. These women work the market 6 days a week from 6am to 5pm, they want something to talk about with the other cholitas! It was not uncommon to see a cholita fast asleep lying amongst the piles of veg, or even catching a nap sat up straight on their stools. 

Cholitas are the famous women of La Paz and beyond. Originally they were known as cholas (a now derogatory term) and were generally looked down upon, even barred from entering some public places. However they now enjoy a status of respect and honor, now known as the female diminutive Cholitas. 

They will most likely be wearing small pumps for shoes, a large puffed out dress (inspired by the Spanish corsets) and most obvious of all, a bowler hat! The hats came about when the British (of all people) were over in Chile and Bolivia building railways. A mistaken order to an Italian hat maker lead to dozens of small bowler hats turning up. The cholitas of the time thought it was the perfect item to compliment their outfit and they remain to this day.

Not my image:

If a cholita is wearing her hat straight it means she is taken or married. If the hat is at an angle on the side, it means they are single or perhaps widowed for the older ladies. The most attractive part of a cholitas body is their… Calves! A sign of a strong woman who can work hard and carry a lot for their potential suitors. Their long hair, often tied at the end in knots, is a sign of their wisdom.

How do you spot a wealthy cholita? Make them smile. Some of these women are millionaires and will often showcase this with their gold teeth.

Witches Market

There are in fact two Witches Markets, one in La Paz and a bigger one up in El Alto. We walked around the La Paz version. The “witches” have their stalls set out selling natural remedies, items like ginger, aloe vera etc; they often sell various medicinal sweets, herbs and spices, trinkets, statuettes of pachamama (Mother Earth) and most bizarrely of all, llama fetuses.

The curious purpose of these fetuses is to bury them in the ground along with candy, coins and other precious items when building a new house. This offering to pachamama within the foundations of the house is intended to bring good luck to the occupiers and ward off evil spirits. The size of the house determines the size of the fetus, a couple of stories and a small one will do, four or five stories and you’ll need the biggest fetus available.

But what do you sacrifice if you are building a skyscraper or a bridge? You’ll need something bigger than any llama. There are not only rumors but evidence has been found of human sacrifices in the foundations of large buildings. It is thought that in times past, homeless people were lured to construction sites with the promise of food, water and shelter. Here they would be plied with strong alcohol and when they passed out, they were laid down with the candy and coins, while the first layer of concrete was poured on top of them. Horrific and brutal but the Bolivians are a very superstitious bunch and clearly didn’t want to take any chances.

Plaza Murillo

Our final stop was the main square of La Paz. There was a heavy police presence with a mix of ordinary police and military enforcers with riot shields and automatic rifles. This square has seen many protests over the years, often they turn violent so now the police take a no nonsense approach. There is one building sprayed with bullet holes while what used to be the presidents house has been burned down 3 times. It is now known as the burnt palace.

A giant new presidential palace towers over the plaza, built to “represent the people of Bolivia”.

Many coups and uprisings have happened here. One of the most famous was when a left-wing president was elected and abolished a 70% income tax, at first he was very popular and much loved. However, the opposition planted seeds of doubt that his intentions were for the people to save money to buy land and houses that he would then confiscate from them. An angry mob formed outside the palace and spurred on by the right wing party, they stormed the house and twice shot the president cowering behind his desk. Believing the rest of the mob would want their pound of flesh, they tossed him from the second story onto the square. Here he was dragged around the plaza twice while everyone got a turn to spit at, kick and beat him. Savagely he was then hung from a lamppost on the square. A new right-wing president took his place and the people rejoiced…until they realized they’d made a huge mistake. Regretting their actions, they decided to build a statue to honour the president they had mercilessly shot and beaten to death. Their location of choice… next to the same lamppost they had hung him from.

Cholet Tour (Alex)

From my many, many journeys into La Paz back in the day, I would admire the amazingly diverse and unique building designs up in El Alto. However, back then, El Alto was supposedly a no-go for gringos, a city for true Bolivians. So, I was super excited to now see a walking tour option to go and see these amazing buildings. My guide was Max, and it turned out I was the only one on the tour so I got a private tour for the price of a shared one!

Max is from El Alto, and my tour isn’t just of the amazing buildings I was so curious about, but also about the Aymara culture that is alive and well in Bolivia, particularly in La Paz and El Alto. Max does advise me to be respectful and not take photos of people or some buildings, and I’m also a bit nervous still up here so I’m afraid my photos are few, but certainly Google cholets to see the best examples.

We jump on the cable-car straight up into El Alto and our first stop is to visit the area of witch-doctors:

Out front of each of these doorways is a concrete bowl for burning the required combination of ingredients your witch-doctor prescribes to give you your blessing/cure. Max explains that you typically have a doctor your whole life who you know and trust and ‘vibe’ with. This is about the energy between you, rather than your postcode! So, if I were to come for a spell, I would talk to them and see who I bonded with and that would be the key. Energy is an important aspect of Aymara culture and this is just the first example. They would then support you with all your needs from health, protection and guidance. No ‘specialisms’ here, except for specialising in being your spiritual guide. He teaches me about the key concept of ‘Ayni’ that is effectively about reciprocity and understanding and appreciating how we are interconnected with nature (as it is in Quechuan culture, so there are a good few crossovers with what I learnt from Odi on our Inca Trail, although some fascinating differences). Of course I like this concept very much!

To expand on what James has written about above, Max tells me more about the llama fetus offerings when you have your new build. That the fetus must have died from natural causes, because this is about the transference of energy. If you were to kill the fetus directly, you take away its energy, and therefore what is your offering to pachamama? (Which might explain the cruelty of James’ buried alive urban myths). What you plant and burn in the ground is to transfer the energy from those objects into your building. Your building then carries this energy with it, and is believed to be ‘alive’. When you hear the creaks and cracks of the building, they believe that is the building stretching and getting comfortable, just like we do.

We jump back on the cable-car and move further into El Alto proper. On the way, Max points out some cholets and defining features. The reason for the name is because of the Cholita culture up here alongside the houses of varying sizes seemingly plonked on top of multi-story buildings. Some of these look like actual alpine chalets, and the name was coined (apparently much to the disdain of one of the first architects who wanted to give it a more grandious name, a bit like The Gherkin I imagine). Max walks us around and chats with confidence whilst I feel like a panicked and lost child completely beholden to my guide.

He takes me to our first cholet (that I’m instructed not to photo as apparently the owners don’t want people copying their style) and explains the key designs of a cholet. As mentioned above, you have your home designed as though someome plonked it on top of the building, this means you are closer to the sky, important for their culture. The main bulk of the block below the house is a ballroom/event space, where you party and feel alive and connected to those around you and the wonders of life, another key aspect of the culture, the present. Partying is protest here. Underneath this ballroom are mini-markets and stores of people selling their wares, the level of provision and prosperity from the ground. Where Aymara differs is that there is a fourth level, this is about your ancestors that runs throughout the building. It’s fascinating to see how this culture modernises, from offerings to growing more corn to being more prosperous is your tenant selling their wares.

Aside from these fundamental concepts of the design is the facade of the building that reflects you and explains why they are so unique and distinct. Some incorporate their trade in their designs (a shoe, a guitar, Asian influenced), and this might explain the protectionism some owners have of not wanting their style copied, they’re meant to be individual after all.

You also get the ones that are clearly just having fun:

These buildings are anything but cheap, some apparently cost into the millions of dollars. I’m told there are mixed theories as to where the money comes from for people to afford to be able to build them. What I like is that the people here who have prospered haven’t moved to the rich areas of La Paz, they’ve stayed in El Alto, they invest in their city and the addition of a cholet to an area can bring prosperity as people need to buy presents, drinks, supplies etc, a bit like a Waitrose increasing the value of an area in the UK, a cholet brings up the area around it too. They don’t make their millions and move to Surrey, they stick around and improve the lives of those around them. I guess that’s the benefit of being able to build a huge mansion on top of a big building block!

Max now takes me inside of a cholet to see a ballroom for myself. After all, only people from the culture would get invited to a party here, so it’s a privilege to be inside and imagine what goes on at night.

There are two more fundamentals to Aymara culture for me to learn and share. One is that even numbers are key, they equate to balance, compared to the rules of 3 we found so much in Quechua. This means that there aren’t many weddings this year as people will wait for an even year, and if you were given an odd number of presents, the “present-counter” (a job bestowed on someone close to you) is charged with evening out the number by quickly finding you an extra one. Back to reciprocity, you are expected to bring at least two crates of beer with you to the party/wedding/celebration etc. (you couldn’t just give one crate of course), and then at the next event the previous host would have to bring you at least 2, 4, 6… crates to reciprocate, depending on how much they wanted to show you up.

The second key identifier of a true Aymara venue is that there are small drains in the ground. This is because, before each drink you have, you give your offering to pachamama (ch’alla), by pouring a bit of your drink on the ground. You do this every single time you or anyone around you takes a drink, so the floor gets soaking real quick (it’s tile at least, not like a Wetherspoons carpet!). At one point in the night the music will slow down as the cholet staff will mop up the offerings and push them down the drain. To not give your ch’alla is seriously poor form, and so for Aymarans to be in a venue without these drains means they don’t feel they can truly celebrate. It makes me feel akin to the innate comfort I felt in the Irish pub the night before, an indescribable feeling that is most notable when you are taken outside of that comfort, and that Aymarans have had to feel for so long until they could build their own spaces that worked with their way of life.

My last lesson is that the way people display their wealth here is at these huge parties. They don’t wear fancy clothes in the street, or own ridiculous cars, or handbags. As James says above, there’s money in their teeth, but otherwise their attire out and about is purely workwear. At the parties you may see the same cholita dripping in solid gold jewellery, a fine vicuña shawl, a bowler hat worth hundreds, and a skirt worth tens of thousands. This space is where they show off their status and success, through clothes and gifts, this is where they keep up with the Jones’.

Day Three: In sickness and in health

Sadly on the third day, I (James) was wiped out by a nasty bout of what we assume was food poisoning. I’ll spare the details but I didn’t manage to make it out of the hotel room all day, only eating some dry crackers and drinking a Powerade in the evening when I started to feel better. Alex felt fine and was an excellent nurse for me throughout the day.

Day Four: On the ropes

24 hours later I felt better and we decided to carry on as planned. After breakfast we ran a few errands, caving in and buying a SIM card and booking the bus for the evening.

Next we went to what I’d been looking forward to doing since we’d arrived, riding the cable car! We boarded at the bottom of the Red Line in La Paz and ascended above the city, noticing some unusual buildings and passing over a very colourful section of the city. At the top we briefly visited a huge street market in El Alto and quickly jumped onto the Silver Line with our belongings intact. From here we went sailing above El Alto and changing onto the Purple Line descended back down into La Paz.

Our final bit of entertainment in La Paz was heading back up to El Alto in the evening to watch Cholita Wrestling! Yes these feisty and strong women want to show you what they’re made of and every Thursday and Sunday they put on a show of strength.

We sat through four intense but comical and tongue-in-cheek matches, often with the crowd invited to get involved in various ways. The first match was actually between two young men but the rest were all cholitas. One would side with the referee to make an unfair 2 against 1 matchup but after taking a (staged) beating, the underdog would rise up and conquer both of them. The contestants certainly seemed to enjoy themselves as much as the audience and there was a friendly and fun atmosphere throughout the night.

We headed back down to La Paz and boarded the night bus, heading for the land of the dinosaurs….

James

….

Adventure – Exploring El Alto as a gringo, doing separate tours for the first time, ordering a table/meal without Alex’s help

Excitement – Seeing the streets of La Paz come alive in the evening with anything and everything being sold kerbside, James’ first taste of salteñas, Alex realising she still knows her way around La Paz. Cholita Wrestling crowd dancing, cheering, booing and even getting in the ring.

Trauma – Finding our way back to the hostel in the dark quiet backstreets, tummy bugs, Loki no longer being open, minor altitude sickness

Farewell Peru

A la Race Across the World, we decide to take back-to-back night buses from the jungle to Copacabana, which is just over the border in Bolivia, on Lake Titicaca. We’ve decided to skip the Puno side of Lake Titicaca after reading reviews of “the human zoo” that the Uros Islands have become, and decide not to find out for ourselves.

Taking night buses saves us some money in accommodation, but it means many hours spent waiting for the next night to travel through. We do this sweltering in the agency office in Puerto Maldonado before getting on the lie-flat bus of Exclusiva, then head back to the hostel in Cusco where our big bags are, and spend all day trying to not get found out that we’ve spent more hours in their lovely communal areas than we have in an actual paid room there. Thankfully, they don’t seem to question our coming and going as we recharge our devices, read, use their wi-fi, bathroom, printer and kitchen.

We realise this day will be our last chance for Peruvian food, so we decide to go to Papacho’s, a burger joint off the main square, started by one of Peru’s most famous chefs Gaston Acurio. We get a table on the terrace looking out onto the main square, enjoying the sun (but no longer the humidity), happy hour chilcanos, juicy burgers, fantastic service, and a forest fruit dessert as a treat from James. It’s a lovely way to say goodbye to Peru.

We make our way to Cruz Del Sur to get on our next night-bus and settle in for the ride to Puno where we’ll change busses to cross the border. According to the schedule, we’ll have a couple of hours to kill in Puno bus station at 5am, but thankfully our bus seems to have taken just the right amount of longer than expected, and we arrive perfectly on time to jump straight on our next bus with Transzela.

The border crossing is surprisingly smooth. We get our passports stamped on the Peru side (even though we never got stamped in), walk across the land border, and get stamped into Bolivia. I enjoy crossing as a typical backpacking Brit this time and avoid the interrogations I used to get from Bolivian border control when crossing on my Peruvian ID in the past, “How are you Peruvian?”. Thank you British passport.

In our bus there is a French family of 2 adults and 3 children under 10. We marvel at how they’re able to travel with the same size bags as us, and we’re not providing for 3 small humans! (This will be the first of a few families we see travelling around and never cease to be impressed at those managing to travel latin-america with children in tow… we’re finding it challenging enough just us!)

Hello Bolivia

The bus drops us off and we make the brief hike up to our next hostel, practicing how we can try and sob story our way into a free upgrade (we’ve seen rooms with terraces available). I muster the courage to embrace my inner ‘Diana Cooper from Lima Peru‘ (blagger of upgrades extraordinaire), and find there are already some tourists there. I’ve never seem a blag infront of others before, and I instantly revert back to Alexandra White of polite and smiles. As luck would have it, we get offered an upgrade without even having to ask or beg, and rejoice at our incredible room with stunning terrace looking over the lake. But most importantly, an actual bed.

We look forward to some serious down-time and recuperation after a full-on month in Peru.

But first, we need money. We wander into town and do a lap of the small centre. Finding a cashpoint, we try our shiny, new Starling bank card that promises to give us good international rates and unlimited withdrawals, not once, not twice, not even three times, before admitting defeat and letting the next man in the queue give it a go. We wait outside figuring out what to do. The error message just says an equivalent to “computer says no” so we start to have a crisis that we’ve royally screwed up (lack of sleep may have heightened our dismay somewhat!). We hear the man we let through successfully withdraw cash, so we know the issue isn’t a lack of it, but perhaps there’s some limit we don’t know? So, we decide to give it another go, and then realise a small Visa logo on the side, and realise… Starling is Mastercard. As is Monzo. Oh how complacent we are in the UK being able to just use any cash point! Relieved at realising the issue, we spot another cashpoint and hope it takes Mastercard, it does! Success. Crisis averted. All is not lost. Confidence regained. We can stay in Bolivia. Smiles and celebrations (it’s the small things that can make a big difference when travelling!)

James has sussed out a place for lunch on the lake-front and we get some well needed lunch. It’s a tiny makeshift eatery under plastic tarp with plastic tables and chairs and the menu printed on hanging boards at the side. The dish is trout, and my word is it tasty! A fellow gringo walks in and asks us about wifi, we tell him we don’t know but we doubt it, but loe and behold when he asks the staff they give him a password!

After a successful lunch, we check out the food market to stock up for some home-cooked meals again, and head back to the hostel to rest and sleep and make a plan for the next few days.

Isla Del Sol

The next day, we’ve decided to head to Isla del Sol for a day trip. We enjoy the most fantastic breakfast at the hostel (fruit, juice, yoghurt, puffed cereals, eggs, pancake, bacon, avocado, cheese and bread) and head down to the boats to get one over to the island. We jump on the top of the boat, life-jackets on, and head off at a speed not too much faster than rowing over to the island. It’s a glorious view though (albeit a little cold with the strong winds) and we enjoy watching the world go by and the sun reflect off the seemingly endless lake (that I keep calling the sea).

Upon arriving at the North part of the island, after a bit of confusion and worry at getting lost (there’s no map anywhere!), we seemingly find a path and spot other gringos and figure we’re on the right track. We pass by glorious white sand beaches, completely empty except for a few pigs and piglets, clear blue waters, and blazing sun, and are reminded of the Greek Islands, the only difference seems to be the lack of tourists sipping cocktails on sunbeds!

Nevertheless, that’s not the life for us, as we continue the walk up, pay a lovely man the entrance fee to the north part of the island, and keep plodding to the end. We reach a sacred stone and explore a ruin of some kind of settlement that’s still pretty well preserved.

We decide against hiking straight up the mound infront of us and follow a path around the side… except the path seems to just keep going around and around. The views are impressive, but what we really want is to get to the top, so we go off piste and walk straight up to get some spectacular views of the ruin and the lake.

We realise we need to get a move on as there’s still a 3 hour hike to go to get to the south end of the island before the last boat leaves at 4pm, sí o sí.

It’s actually a harder walk than we imagined (or I remembered!), I think largely to do with the hot sun, altitude, and “Inca flat” path that seems to never end going up, down, up, up, down, up more. However, the views are worth it and we enjoy the quiet and calm and peace of the island, except for a few other mad gringos also walking the trail for fun.

Under some eucalyptus trees we spot an old man sitting on the wall with a bamboo stick. He looks like he’s been sitting out here all his life, with his dark, brown and weathered skin, but kind face. The gringo that just passed us has been stopped by said man. My initial thought is he’s begging for money, but he stops us also and says something. The gringo looks at us blankly. We look back blankly. The old man looks at us expectantly, but without any outstretched hand. All three wondering whether we should be paying attention to the old man or just walking by, but something tells me he isn’t a beggar. I try and speak to him in Spanish but he is so softly spoken and his lack of teeth makes it really hard for me to understand what he’s saying, not for lack of trying on both our parts. I think I gather that we need to pay our passage into these here parts. There’s literally nothing here except the old man and his stick. He’s not offering any ticket like the previous man, there’s no sign of a ticket office, he’s just a man asking us for 5Bs each to go passed, or else we get a good lashing with his stick? I explain we’ve already bought a ticket, but I think he tries to explain that that only covers the North, there are payments to be paid to the Middle and South people. This actually agrees with what we read up on prior to coming, so we decide to go ahead. But not before the other gringo looks at me dubiously, clearly suspicious and disbelieving this man is anyone other than someone trying their luck. We pay our dues and leave him to decide whether he trusts the man (and to an extent me) or makes a run for it to face a potential stick thwacking. As we continue on, we ponder the same, but decide that whether he’s a swindler or not, he needed those 10Bs more than us, so it is what it is. A few hundred metres down the way, we see a ticket office… perhaps he was a swindler after all! Except it’s closed, and no-one is in sight. From what we can deduce, is perhaps the middle people decided it’s not worth paying someone to sit in the office all day for the handful of mad gringos, and instead recruited old man to sit in the shade further up the path and do the job from there. We will never know, but I’m glad we chose trust, one way or the other.

As an aside, I previously read that the island is split into three communities, the North, Middle and South, and you are expected to make payments to each for your passage. During one point in time, the North was cut off (I forget whether by their own choice or the rest of the islands) and you couldn’t go to that part at all. Thankfully it has opened up again now.

Back to the walk and not pondering old men with sticks, I am amazed once again with the different geology of the path we walk along, and how anything seems to grow here, including a lone tree out in the fields on the cusp of a hill. We labour on, watching the clock, and realising for the first time in our lives, the backs of our legs are actually getting sunburnt!

The rolling mounds of increasing steepness finally end with some amazing looking lodgings, and many a cafe and restaurant, as we realise we’ve made it in enough time to get some late lunch with an incredible view.

We have some more amazing trout, and chip quickly off to make the last boat… except we don’t actually know where it is. Signs all point to anywhere but a port, so we figure we just go down and hope for the best. The path winds and drops and we start passing gringos lugging up huge backpacks up the steep stairs behind us and figure we’re on the right track (and definitely made the right call taking this route). Time is ticking as we seemingly make little progress, but eventually we see a sign for the port, and skidaddle down the Inca stairs, buy our boat ticket, and jump back on top for it to depart on time (but not before a silly squat in a ruin).

Whilst our boat out was probably a bit faster than rowing speed, this one is probably on par or slower than rowing speed, but we’re in no rush, and enjoy watching the sun sparkle overhead, seeing the south-side ruins from the boat, and the slow plod back to Copacabana.

Relax

With the main tour we wanted to do done, laundry and money sorted, the rest of our stay is a laid back one. We decide to try and go for a run along the lake-front, slow and steady being the name of the game, as we plod along admiring the view. It’s definitely harder work than normal to get in the groove, but get there we do. Until a security dog comes barking after us and we stop and try and calmly walk away whilst our heart beats faster than it was trying to run at altitude! Along the way, we see families enjoying a swim and play in the shallow waters, beautiful signs reminding people to care for pachamama and not litter, some happy and calm dogs, and people-wagons and cars wearing shiny top-hats and draped in flowers. We later find out that this is because people bring their vehicles to Copacabana for blessings to protect them whilst on their journeys. It’s a hard run, but nice to be moving again.

We enjoy the rest of the day having lunch out and then I climb up to a viewpoint to get my last take on Lake Titicaca. The view is even more incredible, and it’s easy to see why there’s tributes, Candles and a big cross up here (as well as cholitas selling their wears of course).

I notice and appreciate a seemingly dead tree with beautiful red flowers growing out of it. Like so much of this dry part of the continent, life and beauty finds a way to survive:

Back at the hostel we enjoy our last sunset over the lake from our terrace, watching the stars come through, and the horizon show a perfect rainbow, mimicking the rainbow flag we have seen and continue to see representing the Andean communities (of course the photo does it no justice):

We try and spot the constellations above, as the night grows dark, and we say goodbye to the amazing hostel and place we’ve been able to recharge our batteries in. Tomorrow we bus down to La Paz, which will no doubt be a huge change of pace.

*************

Adventure – crossing the border into country and month 2 of our trip, exploring both ends of Copacabana bay, from a random closed gate on the run to the highest point at the lookout, exploring pre-incan ruins and solitude of Isla del Sol

Excitement – a bed! Amazing breakfast, the best fish ever three days in a row, making meals out of whatever we could find in the market, street popcorn, star-gazing, having catch-ups with family

Trauma – panicking about not being able to get any cash, finding Bolivia not as cheap as we thought