We got our sixth and final Argentian stamp in our passports and crossed the bridge to Villazon. Jeff went into the immigration office to get us 'checked in'. I took the time to watch the foot traffic crossing between the towns. The LPOS indicated that this border brings many black market goods into Bolivia on the backs of peasants. I really can't imagine how much they can bring but there were hundreds of people passing back and forth with huge packs on their backs. This was the first time since Guatemala that I'd seen such a high concentration of indigenous people in traditional clothing, mostly women that is. They all seemed to be carrying brightly colored blankets with god know's what inside. It was sort of like watching ants. Well, my spectating was interrupted by Jeff asking me what time it was. "2:00", I said. " Oh, well the customs office seems to be closed.", he replied. Oops, apparantly there is an hour difference between Argentina and Bolivia and that meant the customs office was closed for lunch. The policeman informed us that it was 1:00 and the office would re-open at 3:00. Nothing like a little kink in the plans. We did have our passport stamps though so Jeff went off to change some money and buy some lunch. He returned with two chicken plates for less than $2 in total. Now that's a nice change from Argentina!!
Well, we had nothing to do so we sat around reading the LP and napping on the steps. The customs guy returned early and we barrelled into the office. We were a little concerned that we were going to need a carnet de passage in Bolivia. We had heard that of all countries, Bolivia was the stickler for it. Indeed the guy did ask for our 'carnet de propriedad'. Jeff handed him the titles and he seemed satisfied. So at 4:00 we shook hands with the official and set off for gas and then the 100k of dirt to Tupiza, home of the final showdown of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid.
When we arrived at the only gas station in town, there was a huge line. It was like a flashback from the 70's. By the time we had filled up the afternoon sun was beginning to wane. We really had to hurry to get to Tupiza before dark. The road began much the same as the Argentinian side of the border, flat pampas with heavy washboard. This went on for about 20 miles. Jeff was cursing it the whole way as he was convinced that every piece of the bike was going to rattle off. However, the scenery then began to change to a red rock canyon with green trees and pastures and a river splashed in for color. The road narrowed to one skinny lane and we began to pass through small villages, mostly indigenous, and all out spectating the local boys hard at work playing soccer. It was really gorgeous and the angle of the sun created an amazing spectrum of colors. We wound our way through the canyon, closer and closer to Tupiza when a great dark cloud moved in above us and we caught glimpses of lightening on the horizon, followed by booms of thunder. We were really pushing then. The road smoothed out a few miles from town and the valley widened and finally we saw the bridge to cross over the river. As we pulled into the parking lot of the train station, big raindrops began to fall. Right at this time an entrepeneurial little boy ran up to tell us about the best hotels in town. Seeing as the sky was about to fall, we followed him and happily took a room at the Hotel Mitru. Just as we got all the bags into the room, the sky really let loose. We laid down to rest and talked about the fact that we had terrible headaches. We were experiencing light altitude sickness as we were now at over 11,000 feet.
After the rain died, we headed out for our favorite - roasted chicken, and talked over our plans for the next day. I wanted to check out the horseback riding possibilities as we never were able to go in Argentina. We decided that if it was too expensive we'd just go for a hike.
We had a very restless night and didn't get much sleep as we both had headaches and had a hard time getting enough air. But the thought of horseback riding was enough to take my mind off the discomfort. After breakfast I checked out the prices and found it was $3/hour per person. I booked us for 1:00. Meanwhile, Jeff did a little preventive maitenance on the bikes and took them over to get a bath. We regrouped at 12:30, had a quick lunch of saltenas (one of my favorite foods in Bolivia) and went out to meet our horses. When we went outside we found a bunch of skinny, tired and sweaty horses. "Are these ours?, we asked. "No, no, we just need you to ride them back and get fresh horses". I was already feeling a little guilty that I hadn't checked to see how the horses looked before I agreed to ride. Fortunately, the horses waiting for us were a bit bigger and fatter. The guide horse was very gaunt though. I can never get my sister, Deanne, out of my mind when riding as she has this same business in Costa Rica. She never lets her horses go out when they are too skinny. I almost felt that I was letting her down. But the ride was beautiful anyway. We rode through a dry river bed up to a trickling waterfall. The colors in the canyon were spectacular. It was a fun role reversal for me too as I was trying to teach Jeff a little bit about riding (the horse). I'm still not as comfortable as I should be on the bike, but I'm all over this horse stuff. Well, anyway, we spent a great afternoon riding, checking out the scenery and chatting with our guide.
When we got dropped off, Jeff went to get the bikes washed and I went to change some traveller's checks at the tour office where I had rented horses (the only place that changed checks in town). I showed the woman the check and she motioned for me to sign it but she was talking on the phone and not paying much attention. I handed her the signed check with my passport. She hung up the phone and looked over the check. "Why are there two signatures here?", she asked. "Because they are dual sign checks so that we can both use them.", I replied. "Well, why is this date on here?" "Well, when we bought them they told us to fill in the date at the top". She looked concerned and told me she wasn't sure she could take it. She phoned the bank to ask for advice and they asked us to come over. While we walked we passed by throngs of school children carrying banners that protested violence. She informed me that a child had been murdered in Tupiza (which is just a cow town of about 20,000) a few weeks before. She proceeded to tell me that there was never any crime in Tupiza and that surely it was the influence of American television that bewitched the wretched soul that committed this crime. Hmmm... she's probably right. So back to the check... we went into the bank and the manager had a look at the check and I explained the same thing about the date (they were ok with the two signatures). He decided to call the regional bank in Potosi. After hanging up he informed me that they couldn't take a check with a date over six month's old (mine was about 5 days over). I tried in vain to explain that a traveller's check is exactly equal to cash and that there is no expiration but his eyes glazed over and he gave me a glib smile. So there I was with a signed check. I would have to figure out a way to slide it in with the next check I cashed. We also were going to be short on cash for our next day's trip to Uyuni. Oh well, we'd just have to get cash there.
After walking back from my frustrating experience at the bank, I found a motorcycle in front of the hotel. There was a blond girl sitting on it, so I went up to ask where was she from. It turned out that Nina was from Norway and was riding two-up with her boyfriend, Gonzalo, from Argentina on a Honda TransAlp. We chatted while he checked out a room. About that time Jeff showed up on the Green Hornet and said we needed to go pick up Suzi. We all agreed to meet up later for dinner to do the travel story thing.
Later that evening, we got out the maps and travel books and discussed the fact that we were all going to Uyuni the following day with plans to do a trip in the Salar. Gonzalo said that he wanted to put his bike on the train as he had hated the road from the border to Tupiza. I thought it would be fun to take the train. Anyway, we moved to talking about mate, chewing coca leaves, their travels and all sorts of stuff - all over some excellent pizza. Towards the end of the night we had convinced Jeff that it wouldn't be selling out to pop the bikes on the train instead of riding, especially in light of my weak chain and his weak clutch cable. The only problem might be cash. We decided that if we didn't have enough in the morning, we would just have to ride. So we headed off to bed for our 5:00 wakeup call.
Bright and early the next morning, we packed the three bikes and took them to the train station. Jeff and Gonzalo went to find out what the cost was going to be as they priced the bikes by weight. Jeff came back to inform me that it would cost around $8 per person and $10 per bike. All in all we were going to be short about 40 bolivianos. He then said that we really should be riding anyway. This really bummed me out and as I stood there trying to mentally prepare myself for a long day's ride on crappy dirt roads, Nina came over and asked what was going on. She felt bad and went to check to see if they had enough to lend us as they were low on funds too. Well, we had a mad scramble to scurry up the cash and round up some people to help lift the bikes onto the train and before I knew it, we were comortably seated in a beautiful train that would rival any in Europe.
The train to Uyuni took about 4 hours and followed some beautiful scenery through pampas and canyons and passed many small towns. We also got to watch Good Will Hunting which I hadn't yet seen. Jeff even seemed to be enjoying the train ride as he alternated between sipping mate, chewing coca leaves and protesting that we should be riding. When we arrived in Uyuni we asked a fellow passenger on the train (an English guy) for help in getting the bikes off. We hurriedly got the bikes and bags off just before the train blew the whistle to push off for its next destination. We loaded the bags on and went down the street and got a room at the Hotel Avenida for 20 bolivianos. Nina and Gonzalo got a room there too. While on the train we discussed planning a Salar trip. We had decided we would do a jeep tour in place of riding it. They were planning to do the same so we thought we'd try to get a trip together. We decided to ask the English couple, Paula and Tim (that helped get the bikes off the train) if they wanted to join us as well, as we needed six people. So after unpacking we set off to get tour information from the many agencies surrounding the plaza. We also needed to change a traveller's check to repay our debts and replenish our cash.
It was about 2:00 when we started our search and found that all casas de cambio and banks were closed for lunch, as well as were the tour agencies. We sat around for about 2 hours - when things began to re-open. The bank informed us that they didn't change money. The casas de cambio never opened. The tour agencies began to open their doors at seemingly random times. We split up to do some inquiring. Paula and Tim reported back that Esmerelda Tours seemed really good and that she could send us the next day. She also could accept traveller's checks (and give us change back) and they could pay with visa. It sounded good to all of us, except Gonzalo. He was busy trying to get a special price and a special trip planned out with Paula tours. Being the only native Spanish speaker of the bunch and a tour guide in Norway, he was sure he could gleen out the best company that would provide a great tour and at a discount. We all thought Esmerelda's was fine but since we had the group and Gonzalo had a very strong opinion that Paula's Tours was the best one, we decided to wait. And wait. And wait. After a very long afternoon of waiting on banks, exchange houses and tour agencies and Gonzalo's negotiating, it finally sounded like we had a tour for the next day. We all signed the list and Jeff and I signed our traveller's checks (I slipped the other one in) and Paula tried to run Paula and Tim and Nina and Gonzalo's credit cards through. She couldn't get it to work. Finally Tim's went through but Gonzalo's never did. Oh well, she said she'd just do it in the morning. So we went off to get some dinner and have a beer and be ready and packed by 10:30 the next morning.
As we were putting the final touches on packing the next day, we heard a knock on the door. It was Paula and Tim. Apparantly Nina was sick and so they wouldn't be going on the tour. Therefore, Paula had cancelled us. Crap. After that frustrating afternoon and finally settling on something. We were all a little irritated that she cancelled us after we had paid. After all, who's responsibility was it to fill the tour? So the three of us (minus Jeff, whom was supposed to be typing) walked around trying to see if we could find someone else to send us that day. Diana Tours said they could send us that afternoon as a group of four. I went back to pack. Knock, knock. It was Paula and Tim again. Diana Tours cancelled because she said that she was wrong, she couldn't send four. Arghh. We hit the pavement again and went back to Esmerelda. We explained our predicament. She said that if we paid, it was her responsibility to fill the other two seats and that we were guaranteed of leaving the next day. She also agreed to take the signed traveller's checks from Paula's Tours as our payment ($70 per person including meals, lodging and transportation for the four day tour). We were kicking ourselves for not just going with her the previous day. Oh well. We were finally settled. I went back to find Jeff. He had met three German motorcyclists on various models of KTM's and was doing a lot of talking and no typing. He also said there was another guy from Belgium, Willy, that was on an old Honda XR600 motorcycle. The hotel was beginning to look like a garage! We decided to all go out for a roast chicken dinner to talk motorcycles for the rest of the night over a couple beers.
The next morning we packed our bags and headed over to Esmerelda Tours to board for the trip. We met Anne and Christina, two Norwegian girls, whom would be passengers number 5 and 6. Our guides were Quintin and Amalia and their daughter Seli. We piled into the jeep and headed out to the much lauded Salar de Uyuni, an immense salt pan which remains after the oceans have long since receded from the alti-plano of Bolivia. Apparantly, millions of years ago the alti-plano was ocean floor and with the shifting of the plates and volcanic activity, the Andes squished up and created the alti-plano, or some loose interpretation like that. Anyway, after leaving Uyuni it wasn't long before our eyes met the glare of the salt flats. It was truly beautiful and amazing. As far as the eye could see the ground was covered in white salt. It was very sunny as well which left it just sparkling. Some entrepeneurial souls have constructed hotels purely out of the salt and we were able to visit there. For $25 - $50 a person you could stay there. Amalia explained to us the process used to dry the salt in the clay ovens constructed on the flats. The more modern companies were now using solar panels to dry it. The jeep was being trailed by an entourage of 5 motorcycles and 1 VW van. The motos consisted of the 3 German guys, the Belgian guy and Gonzalo and Nina. The van was filled by a Swiss family that had been been living in Bolivia for the past 4 years and were making their way back to Europe.
From there we headed to Isla de Pescadores for lunch, followed by the motos. The VW van headed back to Uyuni. Our jeep arrived first and while Amalia made lunch, we climbed to the top of the island. It's a strange little place - red clay and lots of cactus and completely surrounded by the salt pan. As Jeff, Anne, Christina and I took photos from the top, we heard a distant buzz. We turned toward the sound and saw a bunch of black specs approaching. The motos! It was very odd to see them coming across, almost like walking on water. I began to feel melancholy that we weren't on the bikes, and then the look on Jeff's face more than let on that he was feeling the same. It was too late to think about it though so we just headed down to greet them and have some lunch. We had fantastic fresh veggie and goat cheese sandwiches for lunch and sat around chatting with the motorcycle crew. Finally, Amalia and Quintin said we better go as we had a long way to go before dark. We said our goodbyes to the bikers and packed up. They would be camping there so it was the last time we would see them (or so we thought). Hopefully we'd find out how the rest of the ridng was after that day by e-mail.
We rolled off into the afternoon sun, still quietly wondering to ourselves if we should have ridden. We went through the final stretch of the salt flats and began the dirt roads. The road was flanked by fields of quinua (quinoa). Amalia explained that there were three colors of plants: red, yellow and white. It was a magnificent afternoon with the blue skies, red earth and wash of colors from the quinua splashed across the hillsides. We continued on to our destination, San Jaun, which is set in a large open grass plain at 3,800 meters. We could see the herds of llamas grazing as we approached. We pulled into the posada and were shown to our room - a concrete room with six beds and a table. Plenty of blankets for the warm night. Amalia set out to cook dinner and we all went out to annoy the llamas. It was really fun trying to get up close to them without them running away, which they always did. We even witnessed two young males hissing and spitting at each other, apparantly over the cutest little llama of the heard. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping so we headed back for some dinner and to teach the gang how to play euker, Jeff's favorite card game. We were in bed early for our 5:30 wake up call the next day.
Before I get into the Uyuni tour it's time, once again, for some general impressions of - Bolivia: The roads can be some of the most punishing and rewarding in all of South America. We've passed through some dramatic scenery all the while being rattled to the bone. This is definitely dual sport heaven. I'm not sure I would want to tackle these roads with the heavier motorcycles that we've seen on this trip i.e., Honda's African Twin or TransAlps, BMW's R80GS or F650 Funduro or Yamaha's Super Tenere. Being on a lightweight one cylinder moto (the Funduro is a one cylinder bike but still weighs quite a bit more than our bikes) allows you to ride a lot more agressively, which to some of us means; more fun. The KTM 620's that the Germans were riding looked perfect for these Bolivian roads. The problem they were having was finding parts. They had to use Kawasaki parts made in Brazil because it is impossible to find KTM stuff down here; The ludicrous toll system: We'll be riding on some really nasty, rock-strewn, pot-holed, washboard mess of a road and then all of a sudden there will be a toll booth situated in the middle of nowhere. Some half-awake attendant, holed up in a tiny shack wall papered with pictures of naked women will attempt to collect the fee. The toll fee, more often than not, is negotiable. At first the guy will ask for 20 bs per vehicle, I'll counter by saying that we're on motorcycles, not cars, so we shouldn't have to pay. He'll perk up a little and say that it's the same price for cars and motorcycles. Then I'll say that we only have two wheels. Wide awake now he'll smile and say ok and charge us only 10 bs for both bikes and magically pull out receipts that equal 10 bs. Almost as if that would have been the charge anyway. He then dutifully stamps the receipts, staples them, and hands them over as proof that we paid. Somebody is definitely getting rich off this scheme because they sure ain't using the money to improve the roadways; The gasoline: The only readily available gasoline is leaded 75 octane: Combine that with the high altitude and our 650 cc motorcyles become 350's. The Suzuki seems to dislike the crappy fuel more than the KLR. Once again Suzi is very difficult to start in the mornings. There is also a dramatic loss in horsepower and fuel efficiency. Meanwhile the Green Hornet just keeps chugging along just happy to be on the road. It's funny how these motorcycles have become so much like their riders :-) There is premium gas in this country but it's like an easter egg hunt finding it. The cheap gas is around 3.3 bs per liter or $2 per gallon. The premium costs about $3 per gallon. We both get around 80 miles more on a tank of premium gas versus the cheap stuff all the locals call "agua"; We are definitely back in indiginous country: Like Peru, Ecuador and Guatemala there is the brightly colored traditional clothing everywhere. For some reason the men choose to dress like cowboys while the women maintain the traditional style of dress. I hadn't really noticed before but there are very few indiginous people left in both Chile and Argentina. It's easy to see how those countries could have produced a Pinochet or Argentina's infamous military death squads. Those countries have been killing off their native people ever since the Spaniards first landed. (I suppose the killing of native peoples in South Amercia predates the Spaniards becasue the Incas weren't exactly pacifists either.) But not so in Bolivia. I often wonder what these people think when they see us ride by. Do they regard us as some kind of gringo alien from another planet or just another motorized vehicle passing through?; The altitude is mind boggling: We are usually above 11,000 feet all the time. It is relatively flat on the altiplano and the 19,000 to 20,000 ft mountain peaks are our constant companions. I've never really had a problem with altitude except for dehydration. Once you remember to breath it is actually quite pleasant; Coca leaves: We've heard all about them and, except for Bolivia and Peru, they are illegal all over the world. It's kinda analogous to the US's fixation with Hemp. Industrial use of Hemp is illegal in the United States because of fears that someone would smoke it and get high instead of using it as a natural fiber. It takes hundreds of kilograms of coca leaves to make one gram of cocaine. That's after a long, laborious and messy production process. Coca leaves up here are used by the indiginous people to counteract the effects of altitude, stave off hunger and to be social. You can chew up the leaves by themselves or take them with some sodium bicarbonate. Either way you just store them in your cheek and feel your mouth eventually go numb. The numbness is much more powerful with the sodium bicarbonate activator. All the indiginous people seem to get a real kick out of seeing a gringo with a mouth full of coca leaves. It should be said that it is very important to always offer coca leaves to everyone when partaking. Hope this stuff doesn't show up in a urinalysis; The Israelis: This is the first time we've come across "Israeli-itis". Most travellers of European descent live in fear of the large packs of Israelis that converge on Brazil, Bolivia and Peru every year. After their 3 years of obligatory service (women are only required to serve for 18 months) in the military, many Israeli youth unwind with a trip to South America. They tend to travel in packs, keep late hours, play their music loud and otherwise reek havoc on the orderly lives of your typical backpacker. This was Linda's and my first experience with Israili-itis and we were shocked by how deep rooted the animosity was. I felt it was unjustified. After all they were just in their early twenties, probably glad to still be alive and itching to do whatever they felt like doing for the first time in years. I could empathize because after I finished my military service I wasn't exactly Mr. Manners. I asked the other travellers if they had been in the military, they all said no but it shouldn't matter, boarish-behavior is boarish-behavior. I should say that most of the complaints came from Great Britain and the Commonwealth countries. Well they didn't bother me, all the Israelis that I've met were alot of fun. Besides, big packs of any nationality can be a little bothersome (the good ol U.S. of A. excluded of course :-]
Anyways, we were greeted by the brisk altiplano morning as we packed the gear to be stored on the jeep. San Jaun is a bleak little town comprised mostly of llama ranchers and gringos laying over on their Uyuni tours. When we signed the vistor guestbook at the hostal I asked the manager which country was winning (in terms of most visitors). The Israelis were miles ahead of second place, England and third place, Germany. I asked him if many Americans pass through and, not surprisingly, he said only a few. Trying desperately to find any semblance of national pride I asked him if the US was at least ahead of Norway. "Just barely." he said. Anne told me not to get too excited because on a per capita basis Norway was killing us. Why more Amercians don't travel continues to stuptify me. I can't say enough about the importance of travel. Learning about other cultures and regions in the world is just a corollary benefit to learning alot about yourself. It's a crying shame that more Americans don't make travel (excluding Disney World) a priority. But I digress, now where was I, oh yeah, the Southern Hemisphere...
At first sight the altiplano can seem to be a desolate and lifeless place. But on second glance there is a lot going on. Herds of vicunas, flamingos, smallish hens, viscachas, lizards and numerous other wildlife. Because of the immensity of the topography it can be difficult to notice the details. Also, the wildlife is so perfectly adapted to their environment that they seemingly blend right in. Really a special place. Today we were to climb up to 4,800 meters (15,800 ft) in elevation and finally end up at Laguna Colorado. But first we sat down for breakfast. Once again I taught everyone how to play Euker last night and it had helped our little group of travellers bond. At breakfast we were all laughing and talking like old friends despite the distinct lack of air.
Before we knew it we were back on the road. I was still deeply missing my motorcycle but I knew Linda was having a good time being able to interact with someone other than me. Besides, sitting in a jeep for 4 days is a small price to pay for being able to take this trip with your lovely and talented wife. Once we left the salt lake the scenery was huge. Vast mountain ranges framed every vista. Llamas and other animals dotted the terrain like tiny ink blots. Once again we had the overwhelming feeling of being smaller than ants. As we climbed in altitude we passed numerous high mountain lakes full of flamingos. We even spotted the, supposedly rare, James' Flamingo. You couldn't tell that they were rare here, they're everywhere. Lunch was at a wonderful location, in the shadow of an immense, snow-capped mountain range. We parked by a lake and while we ate we watched the flamingos sifting lunch through their hooked beaks. Interesting little tidbit of information; flamingos are born with white plumage and only take on their pink color from the minerals digested while eating. Tim remarked that it would be such a boring life to be a flamingo. Head always down, swinging from side to side, gathering enough sustenance to live another day. "Oh it's not so bad. Not really any different than being a tax accountant", I said, "except that you don't turn pink. At least not usually."
Before long we were back on the road and nearing our next destination; the 15,800 ft plateau on the way to Laguna Colorado. Here we climbed some rocks to get even a little higher (from asphixiation) for a splendid view of the tree-less plain. Viscachas, little rabbit-like creatures with long curly tails, were skipping around all over the rocks. Off on the distant horizon we could see another jeep full of tourists making its way towards us, a plume of dust trailed behind, curling up into the bright blue sky. Being up here is like being on another planet. I went for a little run just to see if I would pass out. I didn't and in actuality I felt pretty good. I wonder why they haven't come up with the Laguna Colorado marathon yet. Be interesting to see what happens to the human body when racing a marathon above 15,000 ft. We eventually reached a military outpost. It was just about sunset and the lake was fire engine red. Flamingos were everywhere as the sun backlit the mountains, specially for us. We went for a walk along the lake while supper was cooking. No sooner had the sun set when the temperature dropped to close to freezing. Amazing changes in the climate at these altitudes. Supposedly the temperature drops to 20 below zero at night. There was no way we were going to find out because by nighttime we were safely inside eating dinner.
There were other tour groups staying at the military barracks also. After dinner we played more Euker. Before long Linda and I noticed that of the 12 people in the dining room, we where the only two not smoking cigarettes. We rarely run into backpackers who don't smoke like fiends. Cigarette smoking is such an amazing phenomenon. People complain about the smell, their hacking coughs, their problems with breathing at altitude and still they light up. My theory on the addictive powers of cigarettes is predicated on the belief that the human body loves a challenge. It loves to overcome adversity. This is why cigarette smoking is so addictive, it's not the nicotine, it's the exhiliration one feels when vital organs are being damaged. The body responds as if it's under attack and stimulates the senses so that it can rally the troops to purge the agressor. Every breath is like waging a little war. Much more exciting than, say, being healthy all the time. But I digress...know where was I, oh yeah Laguna Colorado. Around 9 p.m. we were told that we would have another 5 a.m. wakeup call the next morning so we quickly scurried off to our bunkbeds.
Sure enough the next moring came awful dang quickly. We packed up the jeep in sub-zero temperatures and were on the road by sunrise. Seeing the Laguna Colorado at sunset and sunrise was quite a treat. All the flamingos were perched on one leg with their heads tucked snugly under their wing. We slowly climbed up to the geyser basin, home to geysers that would make "Old Faithful" in Yellowstone National Park turn green with envy. We had breakfast next to some hot springs. Afterwards Tim and I were the only ones woman enough to brave the frigid air temperatures and go for a dip in the thermal baths. Very relaxing until we had to get out. The geyser basin starts out at 4,500 meters and climbs all the way up to over 5,000 meters. Several years ago, Bolivia implemented a geothermal energy project up here and now there are workers who spend weeks at a time at these altitudes before they can visit their families back down at 4,000 meters. It's hard to imagine how much Americans complain about their working conditions. At 5,000 meters nobody is particularly concerned whether your workplace is both nuturing and rewarding. We spent some time touring the geysers and then it was off to visit Laguna Verde. So named because when the wind is wipping the lake turns lime green. It was deathly calm so to us it just looked like your usual 4,300 meter lake surrounded by mountains on the Chilean border. More importantly, it was time to drop our Norwegian friends off at the Chilean border outpost that consisted of a couple of mud shacks and a brightly colored bus that was no longer in service. Anne and Kristina were great fun and we were going to miss their Euker playing ability and their disco tapes. In all my travels I have yet to meet a Norwegian that I didn't really like. Now that I think about it, that statement is both comforting and scary all at the same time. Americans are much more diverse. You're just as likely to hate them as you are to love them. We're the "Russian Roulette" personalities of the world, no telling what you're going to get. But I digress...oh yeah the Norwegians.
After our ceremonial trading of e-mail addresses and promises of visiting each other not too far off in the distant future, we headed back toward Laguna Colorado. On the return trip we saw the Laguna in the noon day sun. We all agreed that it was more special either late in the evening or early in the morning. We parked along a cliff wall for lunch and then made our way to a borax mining town. This is where our tour leader worked for 15 years up until 2 years ago when he scored the job as Uyuni tour driver. His wife worked for the tour company for 9 years and now it was one big happy family driving the gringos around for a living. The borax facility was not very nice and the workers worked 45 days in row before they had 15 days off. It looked like brutal work but, by Bolivian standards, the pay was good, about a dollar an hour. After the borax mines it was time to see the "Valley of the Rocks". Not the most enticing of names but when we arrived it was miles upon miles of sandstone cliffs carved up thousands of years ago by, what must have been, an incredible river. The rock formations created all sorts of nooks and crannies, quite possibly the worlds largest playground. Kids could spend years exploring this labyrinth of caves and crevices. I only spent a couple hours before Linda told me to get down before I hurt myself. Futher on down the road we passed through an idylic looking town full of smiling people and llamas until finally we rolled into the own of Colchani where we would spend the night. After unpacking Tim and I went out into the street to kick the soccer ball around with some young boys. It was great fun until I ended up kicking the ball into a little old lady's back yard. These kids were very respectful and well behaved. They didn't want to go get the ball for fear of upsetting the old lady. I offered to pick them up and put them over the fence but they refused. We had to wait until an older boy who knew the old lady showed up, jumped the fence and retrieved our ball. After kicking the ball around for an hour or so one of the little kids came up to me and said, "You're a very strong player. Do you want to know why?" "Well thank you and yes I would", I replied. "Because you're very fat", he said with a straight face. I remember saying something like, "mind your own business", but it may have gotten lost in the translation.
That night Tim and I took on Linda and Paula in a winner-gets-the-good-seats-on-the-ride-back-to-Uyuni euker game. It was a forgone conclusion that Tim and I would win - then, tomorrow, we would take our rightful place in the comfy seats while the girls sat in back. But, as luck would have it, the stars aligned perfectly, pigs flew and worlds collided, they won. There is nothing worse than witnessing the carnal expressions of joy by two novice euker players having just won. I would equate it to the celebratory carelessness of this years American Rider Cup team. But a bet is a bet and Tim and I quickly started recanting exactly what was the bet. "How, exactly do you define 'good seats'..."
Our fourth and final day came at the more reasonable hour of 9 a.m. By now we had already covered 600 miles and had another 300 to go. The jeep had become our home and climbing in was becoming easier and easier. That morning we picked up a Boliviano who needed to go talk with the bank in Uyuni. Apparantly he missed a couple of loan payments and the bank wanted to have a few words with him face to face. He seemed a little uncomforatable at first but it was nothing that a few coca leaves couldn't fix. The last stop on the tour was the train graveyard. Locomotives that date back to the turn of the century stand on an unused rail line. Rusting and falling apart there isn't much of interest unless you have a penchant for such things. Before long we arrived back at The Hotel Avenida. It was kind of lonely without the other 5 motorcycles parked everywhere. Tim and Paula were leaving on an overnight bus to Potosi. We had to wait until moring. We had a couple of celebratory beers for surviving the 4 days without our motorcycles. That evening we hit the hay early in anticipation of our upcoming ride to Potosi.
While on the final stretch of road after our lunch break, Amalia asked me if I was aware of the 'estado de sitio'. I had no idea what she was talking about. She explained that there was a national crisis in place and that the country was in a 90-day state of emergency. This meant that the government had 90 days to settle the issues of the campesinos. Amalia explained that the campesinos were up-in-arms over the economy, the cost of 'public' education, the privitisation of certain public services, taxation of water and other things. She said there were to be road blocks on many of the road connections between major cities and that it might be difficult if not impossible to travel. She assumed we could get through on the bikes but that Paula and Tim could have more trouble getting a bus. Great. Well, we'd just have to ask around back in Uyuni. Now, if I remeber correctly this is our third National State of Emergency of this trip (Ecuador and Colombia, but I suppose that Colombia is always in a national state of emergency). This things are always brewing but ususally we never really notice the blockades except for the angry mobs and burning tires.
We weren't exactly sure what to expect on the dirt road to Potosi, the Germans on the KTM's said that it was pretty rough. They also said that they didn't like the city of Postosi itself. We were initially thinking that if we made good time we might just skip Potosi and travel straight through to Sucre, a city that everyone agreed was very nice. So down the road we went, climibing up to the top of a nearby mountain. We stopped and took one last look upon the vast salt pan of Uyuni and the tiny desert town of the same name. Ahead we plunged through some dramatic scenery. The road was a little tough in stretches but it certainly wasn't as bad as the road from Villazon. In fact it was a lot of fun to ride. It twisted up and down mountain ranges, through gorgeous valleys and small towns. At times the road was only one lane wide and other times it was three lanes wide. After several hours we hit a fabulous canyon area that as beautiful as we've seen. A small babbling brook was on our right hand side as we followed along the deeply eroded canyon walls. This was turning out to be the nicest road with the best scenery of the entire trip. As we got closer to Potosi the scenery twisted along another canyon wall. As Linda slowed I sped up and went as fast as my riding skills would let me. The fun lasted for about 50 kms or so until I came upon one of the notorious Bolivian toll booths. Once again an attendant came out and I told him I was waiting on my wife. He told me that it would be 20 bs per bike. After several minutes and some much needed smoozing he agreed to charge us only 5 bs each. He actually was a really nice guy in spite of all the posters of naked women pinned in every conceivable nook and cranny of his "office". Linda finally rolled up about 20 minutes later and by then I had already paid and had our receipts in hand. I said good-bye to the attendant and Linda and I road the final 10 kms into Potosi together.
We were preparing for the Germans thought was a dumpy city but what we found instead was a gorgeous mountain town. It is the highest city in the world (population over 100,000) lying at 4,100 meters or 13,500 ft in elevation. At one point Potosi was the richest city in all of South America thanks to the work of thousands of miners that extractted silver from the nearby Cerro Rico mountain. When the Spaniards first arrived they heard the stories of an Indigenous fellow who camped on the mountain one cold night. When he awoke in the morning he had found that his fire had melted the underlying "rock". It turned out to be an exposed vein of sliver. The mountain was so rich in silver and other minerals that it was lying exposed on the surface. This started a mining boom that continues to this day. As we rode the streets searching for a place to stay it was easy to see that this was once a great city. It seems to not have aged very gracefully but it still has a ton of character. The city is full of architectural marvels. We eventually found the beautiful Hotel Maria Victoria. It is perched on a hillside that overlooks the Cerro Rico complete with stone inlayed courtyard and wrought iron beds. The stairs were a little steep but we managed to get our bikes into secure parking just fine. Unpacking at this altitude had us constantly gasping for air. We ended up with a really nice room for 60 bs or $10. Later on we met up with Tim and Paula from our Uyuni jeep tour. Together we went to a nearby restaurant and had the worst lasagne that I've ever had the displeasure of eating. Afterwards we went for a mini stroll through the city streets. It was a charming city and the streets were packed with people taking a Sunday night walk. We found information about a mine tour at our hotel and we all signed up for the next day's tour. For now it was time to get acclimated.
The next morning we had our rooftop breakfast under bright blue skies. When we met our tour guide he seemed very glum. He informed us that because of the Estado de Sitio there was a general strike and none of the public transportation was running. He was scrambling to find an alternative means of transportation to the mountain. He mentioned that we could walk to the mountain which was only 8km away. When I translated for Tim, Paula and a couple of Israeli girls who were also going on the tour, Tim became very irate. "I didn't pay 30 bolivianos ($6) for a mine tour that required walking 8kms!" He snapped. I told him to calm down, after all it wasn't the tour guides fault that there was a general strike. It's one of the things all travelers to Latin America have to get used to sooner or later. Tim just seemed to be confronting it for the first time. I had a feeling that after he saw the working conditions of the miners that he would feel a little foolish complaining about walking to the mines. Our tour guide finally arranged for transportation to the mountain but we'd have to walk back. Nice compromise that Tim accepted begrudgingly.
It was a quick ride up to the mine store. This was the place where we would buy dynamite, coca leaves and cigarettes as presents for the miners that we were about to meet. From there we were outfitted with our hardhats, rain jacket, rubber boots and gas lamps. After a few quick words from our tour guide we plunged headfirst into the underground world of the miners. It was cold, dark and damp. We were hunched over crawling through the tunnels at 4,200 meters (13,800 ft) in elevation. There were also lots of particles in the air that made breathing practically impossible. I was immediately struck by the difficulty of the tour. I can imagine that many people must turn back early. But I suppose if you're traveling through SA in the first place you're probably a little hardier than your average Joe. Some of the tunnels were so small that we had to crawl on our hands and knees just to pass through them. The miners themselves would squeeze into much smaller spaces and spend 4 hours pounding out a 20 inch hole with a piece of iron and a hammer. No change from the methods used 500 years ago. Afterwards they would put in a stick of dynamite, blow out a chunk of the mountain, then carry the debris in a wheelbarrel to the outside world. Our tour guide asked one of them how much money could they expect to make from their back-breaking work. "I make about 100 bs ($17) every 3 tons of rock I carry out of the mountain" was the reply. "And I can ususally carry 3 tons out in a week if I have my sons help me." We were shocked. These miners were literally working themselves to death for $17 a week. After 10 years in the mine many of them develop severe health problems due to silicosis pneumonia. Then why do they do it? For the cash? For the honor of being a member of a fraternity of miners that dates back to the 1600's? Because they have families to take care of and there are no other jobs? I suppose all of the above but it is such a brutal existance. These miners work themselves to death just so people can wear precious metals on their persons. We continued crawling around in the mine for an hour or so meeting numerous miners. We gave each one our presents that we bought at the mine store and they seemed genuinely appreciative. We only wished we had brought more presents to give them. The prosperity of the industrialized nations is carried on the backs of these martars even to this day; Although the fruits of their labor makes people in other countries wealthier. As is the case all throughout history, those who sacrifice the most reap the least. A sobering and brutal fact of life.
Next stop on the tour was a visit to a shrine the miners made to appease the ruler of the underworld. Apparently the miners believe that God rules above the ground but below the ground the Devil is in control. The shrine is a goat-like muppet. All around were cigarettes, coca leaves and other gifts left by the miners to keep the Devil happy. Because when he is not happy he casues cave-ins or some other disaster. Before long we were basking in the fresh air and bright sunshine of the outside world. I already knew what to expect but for everyone else they were in a state of shock. They couldn't believe that in these modern times there were still working conditions as bad as this. Naivete is usually lost in the least comfortable way. We then walked uphill towards the large statue of Jesus Christ that provides a beautiful panoramic view of the city - built by the miners. As we walked back to town, as expected, there were no complaints from the group. The tour of the Potosi mine is as important an experience as any in South America and shouldn't be missed.
Once back in town we had an incredible lunch for $2 at the restaurant Le Boulevard. Maybe the best value meal we've had to date. We told the waiter about our mine tour and then we talked about all of the problems facing Bolivia. He was a very generous and insightful person. I was beginning to understand why so many people down here in the poorer countries have either a very profound depth of character or are alcoholics. A lifetime of hard knocks will do that to a person. We retreated back to the hotel for some acclimating and musings about the inequities of life.
Around 7 p.m. we continued our quest to eat all of the cute, furry animals that we've seen on our trip. To date we've eaten llamas, guanacos, alpacas, horse, cow, chickens, pigs, hens, and I'm sure somewhere along the line somebody slipped in a few dog or cat burritos. Tonight we would dine on peppered Viscachas (Rabbit-like creatures with long, furry tails). It was delicious. It is at times like these that I wish that I could be a vegetarian, but unfortunately my taste for flesh is too developed. Now if we could just get our hands on one of those Flamingos :-{|)
In the morning we went to the 'Casa de Moneda' museum with Paula and Tim before setting off for Sucre. The museum was in a beautiful old building and it was quite interesting to learn how they made the coins 500 years ago. Jeff and I served as translators for our group of 10. I guess our Spanish really is getting better! Afterwards on our way back to the hostal we saw an indigieous lady selling beautiful ornaments made from silver. I couldn't help myself so I bought a really nice sugar bowl with matching serving spoon. I crossed my fingers and hoped that nobody was exploited from my purchase. We returned to the hostal, packed up and got on the road about 1:00. A late start but we only had 100 miles to go. This was to be our first paved road in Bolivia. Yahoo! And a nicely paved road it was. We got a little lost getting out of town and had to take a 7k dirt, pothole, washboard, mess of a road - but then it was smooth sailing. It was quite chilly out but the skies were sunny and lower elevations in Sucre (9,200 ft) promised warm weather. The road wound along a highland valley, covered in traditional Inca terracing. There were also remnants of numerous road blocks still blocking the entrance and exits of the small towns along the way. The road blocks were made of small to medium sized stones layed accross the street. Easy for us to pass through, more difficult for the cars and buses. This was evidence of the protests from the previous day. At the highest point in the road, the land opened into a broad valley where there was a small town. Just beautiful. The whole area is framed by even higher peaks. At that point the road headed down hill and we began our descent through a gorgeous red river valley. After one break I started off ahead of Jeff and spotted this amazing bridge below. It was like a medieval castle on either side of the river. Speedy Gonzalez would have missed it if I hadn't pulled over and flagged him down. This was the end of the dramatic descent and the rest of the route into Sucre was a scenic river valley. Along the way I saw that Jeff had pulled over to help a stranded motorcyclist. He later told me that it was a postman with a flat tire. They quickly mended it and, apparantly, not even a flat tire can keep a Bolivian postman from his appointed rounds. It was starting to heat up at the "lower" elevation so we shed much of our layering. It was late afternoon by the time we pulled in to the outskirts of town.
Sucre is a beautiful colonial town with a fabulous central plaza. All sorts of shade trees with some big hearty palms towering over the rest. We are thoroughly amazed by palm trees. We grew up with them in Florida and always thought of them as tropical climate trees. It is quite amazing that they can prosper at such elevations. We headed towards the Hostal Chacras with secure motorcycle parking in the courtyard. A Canadian traveller that we met in Potosi told us about an American on a KLR there. It wasn't long before we found it and I went in to inquire about rooms. Sure enough, there was a KLR that looked just like Jeff's inside (although it turned out to be a '96). The friendly woman at the desk showed me a room with big bed and shared bathroom for 60 bolivianos. I told her we'd take it and went out to get Jeff. It was a mad scurry to get the bikes out of the bus/taxi lane in front of the hotel and up the steps. The staff seemed a little anxious that we were blocking traffic. We never worry too much about those things. So, we got everything moved in and went off to find the elusive American. Everyone seemed to know who he was and pointed us to the sun roof. There we found Chaco and his Bolivian girfriend, Monica. We introduced overselves and were immediately struck by the gregarious nature of this tall, blond Californian surf dude. We couldn't help chuckling about how often he said 'bitchin'. He was just finishing an around the world trip after serving 6 years as an officer in the Marine Corp. (Jeff tells me not as "hard-core" as an enlisted man in the 82nd Airborne Division, but at this point who really cares?) He had bought his KLR in Chile from another American who had just finished riding it down from California. We were far too hungry to chat so we all agreed to meet up later. Jeff and I then headed down to the main plaza. The sunny afternoon was just calling for a beer on a balcony overlooking the plaza and that's just what we intended to do. From our perch, we people watched and enjoyed some of the best beer in Boliva - Surena and Ducal. Unfortunantely, there would be no food for another hour and a half. Somehow though, an hour and a half later we were still there and had dinner. By the time we finished dinner we were wiped out and headed home to never, never land.
Once again, most likely due to the elevation, we slept in late the next day. I finally dragged myself over to the market to pick up a few saltenas for breakfast. We laid around all day trying to make some progress on the journals. We had also promised Chaco that we'd give him some travel tips since he was heading North on his way back to California. He also wanted to see the photos on the handheld. Strangely (we'd only seen one day of dark skies in Bolivia), the skies turned very black in the afternoon and we got a hard downpour. Right about that time, Chaco came over for a visit. Paula and Tim stopped by too as they had just arrived from Potosi. They asked us if we had had any problems with the hail storm. "Hail storm?" They proceeded to tell us that there had been golf ball sized hail falling in the courtyard of the hostal in Potosi shortly after our departure. I was relieved to have missed it. I can't imagine it would have been very comfortable on the bikes and knowing Jeff he would have wanted to "gut it out" and ride out the storm. We agreed to meet up with them later for dinner and Chaco was going to take Jeff over to the mechanic that he'd found (the next am) to change out his chain and sprockets. Apparantly he badly damaged his original chain and sprocket running a road block during the protests. Jeff also took a look at his bike to give him some pointers on maintenance and whatever else guys talk about when women aren't around.
We rounded up Paula and Tim at the gorgeous hotel they were staying in for 100 bs a night. Unfortunately no bike parking though. We took them over to our little restaurant overlooking the plaza and we had a relaxing dinner. They were going to start Spanish lessons the following morning and were feeling nervous. We were still exhausted so we called it an early night and planned to meet up the next day.
The next morning Jeff and Chaco headed over to the mechanic's shop to see if he could buy chains and sprockets for our babies. I went to the local phone office to get e-mail and to the bank to cash traveller's checks. I was still fearful that they wouldn't accept the checks because of the 'date issue' that they'd had in Tupiza and Uyuni but after a few questions and consulting the manager, I got some cash. Whew. When I returned to the hotel, Jeff said that the guy didn't have the parts so we'd have to try in La Paz. We spent a little time wandering around looking for maps and stickers, eventually returning to work on the journals. We were seriously motivationally challenged and just couldn't get ourselves to do any tourist things. We did finally get over to the neighborhood gym where the trainer took no pity on my poor conditioning and put me through the ringer. We returned for a quick shower and then were to meet Chaco, Monica, Tim and Paula at one of the local pubs. We were planning on an early night as we were going to leave the next day for Oruro. Upon arrival, we met one of Monica's sisters and had a conversation about the economy of Bolivia and the many problems the country is experiencing. In time we were joined by more sisters. We inquired how big this family was. Monica was one of thirteen children. Wow. We spent the remainder of the night talking with all the siblings. Tim and Paula arrived late and with great determination, practiced their newly learned Spanish. As the night grew later my enthusiasm to leave the next day waned. We'd have to see what time we woke up.
Well, it was little surprise that we were unable to rouse ourselves in time for checkout. We committed ourselves to an early departure the next day with plans to try to get all the way to La Paz. We spent most of the day doing nothing again and didn't get out until late afternoon where we walked up to the Iglesia de la Recoleta which offers a beautiful view of Sucre. We found four really cute little girls there that we talked to for about a half hour. They finally decided they had to go home because it was time for 'mate'. Where are we, Argentina? We walked back through the quaint streets to a French restaurant. After our unexeciting dinner, we headed back to pack up and get ready for the big ride to La Paz.
As vowed, we were up early and got on the road about 6:45. We retraced our steps to Potosi and it was just as beautiful as it was on the way in. We got a bit lost trying to find the connecting road to Oruro but within twenty minutes we were headed in the right direction. We stopped at the edge of town to pay a toll and sped off down the last 15k of pavement. Jeff was in front and zipped through a canyon, crested a pass and uh-oh, got nabbed with the radar gun. He told me that they clocked him at 110 kph (70 mph) instead of the posted limit of 80 kph (50 mph). They were perfectly situated. Knowing I was just behind and would zip through too, he signaled to me to slow down as he turned around to face the police. These guys seemed to be having a heck of good time using the radar but didn't seem to care much about collecting. Jeff played dumb and asked whether the speed limit was in miles or kilometers per hour. They laughed, asked a few questions about the bikes, like, "how fast can it go?" and "how big is the engine?" etc., and sent us on our way with a warning. Whew. So off we went to tackle the dirt.
It wasn't long before I was cursing under my helmet. I could not believe this was the road linking two major cities. It was scarcely more than one lane wide in most places and consisted of soft sand and gravel. It was also very windy and my bald rear tire wasn't doing a whole hill o' beans. Never-the-less, the scenery was beautiful as usual. The route overlooks more of the Bolivian highlands and was dotted by peasant farmers, crops, llamas and the mud slap houses that make up the majority of Bolivian dwellings. I really don't know how they keep from melting when it rains. Anyway, there wasn't much traffic - just the occasional bus or truck to throroughly cover you with a cloud of dust and diesel. Let's just say I wasn't a happy camper. We finally took a break for some lunch in a tiny pueblo. We asked the truckers how far we had to get to pavement. 80 kilometers they said. We finished up the pollo y papas fritas and went out to count the kilometers. The road actually improved at this point and we were able to pick up the pace a little bit. About 60 kilometers down the way, we saw the beginnings of road construction. Up above the dirt road was a freshly paved sheet of asphalt that was calling my name. Unfortunately it was blocked off. We had the fortune of continuing on the now soft-sand path that was criss-crossed by about 15 rivers/streams/bodies of water for another 25k. I was really infuriated by this. This road was terrible and that pavement had been laid. All the local people were riding their bikes and walking their herds of cows, llamas, goats, mules on it. Feeling very irritable, I arrived in the dust cloud of Challapata were the pavement was said to begin. Jeff was there waiting, talking to a large group of men. Not wanting to meet all of his new friends I just kept riding. We found a toll booth waiting too and after paying our dues, took off through the altiplano.
The altiplano is very flat and the road is straight, a very welcome relief at that point in the day (around 3:00). We only had about 3.5 hours of daylight and still had over 225 miles to go. We reached our 70 mph cruising speed and basically stayed at it until we got to Oruro. I was hoping to stop there for the night. The curvy dirt road had really taken its toll on me and I was physically and mentally tired. But ole Iron Butt Anspach had other plans for me. We stopped for gas and Jeff informed me of his master plan to get all the way to La Paz. He said maybe we could stop when we got close to town if it got too cold. He was very anxious to be able to set out first thing the next day to find moto shops so we could replace our worn rear tires and our chains and sprockets. I begrudgingly remounted Suzi and right about that time, we got pelted with a small hail storm. Argghh.
As the afternoon turned to night, the temperature dropped rapidly. We stopped to don some more clothes and change the lenses in our glasses. We rode the final 50 miles into La Paz in the dark and it was really cold. My fingers were numb. I found I was able to take my mind off my hands by staring at the city lights, which we could see from 30 miles away. When we approached the toll booth at the entry to La Paz, we stopped for an amazing view over the city. It was actually quite spectacular. It was almost 9:30 pm. We had a hotel recommendation from our Team Torres friends Jed and Dee (Hostal Republica). When we pulled into town and stopped to pull out the map, a man asked if we needed directions. It turned out that we were only about 6 blocks away. It was quite strange considering the size of La Paz! Five minutes later we had found the hotel and were trying to figure out how we could ride the bikes up the two sets of very tall stairs. The hotel pulled out some boards and Jeff roared them in. The hotel staff absolutely loved watching Jeff ride up and down the stairs. And it was a good thing too since we took them in and out about twice a day while we were there. The hotel is a historic old building and was at one time, a Bolivian president's home. There are lovely courtyards, friendly staff and best of all, phones in the room. It was spendy at $16 per night but we were going to be in e-mail heaven. We unpacked and headed out for some dinner in a dicey part of town. A couple of beers melted away all the hardships of the day and soon we were counting llamas.