Part 5 - La Paz to Lima
Mosquitoes 72 (bites) - John 66 (kills) - first night in Rurrenebaque 20!
I was at the ridiculous height of 4,725m and wearing every stitch of clothing I possibly could. Two pairs of gloves, four layers on top, three on bottom and sitting astride a rather
Spent a night in Coroico and boarded the bus to the picturesque jungle town of Rurrenebaque the following day…
The bus was an absolute wreck. I got the death seat on the back row in the middle. The road has to be the second most dangerous road in the world. We broke down after 5 minutes for 15 minutes. Once the repairs were completed the driver proceeded at break neck speeds - to try and catch up the time one can only imagine. Passed an upside down jeep that had careered off the road moments before. We had three virtual head on collisions, and I mean the skidding out of control and stopping just in front of the other bus / truck / cliff edge type. All this while the driver without blinking an eyelid related what was clearly a highly amusing tale, often with both arms gesticulating widely to make the point. I was “this close” to getting up and whacking him one but I am of course British. Instead I resorted to listening to some Chemical Brothers, music to match my racing adrenaline levels. I assume he’d given his rosary a good rub before setting off. Bizarrely, as the road improved he totally chilled out. We arrived, without sleep at 7.00 in the morning having left in the afternoon around 3.00. Absolutely shattered nervous wrecks. First words of the day? “I don’t care how much it costs, I’m flying back. Where’s the booking office!”
I was in Rurrenebaque primarily to do a tour of the Pampas down the Rio Yakuma, but the swimming pool is great too. My tour group comprised of a gaggle of giggly English girls and an Italian couple, Emmanuelle and “I am Maximus”. The guide Dorio adopted me as 2IC of his extremely long canoe, in charge of sitting up front beating back the alligators and jumping ashore to tie her up with long forgotten knot skills. Fortunately the canoe never broke fro it’s moorings. On day 1 we saw alligators a plenty, caiman, pink river dolphins (ahh), monkeys, large rodent things (puma food) and an amazing variety of birds of all shapes, colours and sizes. The morning of Day 2, after saying hi to the extremely close alligator Pedro, was for anaconda hunting. We successfully found and caught a cobra and constrictor, well Dorio did. The afternoon was spent piranha fishing with just a line, hook and meat - caught three with me’ bare ‘ands like (tasty fried). At night we went out on the canoe again with torches to shine into the eyes of the alligators and caiman. There are absolutely hundreds of them, somewhat disconcerting. Day 3 was another jaunt along the river for more hellos to the dolphins and back to port for the trip home. Due to heavy rains this involved slipping and sliding around on the roads hoping not to go into 360-degree spins. Girls, passed on recommendation, invest in sports bra.
After another visit to the pool and saying goodbye to my friends Ana and Saskia for the last time, I boarded my flight at the “airport”. A long strip of grass and a few outbuildings. My first propeller powered flight - wasn’t nervous, honest. A quick stop in La Paz and that was the end of my time in Bolivia, an absolutely fabulous country.
And so, some final notes on the place.
Toilets: Usually without seat and often without flush. Use, bucket and bowl. Not much fun for those of us who like to enjoy a morning sabbatical with the G2 / Times Supplement / The Sun.
Showers: “Las duchas de Frankenstein”, as penned by a fellow adventurer. A small plastic heating element. Bare exposed wires. For hot water, adjust tap to water level “trickle”, all other settings cold. A 1 in 3 chance of electrocution when turning the buggers off or adjusting water level to “trickle”.
Buses: Bought 3rd hand from the US via 300,000 miles of use in Peru. Usually on slick tires, that’s bald to non-Formula One fans. Held together with string. Vast shrines in the front windows impairing vision considerably.
Roads: Generally of a dirt construction with added ravines, potholes and large rocks for added comfort and security. Liable to flooding.
With Bolivia a long and uncomfortable night bus behind me I was at last back in Cusco with an Achilles in a fit state for the 4-day hike to Machu Pichu. As luck would have it, I arrived just in time to meet up with the lovely Kate who I’d met in Costa Rica and her fellow partner in crime Penny, both rather wild Ozzy chicas. There began a whirlwind tour of the Cusco nightlife once again, with a slight break for some rather tame white water rafting. Finally, the day approached for the start of the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. I prepared for this grueling trek by spending the night before sinking a few beverages at the Cross Keys pub quiz and being over the moon to be able to answer, who scored the only goal in the 1988 FA Cup Final!
As usual with tours I was up at about 4.00 or some obscene time and hopped on the bus to Km 82, the start of the trail and our spot for breakfast with the team. Matthius and Katja, a couple of honeymooners from Germany. Darrell and Jane a couple of kayakers from NZ. Mark and Sarah who had just qualified as solicitors in London and are now no doubt fleecing some poor soul by the hour. Kyle from the US going deep jungle after the trail and four others from the US, Steve and Kirsten, Naomi and Sandy. As to the trail I shall be brief. Needless to say the scenery blew me away. The climb on day 2 from 2,800 meters to dead woman’s pass at 4,200 meters was a killer. The campsites were in stunning locations and Machu Picchu itself is a sight to behold. Better just put it on your to do list than listen to me rambling on about the clear mountain air, snow capped peaks, shooting stars, impromptu fiestas, etc.
So that was my list of things to do in South America and I was free in my mind to do whatever the hell I wanted. So, I went to Arequipa and promptly fell in love with the place. The first night out involved jumping into a taxi with some locals, new pal Tom and a couple of right monkeys from Brighton. We went to a huge drag filled with night-clubs for the local revelers. Ended up in a bar sharing jugs of Cuba Libre at 10 soles a throw (about $3) with just one glass, how it’s done here apparently when drinking with others. We met a huge Peruvian guy who had been to London, spoke English just about and apparently had been made very welcome there. Not quite sure how that happened. He started out being “very happy to be your friends” moved through “you a good man, me a very bad man” went further on to say “I am the strongest man in Peru and I’ve killed many peoples” and finally waddled out of the bar out of his head. I was very relieved to see him go knowing where stage 4 can lead people.
After recovering from this rather excessive night out, Tom and I headed off on a tour of the Colca Canyon, famous for it’s depth and it’s Condors. We left at 1.00 am (what are they trying to do to me) with our guide a little Peruvian woman and new friend Marlene from Holland. Not pronounced like Boyce would in Only Fools and Horses of course, but the poor girl had to put up with several impressions and unexplainable “Dave’s”. Probably means little to some of you others out there too.
Five bus hours later we arrived at the top of the Canyon for a bite to eat and to see the Condor’s soaring up the side of the canyon on the thermals. They took a while to show but are pretty big chaps and rather graceful. With the condors spotted it was down the treacherous path into the canyon. After spending some time sniggering at the others slipping and sliding on the loose terrain I got my just deserts.
A large piece of the mountain (artistic license in operation) which I had committed my full weight upon, decided it desired to roll down the canyon, taking me with it. A flash of fear passed through me as I fell headlong towards the edge. Fortunately I managed to use my available limbs to halt the fall and possible serious injury. I did however have a large number of nasty grazes and a deep cut to one leg. After being cleaned up by my guide and resting a little we pressed on to the river below where we bathed our hot, sore feet and then arrived at our little mud house in one of the tiny villages.
Here we met David and Shona, the former on a similar pilgrimage to me yet in search of musical inspiration (a modern classical composer who I think favours loud bangs and whooshes) and the latter a Scot currently residing in San Fran and sporting serious hikers ski poles. More walking in the Canyon the next day to the “oasis” (read fresh water swimming pool) and bamboo huts where we slept until 3.30 am, when we had to leave in the dark to climb out of the canyon. Food consisted of rice and mashed potatoes with extra rice and mashed potatoes if you wanted them. An interesting super carb combination that wasn’t the ideal accompaniment to the large number of beers consumed.
The climb out was tough going but nothing to Inca Trail veterans and we were rewarded with a session in some hot springs to soothe the muscles. Here I had to adopt “man at C&A” poses to keep the injured parts of my body out of the water.
Back in Arequipa we spent many days enjoying the city’s numerous sights and many nights enjoying the nightlife. Often we dragged a few others along with us including Russell the owner of the hostal and Rose a very charming young lady from Germany. Tom frequently had me in pieces by launching into Morcambe and Wise dancing in busy nightclubs. I don’t know if you can imagine a tall bloke with legs and arms flailing around while everyone else was doing the usual serious Latin American dance moves but it was quite a sight.
On my final day in Arequipa I searched my soul and finally decided to go to the local bull fight. I of course don’t agree with this barbaric sport but I’d heard from Russell that I would be in for a hilarious couple of hours, as part of a very tough crowd. How right he was.
First up were the police display dogs who started with the usual boring walking around and rolling over stuff. The MC had to request applause and the crowd was beginning to bay until they brought out the rings or hoops. The dogs jumped through these hoops many times which built up well to the real action. They set fire to the rings! It was really quite amazing to watch German Shepherds risk setting fire to their fur through tiny, blazing hoops. The crowd showed it’s mettle by laughing heartily and jeering when one poor dog refused at a hoop.
After a dreadful band that were unceremoniously booed and whistled at, on came two acrobats and a dancing dog. The show started with a dreadful attempt at juggling and finished with an attempt to balance a fat boy on a stilt on the end of the male acrobats chin.This he completely failed to do and nearly dropped the kid twice. Much jeering and laughter from the crowd ensued. I was by this time rolling about, tears pouring down my cheeks.
Finally the bulls were on and the matadors did their stuff, swishing their capes around to get the bulls to charge. They didn’t seem too interested most of the time though and I have to confess I found this part pretty boring. Much more interesting were the two large bellied cowboys who were supposed to lasso the bulls and get them out of the ring. Every time they totally failed in this and would often end up getting chased behind the boards. This didn’t bother them though as they were able to refresh themselves with some alcohol supplied by the crowd! Fortunately there were no spear thrusts or physical damage to the bulls at all.
Eventually the matadors left and the bulls were allowed to try their horns with the drunk volunteers, with fair success! These guys had much more alcohol and bravado than sense or skill and would often get flipped, to the absolute amusement of the crowd. The climax for us was a circuit of the ring by a local politician. He had apparently been accused of having his fingers in the peoples pot. His grandiose waves were met with food, cups and beer bottles thrown by the restless and inebriated crowd. Not your normal bull fight I would imagine!
After a long stay in Arequipa I decided I’d better get moving and rushed up the coast of the Peru with Marlene. Highlights were as follows.
A flight in a 6 seater plane overlooking the famous Nasca Lines - hairy! The plane smelt like my old 1966 Triumph but I hope is more reliable.
Peddleos round the oasis at Huanchaco. Surrounded by palm trees and huge dunes where we could watch the sand boarders careering or crashing down.
Watching a sea lion fight from a speed boat at the Ballestas Islands near Pisco, a nature reserve with loads of birds, penguins and other such stuff…very, very amusing as loads of them pegged it into the sea at the first sign of trouble right into the line of our camera lenses. Fantastic stuff, the noise (and smell) was incredible.
As most of you know I am way behind in the Massacres due to incredible levels of idleness. Sorry…I will try my best to catch up.
For now though, may I wish you all the best for 2003. I spent the festive period in Cartagena, Colombia and am now in Panama City enjoying the weather forecasts from the UK. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Take care, John