Ah, the Amazon, our old Nemesis. In Brazil we spent five sick and delirious days sailing down it. Last night we jolted for 12 hours through landslides towards it. The road was single track down a mountain and precarious, the bus had broken seats and no toilet and the girl next to me cried into her boyfriend's lap most of the way. We are flying back, and those who know me know that I do not say this lightly. I am however in good spirits: we may see a 3-toed sloth tomorrow! And lucky Joe gets to see more birds too. I believe we will also be offered the chance to swim with pink river dolphins: strange blind creatures that loom out of the muddy depths to nibble your feet.
Bolivia feels much more like how I imagined South America: short people in big skirts, great knitwear, llamas with headdresses etc. Not to go over too much of what Joe has already said but there have been two particular highlights for me so far: the trip over the desert from Chile, and Torotoro national park.
The 3-day trip over the Atacama desert and into Bolivia had some truly awe-inspiring landscapes. The air on the high plains (sometimes 5km above sealevel) is thin and the sky is dazzlingly blue and clear. We went past one lake that was bright green from arsenic, and another that was bright red from algae. (NB lots of money is made from extracting borax for making porcelain by tipping lorryloads of sulphuric acid into the lakes, you judge how long that one will last.) The James's flamingoes that we saw were incredibly beautiful: like painted Chinese dolls, and the desert and the windswept-rocks are quite out of this world. The company was also fantastic: as Joe mentioned, we were an eclectic mix of nationalities in one jeep. I learnt several card tricks from our Costa Rican friend, that in Japan it is polite to ask a girl's permission before kissing her, and that unlike almost every other language, the English have no expression for 'Bon appetit!'. Not sure how well that reflects on our national cuisine. The Bolivians also seem to share the English sense of humour, or at least the one that originally put the Eurostar terminal at Waterloo. The national park on the Chilean border is named after Bolivia's greatest war hero, Eduardo Avaroa, who held out against the Chileans (unsuccessfully) in the 1879 war of the Pacific. Relations remain frosty to this day judging by the anti-Chilean rhetoric in the papers. For Bolivia, losing their coastline was a huge blow, particularly since Brazil and Paraguay have also helped themselves to pieces of the country. The ensignia on the naval base in Rurrenabaque (yes, a naval base in the centre of a landlocked country!) promises to reclaim it one day.
Anyway, my second highlight was Torotoro, a village deep in the countryside in central Bolivia. It's very high up, yet beautifully green and covered in potato and oat fields, and the hills are rich in fossils with incredible inverted strata of rock. Amazingly you can see footprints of Anklyosaurus, sauropods and pterodactyl in the sandstone - very moving. You can even walk on them, and there's no cover to stop water erosion. The local attitude seems to be 'there's more under the next rock.' The large number of tracks and the lack of palaentologists allows every guide to indulge his personal fantasy: this raptor was injured; this pterodactly jumped onto his elbows as a mating ritual etc. It was lovely to be somewhere so small that the taxi driver stops to says hello to everyone, and where people enquire after your health and how the coca tea has gone down. Quite like my visions of England say in 1930's. And we had a mini-adventure on the way back. We stopped in the countryside to try some 'chicha', the local maize brew that's trampled on the floor, where the better part is given to pigs and the humans get the toxic, alcoholic remains. As we entered the small house - marked only by a tell-tale white or red flag - it looked like Hogarth's Gin Alley. Sunday afternoon and everyone in the small, cramped front room was pretty far gone. We enjoyed two or three bowls of the (strangely garlicky) brew as a toothless crone felt up my thigh, it was really quite pleasant. Everyone was dying for us to stay, and the landlady was telling us about her five sons that now live in the US, quite sad as all the young people emigrate to make some cash. But I feared for my honour and our driver for his wife's reprimand, so our stop was only brief.
I am sure Joe will be blogging about our mountain biking down the 'World's Most Dangerous Road', so-called by the Inter-American Development Bank as so many vehicles fell to their death using it. Now almost exclusively used by bikes and Jeremy Clarkson looking for a thrill, it is a beautiful road and a lot of fun plunging down it on a thick-tyred sofa of a bike. Personally I think the butterflies were the best bit (some of them looked like mother-of-pearl) but then I'm a girl. The more disturbing part was the animal sanctuary we got taken to at the bottom. It was founded to look after wild pets that Bolivians have rejected - snakes, toucans, monkeys and the like - all well and good, but the volunteers are something else. Grubby and imperious are two words I would use. Standing without insect repellent on (forbidden!) watching flies draw blood from your legs while the monkeys clamour to lick it off is an experience I won't forget. Then the English volunteer tongue-kissed a baby monkey.
Volunteer weirdos aside, it has to be said that Joe and I are missing our own English friends and family
a little bit, and aware of the strange perspectives that being away so long can give you. I am very happy that Eleanor is coming out to see us in a few weeks, bringing us a taste of home (hopefully in Mini Cheddar form) and also, after months of being utterly selfish, a focus on someone else's holiday! Travelling is amazing, but there's something about not belonging that can be slightly sad when you see other people going about their daily business of working, shopping, bringing up children etc. Then the bus driver will shout loudly, alerting everyone's attention that you've arrived: "Gringo!! Plaza!"
Still, we're not too sad mind, and I have every intention of seeing some toucans tomorrow. This Rurrenabaque is a beautiful place and the pampas beyond it promises good things. More bird updates anon and goodnight all.
UPDATE: due to lack of wifi we are now back from Rurrenabaque and unexpectedly heading to Peru tomorrow, due to road blockades on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca.
So here are some of my favourite things about Bolivia, on our departure:
1) Traditional dress of the women: bowler hat, hair in twin plaits with curtain brocade sewn into the bottom, apron, multicoloured blanket tied on back (holding heavy load), wide-pleated skirt in metallic fabric, alpaca leggings, fleshcoloured tights and black heels. Come to think of it, this could catch on in Shoreditch.
2) Freshly squeezed orange juice from street vendors - 30p or 40p, and everywhere.
3) The flamingoes
4) The smell of the plants. For some reason the leaves have some lovely and strong scents, from green tea to camomile or mint.
5) Decorated buses. Normally a lion in flames or a futuristic jungle scene with bodybuilders and a dragon. Also signs inside: 'If I don't return I've gone to see God.'
Thank you Bolivia!
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