So anyway, after leaving La Paz for the first time we descended 3500m to Coroico on mountain bikes, on what was, according to independent insurers, the world's most dangerous road. An alternative route has now opened so the road is mostly used by bikers, though the 100m drops adjacent to the 3m wide dirt road (without safety barriers) remain. The descent was incredibly beautiful and incredibly good fun. After a certain amount of nervousness before the ride I surprised myself at being able to forget about the drops to the side of the road and go for it. Now and again I had to remind myself to take it a little bit easy, especially when I caught a glimpse into the precipice from some of the waterfall- drenched hairpins.
As we had been so brave we rewarded ourselves with three nights in a beautiful open cabin, overlooking the Yunga valleys, doing nothing but loll in a hammock and look out for hummingbirds. Bliss.
After such fun and relaxation we decided that it would be a good idea to torture ourselves by knowingly taking one of the most dangerous and uncomfortable bus journeys in South America- through the rest of the Yungas to Rurrenebaque, on the edge of the Amazon basin.
A few other buses came and went during the three hour wait for our vehicle. They were extravagantly painted with mythical scenes of lions with flaming manes, dragons and busty, scantily clad warrior maidens holding big swords. They looked like teenager's pencil cases, and had evidently seen more of the artists than any mechanics. They were evidently not equipped with toilets- we saw several old men descending with cups full of yellow liquid, which they deposited by the roadside. Surely our bus- the gringo bus- would be better.
So I was disappointed when the driver confirmed that my ticket was valid for the bus which eventually turned up. It was much the same. Inside there was an incredible funk, no doubt caused in part by the aforementioned use and misuse of temporary pisspots. The seats were carpeted, the ideal material for remaining slightly dank, and the moisture mixed with the dust kicked up from the road to create a grey sludge which got everywhere and seemed to form a thin film over my skin. The seat in front was approximately thigh-length-minus-5cm. It had no back so my knees rested on whichever spring or bolt they found every time the bus lurched (which it did, often). The seat of my chair was not fixed down, meaning that the bumps constantly forced my legs forward. I didn't know real knee-pain before and I don't want to again.
Also, It quickly became apparent the the 'death road' had not really stopped in Coroico. As Hes said, the girl next to us was weeping uncontrollably for hours. The drops were precipitous and the driver bullish, but all this would still have been ok had the 'roads' not been in fact been simply quagmires of knee-deep mud. We saw a few large haulage vehicles completely beached, and came close ourselves.
After the worst of the mountain passes I slept fitfully, and when we reached Rurrenebaque at 6am we proceeded directly to the hotel to sleep. After that I frogmarched Hes to the airline office to buy a plane ticket back. Bravely, she agreed, and she coped magnificently.
Our pampas trip from Rurrenabaque was really very nice, for the most part. It involved a few river trips, in blissfully sunny, fresh weather, seeing birds and monkeys. We were greeted from the boat with cold drinks and the food in the lodge was great. It was what I had expected and wanted from the Pantanal in Brazil. One evening we tried to fish for Piranhas, but ended up just feeding the Piranhas. Unfortunately for me, they were the only thing which wasn't biting. During this 'fishing' trip, my ankles got so utterly nailed that I was scratching for days on end. Later that evening we stepped out of the lodge to see *some animal or other* in the dark, and I was happily trailing behind Hes and the guide (as per usual) when I felt a searing pain. Running back into the lodge I saw large black ants all over my feet- tenacious little buggers, I couldn't get them off. God knows how they had all got on there, I hadn't stopped walking.
My worst experience, though, was with the river dolphins. Hes had made me sit through a lot of wildlife videos before we came to this continent, and we had agreed that pink river dolphins were some of the most fearful, nightmarish creatures we had ever seen: take a normal dolphin, colour it weirdly humanly pink, make it practically blind and then give it A NECK so it can look around in a horribly exorcisty way. So imagine our surprise when we actually considered going swimming with these things.
Happily, we had forgotten our swimming things, and decided we would just nuzzle them with our feet, from our seated positions on the boat. After a bit of splashing around, I thought I saw something in the murky depths. Our guide grabbed my knee and shoved my foot further into the water 'mas dentro!'. Tentatively, two bony, pinky-grey prongs appeared on either side of my foot- I could see nothing but the thing's snout, and Its teeth looked pretty sharp. Then it bit me, hard. As I yelped in pain Hes and the guide started peeing themselves. Then it bit him and his foot shot out of the water. Even as Hes was telling me to pull myself together, the blood started flowing. I hope I don't have dolphin rabies or something, time will tell.
After our flight back to La Paz we learned that our next leg- to Copacabana on the shores of Lake Titicaca, had been stymied. You see, the town is accessed via ferries across another lake, and there is a community of people whose livelihoods depend on offering the ferry service. However, they are apparently capricious in their fares, and the residents of Copacabana demand a bridge. To this end, they blocked all roads between the town and La Paz. So we got stuck in La Paz for another night and bought a bus ticket to Peru, and as such missing the Isla del Sol. A shame but these things happen.
And then we got stuck for two more days in La Paz because we neglected to pick up our washing in the evening, believing we could pick it up on the next morning. Good Friday morning. Silly error, especially for a good Catholic boy. We had found ourselves immune to La Paz's charms, not quite being able to shake the first impression that the town is actually a bit of a sh*thole, catering for the younger gringo in the search for cheap booze and cocaine. However, in these extra, unplanned days, we really started to enjoy the place- for its extraordinary setting (filling out a wide fissure in the Altiplano all around, and dominated by a higher-than-high mountain), for the freshly squeezed orange on every corner and the beautiful and varied districts. And we spent our last night in a proper hotel- a beautiful converted convent in the centre of town- providing a much needed respite from the party-hostel-dorms we had been forced to take. You have to pamper yourself sometimes, especially when life is so hard...
Ps as we have now left Bolivia behind, a quick top 5 wouldn't-Bolivia-moments: (you all loved the pun-title of the last post)
Potosi: an old lady making full use of the traditional dress to squat and wee in the middle of the street, her huge skirt making it very subtle.
Coroico: aforementioned gentlemen leaving buses with cups of yellow liquid.
La Paz: party-hostels exemplified by Israelis with terrible voices and an acoustic guitar singing until late at night, followed by singalong-a-Alanis Morissette until the early hours
Uyuni: the bus driver opening the luggage compartment to reveal a big blanket, which moved to reveal a secret passenger sleeping with the suitcases.
Rurrenabaque: our guide opens up our first conversation by asking me why I have such tiny eyes.
Pps just to even it up, I'd like to say that for all its rustic charms, Bolivia is a stunning place- incredible landscapes and hugely friendly people who are always willing to have a laugh with you. I'll miss it.
