Friday, 22 April 2011
Big foreign cities by bicycle frighten me a little but back in November I found the courage and Juan to cycle out of Buenos Aires and a week ago I found the courage and Rodrigo to cycle into La Paz!
After bussing my way across southwest Bolivia, it was great to be back on the bike cycling north from Oruro, even though the route was pretty dull. It crossed a featureless high plain with a few scrawny villages where people were bent double in the fields working small plots by hand. Latterly snow-capped volcanoes appeared on the western horizon - the same chain of volcanoes that I first cycled across back on New Year´s Day. How time flies!
The road north may have been dull but there was always something to see in the towns. Take, for example, the two days I spent in Oruro. On the first day, taxis and buses blockaded the city centre, angry protestors waving banners and exploding dynamite marched on the main plaza and armed police were out in force. The next day, hundreds of happy kids in fancy dress gathered on the plaza to celebrate children´s day, brass bands played cheery tunes ... and armed police were out in force! Mind you, they do look quite sexy in their little combat-style uniforms.
And the dogs always keep me on my toes. I love dogs but those in Bolivia are not endearing themselves to me. As soon as they see the bike, the chase is on. On one occasion a dog actually got its teeth into my rear tyre and on another occasion I just withdrew my ankle in time. As a single woman in my 40s, there are occasions when I might enjoy hot, slavery breath on my skin - this was not one of them! My technique for dealing with the dogs is -
1. stop pedalling and get off the bike - this switches off the "chase" instinct and you can´t out-run them anyway.
2. march towards them shouting and waving your arms in a dominant, top-dog manner. Thank goodness I watched all those episodes of "It´s Me or the Dog".
3. if 1 and 2 fail, throw some rocks at the muts. I actually hit one only once!
4. if 1, 2 and 3 fail . . . just be thankful you had that rabies jab before you left.
This little performance will often be watched by the owner who seems not at all concerned that his charge is trying to chew my leg off!
Surprisingly, I´d make a good meal for a dog just now as I´m eating reasonably well in Bolivia. Each day I have one or two meals out in a restaurant and even in tourist places I can get a decent meal for a few pounds. I supplement these meals with fruits and vegetables from the markets and with Snickers and M&Ms from the USA! My favourite meal is "lomo montado" - steak with a fried egg on top layered with rice and potatoes. I´m also enjoying quinoa, the traditional cereal of the Altiplano, either cooked so it´s bit like rice or as a delicious breakfast cereal.
Powered by a pannier-load of quinoa, I cycled towards La Paz. I´d been unsure about cycling into the city on my own - the British Embassy webpage makes it sound as dangerous as Baghdad . . . or Ballingry! But I had an amazing stroke of luck when south of the city I pulled into a roadside motel on the same day as Rodrigo who was cycling from the very tip of South America back home to Mexico. We agreed to cycle into La Paz together.
La Paz is not a beautiful city but it is a spectacular city. It is built in a vast, deep canyon surrounded by rocky mountains. The huge sprawl of houses is stacked precariously on the hillsides and overlooked by the stunning, snow-capped Illimani. You approach the city from above, cycling around the rim of the canyon, with the city spread out below. The top of the canyon is at 13,000 feet and I spent three days cycling up to this altitude only to lose what I´d gained in the 3-mile, 15-minute descent into La Paz!
From Alaska through North and Central America and onto Ushuaia at the very tip of South America, there is a steady stream of cyclists. Some are travelling north and some south but all are bound together by a "grapevine" where information about routes and places or news of joint acquaintances made, is passed up and down the line. It was on this grapevine that Rodrigo and I heard about a Casa de Ciclistas in La Paz. These Casas are houses that have been opened up to touring cyclists as a cheap, safe place to lay your head for a night or two. We decided to hunt it out. By the time we had the address from the "Bike Cafe" in the city centre, we had been joined by a third cyclist, Araitz from Spain. Our little convoy made a mad dash across the night-time city to the Casa - it was dark, the traffic was crazy, the horns were deafening, the smells of street food wafted in the evening air and on the mountainsides all around twinkled the lights of a million homes. It was a magical ride!
As I´m spending a bit of time in La Paz sorting out a visa for the next leg of my trip, I´ve moved from the Casa to a more comfortable hostel. A beautiful, old colonial house and the former home of a Bolivian president, it has pretty, cobbled courtyards with wicker chairs to relax in and rooms set around wooden balconies. I feel like a spoiled foreign dignatory - all I need to complete the scene are some fat Cuban cigars!
I´m not a fan of big cities and La Paz is a big, busy, noisy, congested, modern city with only small pockets of charm and colonial architecture left. And yet I´m really enjoying being in La Paz. It´s exotic . . . it has a certain "something" . . . it has the only supermarket in Bolivia and it sells cheddar cheese and Cadbury´s Fudges! And every time you turn a corner, the narrow streets afford you a slim slice of a view to the surrounding hillsides with their tightly-packed, gravity-defying houses. Then here and there, in a delightful juxtaposition, modern blocks will artfully frame a beautiful old church. These last few evenings, I´ve wandered round to the little square in front of La Merced Church, one block away from my hostel. In the run-up to Easter, there have been rows of stalls selling beautiful handmade cakes and gorgeous breads, barbecues sending flames up into the night air, a saxophonist playing Simon and Garfunkel tunes and hundreds of people streaming out of the church and mingling amongst the stalls. The city lights sparkle on the surrounding hillsides and people are wrapped up in warm coats and woollens against the chilly Altiplano evenings. It´s simply delightful. Then this evening I watched the Easter procession through the city - religious icons were paraded through the streets in front of crowds of thousands as choirs sang melancholy songs. The city clock chimed the hour and incense filled the air - it all gave me goosebumps. Then, of course, the brass bands passed through - nothing happens in Bolivia without a brass band. It´s quite superb.
In the Indian quarter near-vertical cobbled streets are adorned with colourful textiles and woollens on sale to tourists who fall easily into the trap of going home with a poncho. Also in the Indian quarter is the Witches´ Market where you can buy llama foetuses. Sealing a llama foetus into the walls of a new home is said to ward off evil spirits. They are really quite gruesome but I couldn´t help staring at them. Llama foetuses are also still used today by the Aymara Indians for ceremonies each solstice at Tiahuanaco, Bolivia´s most important historical site. It lies 45 miles west of La Paz and I took a bus trip out there to explore the ruins.
The Tiahuanaco civilisation was the longest surviving South American empire, thriving from 1500BC for 3000 years. The ruins at Tiahuanaco represent a ceremonial complex at the heart of the empire and contain sophisticated solar calendars. The intricately-decorated monoliths and gateways of the complex were perfectly aligned so that on each equinox the rays of the sun would pass through the most important part of the temple, the Puerta del Sol, or the Sun Gate, with its inscriptions representing each month of the year. It´s absolutely fascinating and as the guide drew diagrams in the dirt to explain this, I felt like I was in an Indiana Jones movie!
The Tiahuanaco civilisation eventually collapsed, possibly due to flooding of its productive raised field system. However, its collapse gave birth to the Aymara Indians that today still inhabit Bolivia, southern Peru and northern parts of Chile and Argentina, and to the most powerful and possibly most famous South American civilisation . . . the Incas.
When we think of the Incas we probably picture the majestic ruins at Machu Picchu in Peru. But the most important site in the Inca empire was the place of the Inca creation legend, further south in Bolivia. In a few days I´ll be pedalling north from La Paz to cycle to that very place . . . a place I´ve always wanted to see and my final destination in South America . . . Lake Titicaca.
For more photos - click here.
To sponsor me and support Oxfam - click here.
Sunday, 17 April 2011
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Uyuni is a pleasant, small town set at 12,000 feet and rather out on a limb on the Bolivian Altiplano. It has attractive colonial buildings, a handsome town clock and railway-themed artworks, reflecting its past status as a key railway junction. Trains still pass through and late at night I hear their whistles blowing - proper, old-fashioned train whistles and I imagine it must be Casey Jones pulling the cord! Every couple of days, the main street is given over to a lively market which gives the town a carnival atmosphere - there are stalls, bands and hot food. I tried the local speciality and ate llama - not a whole one! On a world map Uyuni is an insignificant, tiny dot but I travelled here for a very special reason ... I came to make a dream come true.
The road across southwest Bolivia is an appalling dirt track that traverses difficult and empty terrain so I´m using the bus to explore this part of the country until I hit tarmac again further north. It´s no trouble taking the bicycle on the bus - it goes up on the roof! For the next month I´ll be living above 12,000 feet. The altitude doesn´t seem to be causing me any problems except having a permanently gunky nose and first thing in the morning, when it´s all dried up, it feels like there´s a bunch of cornflakes up there!
One day´s dusty bus ride from Uyuni took me to Potosi, a World Heritage site and a beautiful old city. At over 13,000 feet, it´s the highest city of its size in the world. The centre is comprised of brightly-painted, grand colonial buildings and some slightly crumbly ones which are no less charming. Radiating out from the main plaza are narrow streets where policemen in white gloves direct the traffic. The city is dominated, past and present, by the scarred slopes of one mountain- Cerro Rico. Since colonial times, Cerro Rico has yielded vast quantities of silver and at the peak of production, Potosi was one of the wealthiest cities in the world, comparable to London or Paris. Ambling around the city´s attractive streets and plazas today, that wealth is still very much in evidence. But there is a grim reality behind the money - it´s estimated that 8 million people have died in the silver mines of Cerro Rico, most of them indigenous and African slaves.
Today the silver deposits have been mostly exhausted but miners continue to dig for tin and lead in appalling conditions and in rock that also contains asbestos. Chewing coca leaves to ease the pain of hard labour, they work 14 hours per day, 7 days per week and if they don´t find metal, they don´t get paid. The average lifespan of a Potosi miner is 35 years. That´s a very sobering fact. By the luck of the draw, I was born into a good family in a rich country. At an age when I have the wealth and health to indulge in a pleasant jaunt around the world, Potosi´s miners are being buried in their graves.
If Potosi was founded on silver, then Uyuni was founded on salt. To the west of Uyuni, covering an area of 4,000 square miles, is the largest salt flat in the world - the Salar de Uyuni. For years I´ve had a dream of gazing on its blinding beauty and riding my bicycle across its pristine whiteness. I returned to Uyuni, hoping to make my dream come true.
During the wet season, Lake Titicaca on Bolivia´s northern border with Peru, overflows into Lake Poopo further south which in turn floods the Salar de Uyuni. This year, Bolivia´s wet season arrived late and has lingered late. The Salar is still flooded. There is no possibility of riding my bicycle on it ... no possibility of achieving my dream. All I could do was take a trip to the fringes of the Salar. It was incredibly beautiful - the layer of water on the salt creates a perfectly reflective surface, smudging the boundary between salt and sky. Islands that were once the tips of extinct volcanoes, float in a shimmering mirage. But I had to settle for a paddle in the Salar rather than a pedal on the Salar.
From the point in Chile when I turned my bicycle around to face north, I was visualising myself cycling on the Salar. It wasn´t to be but I still witnessed one of nature´s most spectacular phenomena and the journey here has been rich and exciting. There´s a little saying that I like about striving for dreams. It goes like this:
"Reach for the moon . . . even if you don´t make it, at least you´ll have danced with the stars".
More photos and words on my Flickr page - click here.
The lives of Potosi´s miners should remind us to spare a thought, or more usefully some money, for those less fortunate than ourselves. So please make a donation to Oxfam on my Justgiving page- click here.