Bolivia By Jove - Roads as Bad as Predicted - 11 Mar 2003
Bolivia ñ bowlers and brakes
Tours, inshallah
Weíd been dreading riding in Bolivia for some time. Folk had also told us that the border was a nightmare. There was talk of the border controls being officious slow and difficult, that it was dodgy with lots of thieves about. On top of this we were heading into Bolivia in the month of the year that I had originally put a big ¥X¥ by. On the basis that the raining had had 2 months to do its worst to the dirt roads and the temperature falls a little so the rain becomes hail and snow at high altitude.
The Argentine side was very calm and the bits of paperwork were no different to normal. While I was sat watching the bike I was enjoying looking at a whole new culture unfolding before me. As Bolivian men and women wandered unhindered back and forth over the border doing their shopping. The dynamicness of their attire enthralled me. The men were a little dull in the average western style clothes, but the women that was a different issue. It was a case of ¥Hats R us¥. Bowler hats, straw hats with wide colourful ribbons flowing down their back, and all manner of other varieties. Full skirts, in every colour under the sun including florescent pink and blue, with a multitude of underskirts gave them the appearance of being dumpy. Layers of jumpers and cardigans, to combat the cold from the altitude here. These little women no more than 4ft 9in - had the strength of oxen. Tied round their necks forming impromptu rucksacks on their backs were colourful stripy blankets holding anything from babies to crates of ale (the most I saw a male carrying was a cassette player blaring on his shoulder). It seemed that the favourite import product into Bolivia were, toilet roll, bread and wine. Looks like there may be a shortage of all the essentials. Going the other way was a plethora of rubber products; footballs, rubber rings and the like. If this is meant to be the dodgy gear that is being passed at the border Iím not impressed.
The documents went in a breeze. The only hiccup being that the Bolivian customs office was, of course, downstairs from the Argy one on the Argy side of the border. Everything else was in its proper place and went exceedingly smoothly. There were a couple of Swiss cyclists who were heading south and so we exchanged info on roads and the like. They confirmed my worst fears. Having got fed up with the Bolivian roads, they had resorted to taking a pickup down to the border. They reckoned that the ride had been really uncomfortable and that the roads were not really much better in the north.
We set off after getting the last of our Argy cash turned into Bolivianos- So much easier to remember which currency you are using when it is clearly named thus. The exchanger office seemed to play fair ñ top tip is to get in the queue behind someone doing the same exchange as yourself and see what rate they get. We eventually got out of town by heading in a straight line ñ not a sign to be seen. We only found we were definitely on the right road when we came to our first road block. I was overjoyed by the fact that we did not have to cough up for use of the roads as weíre on a bike. The other road users had to go elsewhere to pay and I followed to be sent back to get on the bike and head off.
Meanwhile I was trying to keep out of the firing line. There were two kids of about 7 in the middle of all out war. One armed with a rather snazzy looking water pistol and the other with spray foam. Using the bike as a shield against their opponent I had little choice but to stand back and leave them to it.
The road was not too bad. I guess if you prepare for the worst by listening to other people, whatever it turns out to be will be OK. Most folk would be horrified that an international road could be in this condition, but I refer the reader back to Sudan, Ethiopia and Kenya! There was a bit of corrugation, true, and there was the odd little stream crossing that had left a muddy dip, but not the foaming torrents that Iíd expected.
The corrugations came into theirs own that day. In the muddy patches the ripples in the surface actually improved the ride, giving the tyres a little to grip on. Every cloud and all that... This meant that we stuck the edge of the bumpy sections most of the way. About half way, I heard a grating sound, from the brakes. It sounded like there was some grit stuck in them. Pat, give him his due, humoured me and checked them and confirmed that they were pretty shitty but working OK. I squeezed the brakes on and off a few times and they seemed to clear. The noise didnít seem to improve, in fact it was getting worse, but what do I know!. This time I got off the bike as there was now a tinkling, ringing sound which sounded a bit iffy. Tapping the brake disc, it seemed that the mountings simply needed tightening up and so I was prepared to carry on for the time being.
The pannier to the side of me seemed to be rattling even more than normal. I hate to disturb Patís concentration while heís on difficult road. So I tried fidgeting around and lifting my leg to check the pannier beneath it, and at the same time keeping my weight central for balance, not the easiest thing to do. I couldnít see properly, even with doing various contortions so just decided to hold on to it instead on stop it vibrating so badly.
OK so maybe the corrugations were quite bad ñ it just goes to show what you get used to.
Weather proved to be as expected, although not as cold; rain and hail. It was not continuous and so we managed to dry off in the lean spells. Having the wet weather gear on turned out to be to our advantage when we got to Tupiza, though, were Carnival was still in full swing. The local louts delighted in pelting us with rubber envelopes filled with water (they may have been balloons ñ canít be sure) They were a bit porked off that their surprise failed to get a response seeing as how we dropped visors on approach. Itís all done in good humour and so you canít really get wound up.
Outside the hotel, I checked over the brakes as these things seem to get forgotten until we set off the next time otherwise. I tightened up the disc mountings and it surprised me that so little tightening was needed to remedy the fault. Giving it the once over after Iíd done the work revealed that the real problem was in fact that the pins that hold the brake pads in had gone AWOL leaving only one pin keeping up appearances. Clearly I should have taken Hippyís comments more seriously and checked the whole thing out in the first instance. We were so lucky that the last pin had stayed in otherwise we may have been writing this from a hospital bed. As for the pannier, Hippy again turned out to have been entirely spot on. I wish sheíd told me at the time. I wish I were more assertive. One of the mountings had worked loose and the pannier was left holding on by bugger all and a helping hand from Hippy.
Weíd hoped to maybe take a tour from Tupiza to the Altiplana to see Salar de Uyuni and environs. This being a salt lake, I did not want to subject poor Bertha to it in the rainy season. Itís the bike equivalent of getting skin cancer. Given that itís so high sheíd probably get asthma, too.
By an incredible stroke of luck, out hostel had a sign outside asking for passengers for the following dayís tour to this area. I asked how many people they needed and was overjoyed to hear that it was two. It seemed a bit pricey given that it was off-season, but it really fitted in with out plans and so (there were no tours going from the other operators) we took advantage of our luck and signed up. In the office there was a group of other grockles waiting to set off on their tour. It turned out that there had been problems with their vehicle culminating in a radiator leak that required refilling every 10 km. They demanded a return to base as the tour was going to be in the region of 1000 km in the 4 days. Rather a lot of filling one thinks.
The town of Tupiza was pretty dead when we arrived with all businesses taking a bank holiday week for carnival. The major life on the street was the kids taking full advantage of water bombs, dropping onto the street from roofs and balconies at any unsuspecting passer by. Fortunately for them the town was littered with naive tourists to have a go at. Rather like paint ball practice, we dashed from point of vulnerability to safety around corners only then to be caught by waiting kids in the next street.
There were some problems with arriving in carnival, like there were no mechanics open to fix the brakes, no restaurants open to eat in and only one internet full of kids playing computer games. After a lot of searching we manage to find one place willing to feed us. Full of gringos of course. One bonus of being in Bolivia is that this is the land of the potato (120 varieties no less), therefore you can trust that you can always get top chicken and chips. Looks like the diet will have to wait!
Of course, over the next couple of days we were, ourselves, beset with a number of tour hold-ups. It would be unreasonable to expect things to run to plan in Latin America. Someone dropped out ill and then they asked us to cough up to pay for the empty seat (some hope). Finally we ended up with a group of five at the original agreed price and so all was well.
As we whiled away a couple of days while all this happened, we shared the company of a charming little group consisting a kiwi (Shane), a Canadian (Joshua) and his girlfriend Lauren, an Australian. Shane has been travelling on and off for 5 years. His strategy is to stop and work on his way around and his compendium of employment opportunities is quite extraordinary. Heís covered most of the UK and lots of countries in Asia, Africa, etc. Joshua and Lauren have been in Britain doing the same kind of thing and that is where they met. They had suffered from a tummy bug since eating Chinese food in Salta (that should tell you something about eating when travelling) and had to cancel a series of excursions. On the day we left, Josh was gamely clutching his toilet roll and heading off for a two day horse trek ñ brave lad.