La Paz - It's All About Altitude - 10 Apr 2003
Mare
Call it a castle if you like
Houses of the deceased
Whatever happened to Scully?
La Paz ñ a large town in West Yorkshire?
Tihuanacas brassy
Weíre no heroes any more
And so seeking further amusement
We had a bit of a about things in general, what are we doing here? Missing friends? This generally happens when we have been stuck in a place for a while. Anyway it boiled up into an enormous row about everything from how we are or aren't spending to the fact that our extended absence from England means that we are losing our friends. In the end I was in tears and there were lots of hugs and a resolution to reassess our plans after Guyana and seeing some old friends.
That afternoon during Patís lesson, his teacher Delina commented on my red eyes and asked if I had a cold. I lied of course.
We had met some lovely people at our hotel most of which were taking a break from travelling and doing as we were, learning Spanish. There was Brett and Darrelle a pair of Aussies, and a Dutch couple called Mike and Gemma. Well thatís a lie in fact, Mike and Gemma had complicated Dutch names but for simplicity travelling had Anglicized them to something idiot English speakers could pronounce.
We had the weekend off from studies and decided to do a bit of sightseeing. On our way into Sucre we had passed an army base with a rather strange castle-like building in the middle of it. We had discovered that this castle thing was actually a tourist attraction. The bike needed a bit of a run and so it seemed like the ideal thing to do.
The 'castle¥ was only about 100 years old and had been built by some Spanish guy who had made a load of cash at the mines at Potosi as a bit of a palace with some rather nice grounds. Unfortunately someone had decided to go for a new paint job on the stabling and had painted it bright brick red, where the main building was a more subtle dignified dusty pink. It is the first stabling block I have seen where the there are actually horses heads sticking out of the wall.
The castle needed a little renovation but it was quite pleasant in the sense that all the rooms were empty and thus there was a great feeling of space. The architecture seemed to be a cross between a mosque and a Bavarian castle, but it seemed to work.
In the grounds locals came to picnic and play a little footy, giving the place a calm tranquil atmosphere. This felt in sharp contrast to the military exercises going on over the river; hoards of budding soldiers jogging around in the heat of the day bearing arms. Their accommodation has to be some of the best in South America, as they had taken over some of the grounds of the castle, so in amongst the barracks were some rather flamboyant fountains sadly devoid of water.
On the way back into town, we passed by the cemetery that we had seen on our first arrival in Sucre. Other gringos and residents alike had recommended it for a visit and so we took the opportunity. The first odd thing to happen was the string of youths offering to guide us around the place. I've never wanted or been offered a guided tour of tombs before. We turned them down as we only wanted a quick visit before going for lunch.
This was a strange place indeed. Through the 30 foot high walls by way of the front gate, the first section is an arcade of Greek temple style mausoleums. All were well tended for and there were ladders leaning against nearby trees that I assumed were for the use of cleaning relatives. Further up things got pretty weird. The tombs were all in horizontal blocks that were about 40 metres long and 5 metres high. Along the faces of these were windows containing arrangements of articles that in some way related to the deceased contained in that window. Some simply had flowers, others arrangements of toys (presumably children) but the best of all was one with a bottle of scotch and three fags in it. We wondered what this person could have died of.
The blocks resembled scale versions of sixties tenement blocks. I felt we could have been in Ardwick or some other badly planned housing area. These, though, looked somewhat better looked after. The shear number of graves was astounding. None of the dates seemed very old on these slab blocks and I wondered what they were going to do next as the place was getting pretty full. A loft conversion perhaps? We later learned that life expectancy is about 45 in Bolivia and we met many folk who had more than 10 siblings.
Our other free day from lessons we spent in town taking in such sights as the 12 m high 'copy' of the Eiffel tower and the huge children's play area. The first was nice but, I feel, badly placed, surrounded as it is by 13 m high trees and at the bottom of town where the views were obviously restricted. It was a nice spot, though, for us to sit and eat our egg balls. The local version were a bit sloppy for our taste and we longed to get back to Bartica where we had sampled our first boiled egg wrapped in mash and deep fried treat. The salsa provided with it was pretty sound all the same and we dined in quiet contentment until a pair of frolicking dogs barged each other into the boating lake 5 metres away from us and created something of a hubbub. We moved on as the owners dragged each of them free by hoiking them up into the air by their forelegs. The dogs gave not a whimper ñ probably happens every Sunday.
The kiddies play ground was rather nice and there was not a single wail from a kid who had been left by their friends/parents and got a monk on. Even when they fell over on the concrete surface (no trace of rubber mats or bark chippings here) they did not complain in the least. The odd one shuffled over to mum and dad and got their knee or whatever it was rubbed in quite a dignified way. If onlyÖ
This week at the conversation classes the teacher managed to get Hippy to do a bit of teaching. Like a trooper, she got up without any planning and delivered the goods. I shirked away from the teaching thing and assumed my more natural role of heckling.
The folk in our group were quite charming and from a wide range of backgrounds varying from a lawyer to students. We blathered inanely about our childhoods and gave them a few pointers on their pronunciation. When we finished on the Wednesday, we were rather choked and felt that we could all have benefited from a bit more time. But as Hippies bit at the start of the epistle suggests, we're getting a bit bogged down and feel a big urge to be getting on.
I had said my good-byes to Lenny, my teacher, and gave her a small parting gift. In the last 2 weeks we had discussed everything from the Iraq war to religion and the chronic illiteracy rate in Bolivia, all in Spanish of course. I was a little disconcerted by our last conversation when she brought up the topic of Coca. Now I knew that she had been very disparaging about people who smoke and drink, so was kind of assuming that the coca thing fell into the same category. But no! She explained that a little coca in the morning perked her up a bit and a little coca in the evening so that she had the energy to prepare lessons for the next day.
All this meant that in a strange way for that short time we had been friends. In any other circumstances her devout Catholic beliefs and pure lifestyle would not have joined us in heart rending conversation, but there and then we shared our concerns and hopes. I hope her dream to become on au pair comes true and wish her the best with her man.
We did lunch and dinner with various combinations of Brett, Darrelle, Mike and Gemma. An American biker called Ben turned up at the hostel, too and we shared yarns and information in a bike related kind of way. He seems to have a pretty sensible approach to his travelling and has only his clothes and chain lubricant with him. I'm sure there's more but he seemed very lightly loaded.
I know itís a question that many of you ask regularly and we are somewhat remiss in not reporting what has happened to some of the folk that we met on the way. Stevie is running a hostel in South Africa. Scully returned to Ireland to earn some money ready to set of some other mad adventure no doubt. But his spirit lives on.
------Boring fixing bit-------
I was checking over the bike before leaving Sucre and discovered that the newly fitted tyre was leaking and the rear lights were not playing the game. The tyre could be sorted by the goons who fitted it and that just left the light for me to fix. It turned out that the earth terminal had chafed its way through the crappy plastic pillar that supported it. I scratched my head for a while and decided to Scully it back together. Regrettably I did not have any fibreglass and so I had to go for plan B. This was to attach the terminal with a nut and bolt through the reflector. The hole was made in the reflector with a needle file heated with a fag lighter. I had a couple of bolts of the right size but no nuts. By a fantastic stroke of luck, it turned out that the thread on my spoke nipples was just right. I had loads of spares but they were all the same and about 2 cm long. The space behind the reflector in its housing is about 8mm. No worries, I'm hot on the Scully thought processes and managed to saw a spoke nipple in half by holding it in a grip while using a mole wrench to hold a junior hacksaw blade. It was rather like digging out of a POW camp with a rubber spoon but in the end it was a triumph.
-----End of boring fixing bit-----
The tyre fixing was a bit more interesting. I use tubeless tyres which are quite unusual for a trail bike with spokes but this is one thing the Johnny BMW got right. The tyre was failing to seal on the rim and needed a bit of fettling. When I returned to the place it had been fitted (Gomeria Pirelli just a name I assure you ñ nothing to do with the well known tyre manufacturer. (N.B. When this went through the spell check, it came up with Gomorra. Pretty close) I found it deserted. After a bit of shouting into the bowels of the shop, the gaffer tapped me on the shoulder having arrived from my rear from the direction of a beer shop. He was reeling a bit but seemed to understand the problem. After I popped the wheel off for him he struggled to remove the valve so I did it for him. When he had got the bead of the tyre off the rim and greased it all up as tyre fitters do, he inflated it back to it's correct pressure without blowing the bead back on again. Sounds to me like the poor man had a complicated tyre problem, much in the way that Pat has had a complicated trouser problem after a skinful of beer. I pointed out his error and he remedied it. It seemed OK and so I put the wheel back on in haste. Just as I was climbing aboard to set off, his mate turned up demanding money. I explained that it was their tough luck for not fitting it properly in the first place and they ended up conceding. It was not the nicest moment and the heady aroma of beer put a nasty edge on the whole thing.
-----OK so that was boring, too-----
We were finally breaking away from the clasps of Sucre and trying to make good distance towards La Paz, the other capital. We were feeling thick with cold and to be honest the thought of a full day on the bike was not good. I should point here the reason for our sudden rush. We had received an email from our dear friends Trish and JP that they were still planning to meet up in Cuba for Pat¥s and JP¥s birthdays in 2 weeks time. We of course are in Bolivia, and thought the best place to book flights would be La Paz. Hence, the need to hoon a little. To be honest it was the kick up the backside that we needed to spur us on a little. The plan was to make it to Oruro 500km away, 100km of which is dirt, in a day. We did it but we were more than a little knackered after 9 hours on the bike. Oruro was an industrial town with an OK-ish plaza in the centre, but nothing much else.
The cold had by now fully taken hold and both of us found it hard to muster the energy to drag ourselves out of bed. I was so knackered that I had no concentration at all. After shifting the bike around in the morning I put it on the side stand. Or rather I would have done but for the fact that the side stand was elevated at the time. Fortunately there were not too many people around to witness my demise. Regrettably I wrenched my bicep in an attempt to hold Bertha from falling. Ouch.
The day to La Paz was a mere 240km and joy of joys tarmacadam all the way. (A bit boring, I thought, but I'm never happy) Leaving Oruro we warmed a little to the town when we reached a roundabout, where a sculpture was erecting the most amazing construction. Oruro is famous for two things, its mining and its carnival, where the customs of devils are renowned for being the best in Bolivia, and good enough to compete against the Rio version. On the roundabout itself was an enormous miners helmet (about 10 metres high), made as a framework with interconnecting panels depicting miners, tools, women and all sorts welded to the outside But still in the half constructed phase with the artist still welding pieces on, was a 15m high devils mask, complete with garish features and wavy horns. This was sat in the carriageway of the roundabout thereby rendering it a bit of a roundabout. I was impressed by the artistic talent present in Oruro, not to mention the town councils taste in sponsoring such things. The artist told me that the devils mask was to be sat on top of the helmet. Given that the horns already had to be guyed down with the thing on the ground I didn't have much confidence about the completed structure.
La Paz ñ a large town in West Yorkshire?
I had not been looking forward to entering LaPaz, Fi had emailed us about how horribly lost she had got in the town, and by our experience of Bolivian towns so far, they are not big on sign post or even pointing out which roads are one way. The other problem with La Paz is that it resembles Sheffield in geographical setting except that the roads are steeper, cobbled or dirt and you are at an altitude of 3600m. The thought of getting lost and forcing poor loaded Bertha up and down steep roads in an attempt to find our way was not good. Then it began to rain, and visions of wet steep cobbles to take Bertha up came into my head. Sheffield indeed. I'm sure a lot of guide books would not have made this connection! OK there are a few minor differences like: they speak Spanish, 3500m more altitude, rocky snowy mountains around it rather than rolling hills, and all the women are in bowler hat and full shiny skirts. Other than that it could be Yorkshire.
Thankfully we made it, with only one minor detour up a wet cobbled street but it was enough to create a little tension. Trying to get into the hotel, sorry backpacker hangout, was another story. The busy narrow street was full of impatient Bolivian drivers honking their horns as Pat tried to push the bike back to the entrance and then put the bike at right angles to the traffic to try and mount the front stairs on the hostel. By the end of it everyone seemed to be equally stressed - the back up of cars stuck on the steep cobbled street and Pat struggling with a third of a ton of bike. Not a good moment.
Still we had made to La Paz and the bike was safely off the street, I now had the fun of negotiating with an off-hand 12 year old behind reception, who thought it was funny to answer every question with a flippant response. I was not in the mood at all.
Poor Hippy was understandably in poor form. When the pillock behind the counter offered her cocaine because she was sniffing with a cold, I thought that the building was going to fall. When I approached the counter to see what was going down, he was quite obliging and offered for us to see the room and everything that Hips had been asking for. A further wedge had been driven between Helen and mankind. Thankfully the rest of the staff were jolly pleasant. It's good that the staff were nice as the clients for the most part were long haired (oh my God I am getting old) layabouts strumming tuneless guitars and leaving a filthy mess in the kitchen. I guess we're beginning to hit the worst section of the Gringo trail. Personally I have always had a bit of a soft spot for blokes with long hair; it was not their manes that bothered me. There is a certain set of gringos who fell it is their right to be scummy and leave thing that way for others. The kitchen was piled high with filthy dishes and pans with food burn on and left for the owners or the fairies to clean for them. I the end I could stand it no longer, I scrubbed every burnt pan spotless (at least inside) and therefore usable. Throughout the 2 hours cleaning I had Pat nagging at me to stop, they would only be in the same state tomorrow. I was testing a theory, that if people found the kitchen clean they feel more obliged to leave it that way.
Pat was right I was wrong! It doesnít take a lot of working out when you see these guys that they are a lost cause.
Our missions in La Paz were to sort out these flights to Cuba and to see a) ìthe most dangerous road in the worldî, b) Tihuanaca and c) the zoo. Bolivia is well known to have the highest of pretty much everything; cyber caff, zoo, skiing, navigable lake etc etc. We're not on a collecting mission but some of these things are a must. We were not even going to do ìthe most dangerous road in the worldî but we've been told that the views are simply spectacular.
First on the list was Tihuanaca (pre ñInca ruins) as it was the easiest to get to and held the greatest interest. Departure was delayed by the donning of the scarf. Bertha once again hauled us up over 4000 metres with good grace and even the weather stayed fair for ruin sight seeing. These ruins are from between 2500 BC and 1200 AD and unfortunately the guide info we had was not too specific on when the stonework that we looked at was erected. It matters little; the quality was so amazingly crisp that even having been weathered by a minimum of 800 winters it was far better than anything I've ever seen turned out in Britain. I think the general reason that we use mortar so much in Blighty is that the masons just can't fashion stones sufficiently smooth to make a reasonable job.
In the museum where we started the day were a fantastic collection of carved and pot ornaments. We could not take pickies which is a shame but I'm sure if you do a search for Tihuanaca on your ëputer you'll get the idea. We managed to steer reasonably well clear of the package folk who were herding around and enjoyed the tranquillity of the place unhassled. Being the sad civil engineer that I am, I was most impressed by their drainage systems which were made from incredibly smooth channel sections chiselled from granite. I would love to think that any of the things I built in the UK will last a hundred years, never mind a thousand or more.
Oh and it is quite cool around here.
Bolton 2 Man City nil. I've always had something of an affection for Man City. Even more so now. It would be cruel and prejudiced to not single out Fraser, Lisa and Trish for the same kind of treatment that poor Martin got when Spurs bit the dust. We feel that maybe Bolton did have something of an unfair advantage as there were no Blues sporting their scarfs at Tihuanaca that day.
We went off to ìthe most dangerous road in the worldî the next day and this involved something of an early start. Hippy managed with great aplomb. Not one for early rising generally and still suffering badly with a grim cold, she must be applauded.
It were right chilly going over the top (4600 metres ñ Berthas best yet)
The views were stunning, we were over the cloud line and the sky was blue the clouds sitting in the valley and the rocky peaks surrounding them. Thin silvery slithers of high water falls ran down cracks in the mountains. Llamas, and cattle, grazed in the valley and the sides of the mountains had ripples of terracing for growing a few crops. Although it was it was clear and tranquil. The only thing that was ruining the peace for me was the fact that heavy colds and high altitude do not mix. My ears were killing me, the change of air pressure and the fact that my sinuses were full of gunk, meant there was no means of adjustment and the pain just increased and increased until we had descended a 1000m.
The first 10km down or so was great sweeping tar, then we entered the cloud level and the rain came and the tar went! We continued for another hour or so, by now there was nothing left in the way of a view, the road had narrowed to single track mud and gravel with passing places, and we could just make out the edge of the road being a sheer drop. We were doing this road to see the spectacular views, there were none - so we turned around, and headed back up the mountainside. Traversing under a waterfall for the second time and the rain still falling. As we cleared the cloud again, we re-entered a different world of sunshine and clarity.
On the way back up we passed hoards on tourists cycling down in the wet and fog. It is supposedly one of the must do things in La Paz to be taken by minibus to the top of the hill and to cycle down the most dangerous road in the world and to pay 65USD for the privilege. I am sure that on another day the views would be outstanding, but on that day it was something of a rip off to risk life and limb to merely get cold and wet.
And so seeking further amusement
So we now had an afternoon to kill so to speak, and the zoo beckoned us. We had visions of poor elephants struggling to heave their bulk around at this altitude and panting around the place. The poor giraffes with their heads further elevated into the rarefied air would have been even worse off! Pleasingly there wasnít a gringo in sight; instead there was a lovely family atmosphere. With locals dressed in their Sunday best wandering around. Now I should point out here that La Paz has generally a better class of bowler, and the skirts are even fuller and shinier, and instead of plain shawls merely for warmth, these ladies were bedecked with shimmering fine lacy shawls more fashion items than for practicality. They looked dignified and spectacular. Peeking out from under there full petticoat-ed skirts was fancy fashion hosiery, no detail was missed.
As with zoos the world over there is always an element that delights in taunting the animals. I always wish that they could get through the bars and then weíd see who was doing the winding up. One group were dangling their two litre drink bottle over the wall of the bear enclosure. Seemingly the bears had a taste for whatever flavour muck it was and were trying to get up the wall to the bottle. Seeing as how the bears were so eager the youth then dropped her bottle for them to chew through. I couldnít bear to stop and see if the poor thing choked to death on the plastic. Most worrying of all was that there were about 50 people crowded around the top and none of them reprimanded the youth in the least.
In another episode a jaguar was being wound up by a middle aged bloke who was whacking his coat against the bars. After a while the jaguar just lay back and ignored him. We could see where the intelligence lay there, then.
And so we looked forward to the tranquillity of Titicaca