100 Days in South America

The Nazca Lines

2009-03-25T19:41:51Z

Peru, 1939.Paul Kosock, an American professor from Long Island University arrives in Nazca, a small desert town near the coast in the south of the country.His mission: to investigate and survey the unique irrigation techniques reportedly developed by the ancient Nazca civilization that once flourished in the area.He is quite successful and finds many still functioning aqueducts in and around the town.His work ultimately helps establish the intricate underground system of Nazca as one of the most impressive feats of hydraulic engineering in South American pre-history.
But it isn't until his surveys bring him out into the dry Nazca desert that he will make what will be one of the most perplexing archaeological discoveries of the twentieth century.Guided by a local, he travels out to a section of desert where he spies long, shallow furrows in the valley floor.His professional curiosity aroused, he hires a light aircraft from one of the local farmers and goes up to take a better look.What he sees from the air astounds him: hundreds of ruler straight lines criscossing the valley floor for miles around in an improbable network, and, even more unlikely, geometric shapes in the likeness of birds, fish and various other animals.Kosock had just discovered the remarkable and wholly unique remnants of a mostly forgotten civilization and had, in all probability, been the very first man to see these extraordinary images from the air.It was a discovery that has provoked much scholarly debate and many (often wild and outlandish) theories ever since.Yet to this day nobody has conclusively answered the question: what ARE the Nazca Lines?
The mystery that is the Nazca Lines remains one of the most enduring enigmas in South American history.Their allure is such that the once quiet frontier of Nazca has grown into a popular resort town cashing in on the curious tourists that arrive in their droves.It is almost exclusively geared towards backpackers eager to see the Lines, with a pristine and well maintained airport and a booming local economy in the construction and service industries.Many hotels in various stages of development are littered throughout Nazca and the modern day town centre is invariably awash with pizzerias and backpacker bars.It is an all too common occurence in developing countries but one that is sadly entirely understandable.
We arrived on an overnight bus from Arequipa at the ungodly hour of 3am, despite the fact we weren't expecting to get there until 7 or so.We were politely, but firmly, awakened from our crucial shuteye by the insistent stewardess who had us off the bus luggage in hand before we knew what was happening.Clearly, something was amiss.Indeed it was.We had somehow confused the traveling times and mistaken the arrival time in Lima, where the coach would continue on towards, with the arrival time in Nazca.This was not good.
Wandering around the deserted bus station in the dead of night still half asleep with all our worldy belongings was more than just a little disconcerting.However, we were serendipitously greeted with a miracle of the transport industry: a lone taxi driver who was somehow waiting for us with his inviting vehicle.We fell in, without even checking the fare beforehand (as is good practise) and gave the name of the hostel we were booked in at.After a quick ride around the deserted streets we pulled up in front of a featureless building that was still in total darkness.Of course it was.It was half three in the morning.A few rings of the bell later and the front door was eventually dragged open by an understandably surly porter who showed us to our tiny room.We collapsed into bed and fell back to sleep.
Morning came all too soon and we managed to drag ourselves up out of bed and down to the breakfast table.Talking to the owner in between bites of cereal we learned he operated a travel agency (they all do) that could take us to see the Lines that very afternoon.With nothing booked or even planned yet we readily agreed.To kill time we went into town and had a look 'round.The centre was a collection of shops on an excuse of a main street and the town had a distinct air of 'unfinishedness' about it.Nazca really is one giant construction site surrounded by endless, dry desert and slowly baking under a relentless sun.The heat really was something else.Bar the overall ugliness, the uncompromising heat was my overriding memory of the place.But then again, we hadn't really come to enjoy the ambience.

To understand the thinking behind the formation of images such as the Nazca Lines one must first look to understand the culture that made them.First identified as a civilization in the early 1900's, what little knowledge we have of the Nazca comes from the many colourful ceramics that survived in that region of Peru.The German archaeologist, Max Uhle was so impressed by some particularly beautiful pieces of pottery he had received that he travelled immediately to Peru in seach of their origin.His search took him to the valley of Ica where some local farmers recognised the relics he showed them and directed him to some ancient cemeteries nearby.A period of intense excavation yielded many more artefacts, identical to the ones he had in his possession.Uhle had pinpointed the origin of his ceramics and conclusively determined the existence of a new and prominent pre-Inca civilization.He named it the Nazca, after the valley in which they would have lived.
Pottery is such a wonderfully accurate and important method of dating cultures that civilizations are often classified according to whether or not they have mastered the art of firing up a kiln.Cultures lacking any obvious pottery making skills are generally assumed to be relatively undeveloped while the sophistication of others can be measured in terms of their specialized techniques.Generally, the more artistic the surviving ceramics the more advanced the culture can be said to be.In the case of the Nazca, the ceramics showed a high level of artistry: much of the pottery showed colourful images that realistically depicted everyday domestic scenes, while others bore stylised anthropomorphical and zoomorphic designs.Clearly theirs was an advanced and artistic culture, a feature that seems to have found its ultimate expression in the Nazca Lines.But what, exactly, are they?

The Nazca Lines is the name given to the extraordinary collection of lines, geometric figures (geoglyphs) and animal and plant drawings (biomorphs) that are spread out over a large area of rock strewn desert near Nazca.There are more than 300 figures and some 10,000 lines that cover an area of roughly 500 sq km.The most recognizable of the figures have their own titles, such as the Monkey and so forth.They were formed at least 1500 years ago (though many are older) by removing the sun darkened stones from the desert surface, exposing the lighter soil below.The truly remarkable feature of the Nazca Lines is the uniform symmetry found throughout and the fact that they can only be properly appreciated from the air, a fact that causes one to wonder how (and why) they were made in the first place.It is an intriguing mystery and one that is unlikely to ever be satisfactorily solved.
That hasn't stopped many people from guessing though.Over the years it has been variously theorised to be: an astronomical calender; ritual walkways connected to a water/fertility cult; giant running tracks (?); extraterrestrial landing sites; and hallucinogenic representations of shamanic rituals.The theory of an astronomical calender was first proposed by the German mathematician Maria Reiche, an assistant to Paul Kosock who continued on his research into the Lines after he left the area in 1948.She devoted her entire life to decoding the mysteries of the Lines and spent many years mapping and researching them.She became a celebrated though eccentric figure, so much so that when she died in 1998 she was buried with offical honours and her home was turned into a museum.Her theory was one of the more popular ones in her day and had some convincing evidence to back it up.
However, despite her complete conviction her theory had a few glaring faults and the prevailing theory accepted by archaeologists today is the one related to a water ritual.Since Nazca was a desert based civilization it stands to reason that they saw water as the source of all life and would thus worship it so, much like the later Incas worshipped their sun god, Inti.Many of the desert lines point in the direction which in times past would have been the source of rivers and rain.In times of exteme drought it is thought they would perform rituals by walking along the length of the glyphs, most probably dancing and singing, in order to appease their gods.It is likely they smashed many of their ceramics there as further offerings and there is evidence of this as shards of pottery and panpipes have been found at the end of some of the lines.
Whatever their function, it has at least been proven that the construction of the Lines wasn't something supernatural or out of this world, as some maintain.A series of simple experiments performed by a schoolteacher and his class demonstrated that with some rope, a few stakes and a little patience, it is relatively easy to replicate the giant glyphs that sprawl across the desert floor.Whether or not they were intended to be viewed by the gods above is, of course, open to speculation.
What is certain, however, is that they are a prime tourist attraction in an otherwise desolate stretch of desert beween Arequipa and Lima.Since being declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1995, the Nazca Lines have only increased in popularity year after year.We'd come solely to marvel at these striking examples of aboriginal art like everyone else.We were picked up and driven out to the small airport on the outskirts of town, a surprisingly modern construction that is towered over by the nearby Cerro Blanco, the world's highest sand dune at 2078m.It is a veritable mountain of sand that dominates the skyline and can be seen for miles around.It is possible to sandboard down or take a dune buggy across it but we were (as always) short on time and had to reluctantly decide against it.Not that it wouldn't been very cool.
We arrived at the strip, met our pilot and, after a short wait in the terminal were guided onto a small one engined Cessna along with four other backpackers.The seating was cramped but I somehow got the seat beside the pilot and had a birds eye view out of the cockpit.Nice!Just before take off I glanced back at Janelle who was wearing the most fearful look I'd ever seen on another person.It was somewhere between absolute terror and abject self pity and I again felt sorry for people the world over with a fear of flying.But there was nothing else for it.With a quick burst of speed and a stomach churning lurch we were suddenly airborne against the bright blue sky and sandy desert floor.From this height you could really appreciate how lush and fertile the Nazca valley is contrasted against the immediate desolation of the sprawling desert.Our pilot immediately corrected our heading and kept to an altitude of about 1,500 feet.Almost straight away we flew over our first glyph, the Whale.The pilot pulled the plane abruptly to the left at a 90 degree angle so we could all get a good look and then circled around for a second pass, this time turning to the right.Even so we had roughly eight seconds to catch a glimpse of it.Such jerking movements were pretty nerve wracking and I again pitied poor Janelle in the back, even though I was loving every minute of it.
The rough flying continued for the entire 30 minute flight.Even when the plane wasn't turned on its side the high winds buffeted against us and bounced the light aircraft around in a distinctly frightening manner.Two of our companions stopped taking photos and just plain hung on.But it was worth it nonetheless.We flew over all the major glyphs: the Whale, the Dog, the Spider, the Monkey, (with his spiraling tail), the Spaceman, the Hummingbird, the Trapezoid (aka the Landing Strip), and many of the others.Each of them were simply amazing; so symmetrical and stylish its hard to believe their creators never saw them this way.Each and every one is a wholly unique and dramatic work of art, a relic from a time and a people who we'll never truly understand.How mysterious and awe inspiring it is to view these strange symbols from a long dead civilization whose meaning is lost to us forever.A once in a lifetime opportunity for sure.

We landed soon enough without mishap, Janelle in particuler very glad to be back on solid ground and even tipped the pilot before being ferried back to the hostel.The feeling of almost religious awe lingered with us for the rest of the day and I could even appreciate the town of Nazca a little better than before.But not that much.We lazed around and caught up on some sleep before we left for the bus station and hopped on the coach bound for Lima.The entry point for many travellers, Lima as Peru's capital is often a backpackers first taste of South America and it is almost universally despised.The dirt, poverty and overall dangerous atmosphere ranks it somewhere near the very bottom of the list for most Gringos and the majority of them can't get out of the city fast enough.With such negative reports we'd budgeted only two days in the capital.It was a necessary pitstop before we could transfer on to the north of Peru and we intended on treating it as such.We prepared ourselves for the worst and hoped for the best.

The Nazca Lines remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Arequipa and the Colca Canyon

2009-03-20T17:44:22Z

On arriving back to the busy streets of Cuzco after a diverting taxi ride, we found ourselves at our little hostel, where I slumped into bed for the remainder of the day.The days' hiking around the steep hillsides of Machu Picchu had robbed me of what energy I had possessed.I improved little in the following days, sleeping on and off and eating the bare minimum until I dragged myself to a private clinic and endured a battery of tests, all of them unpleasant.I was diagnosed with salmonella and giardia (nasty little buggers) and handed pills to consume and advice to follow.Thus we were forced to remain in Cuzco until I had recovered enough to travel, a period which lasted another three or four days.
Well behind on our travel itinerary, we made the tough decision to skip the visit to Lake Titicaca which we had promised ourselves after hiking the Inca Trail.Instead we hopped on board yet another night bus and took the 10 hour trip south to Arequipa, Peru's second biggest city after Lima.Arequipa resides in a region known as 'canyon country' in an area famous for its dry, rocky deserts and cavernous, deep canyons.Aswell as containing one of the worlds' deepest canyons, Colca (at 3191m deep), it is also home to several impressively high peaks including El Misti (5822m) and Chachani (6075m).In an area of such dramatic landscapes, Arequipa tends to attract those keen to do either serious hiking or serious climbing, both of which are well catered for.
We had other reasons for coming to Arequipa.While we both were very keen on doing some hiking, we'd decided even before we'd left Cuzco that we desperately needed a proper break from all the hurried sightseeing and extensive travelling.Backpacking may be an affordable way to see countless sights in a short space of time, but it can be hard going after a while and such constant moving from place to place only serves to increase the likelihood of a complete and utter breakdown.Two months of solid backpacking had us stretching our limit and my recent bout of sickness wasn't helping either.Time constraints usually forced us into unreasonably demanding schedules which we were desperate to esape from, at least temporarily.In short, what we needed was a holiday from the holiday.
Arequipa was to be that vacation.Janelle had already booked spanish lessons some time before which meant we would have no choice but to remain in the city for an entire week.With the decision made for us, it became easier to forget about schedules and itineraries and just relax.The days took on a nice, predictable rhythm; Janelle left for her classes early in the morning, while I awoke sometime later and had a leisurely breakfast before I set off for the town centre to catch up on some blogging and emails in one of the local internet cafes.I'd break for lunch after a few hours and eat tasty chicken fried rice in a cheap Chinese nearby.Then I'd spend the afternoon exploring the town and taking in some of the sights before leaving for the hostel and meeting up with Janelle for dinner.We'd squeeze in whatever activities we wanted to do in the time after eating and nightfall.It was a lazy, relaxing and glorious time.
I did, however, get to visit all the must see sights nevertheless.Arequipa is a city justifiably famous for its beauty and nowhere provides a better example of this than the main plaza with its stunning white brick cathedral.Many of the historic buildings downtown are built of the same volcanic white stone, called sillar, a feature that rightly earned the city its nickname of La Ciudad Blanca, or The White City.The plaza is a wide open space bordered by tall green palms and is constantly crowded with tourists and locals alike, all sunning themselves by the requisite fountain.Visible just beyond the tall spires are the twin peaks of Misti and Chachani, two mountains that are popular for novice climbers.I was on the verge of booking a climb up Chachani when I realised the trek started with a midnight pickup before a harsh pre-dawn climb in total darkness, a feat of serious endeavour that sadly conflicted with our original goal (that of taking it easy).
One sight that did fit in with our plans was a visit to the Santa Catalina monastary, a high walled citadel that virtually occupies an entire city block.Built in 1580 some 40 years after the city was first founded, the enclosure is a self contained structure that is still home to nuns, though they live in a seperate section to the one on display to the viewing public.It is a beautifully serene place, with narrow streets and sunny, fruit filled courtyards painted in bright primary colours.Its also home to some exquisite green gardens and lively fountains, as well as the cramped, ascetic cells once used to house the nuns.Walking down its cobbled streets is like walking back in time and nowhere in Peru will you find well maintained buildings of such simple design and function.
Another essential visit was to the Museo Santury, a university run museum that houses one of the most startling finds of recent times.Popularised by the documentary of the same name, the 'Ice Princess' is a frozen maiden who was sacrificed some 500 years ago by the Incas on the summit of the nearby volcano of Ampato.Nicknamed 'Juanita' by the American team of archeologists that found her remains in 1994, it appears the young girl (she was between 12 and 14) was killed in a ritual ceremony meant to appease the violent deities of the volcano.An interesting video coupled with a brief tour culminates in a respectful viewing of the mummy itself, her features still discernible after hundreds of years buried in ice.Indeed she still has a full head of long, dark hair.Such ceremonial sacrifices were only carried out in times of real catastrophe, the Incas apparently preferring to use livestock such as llamas or vicunas when possible.
Forgoing the high energy required for mountain climbing we did manage to have some adrenaline fuelled fun nonetheless.On our last day we booked a rafting trip on the Rio Chili, a river of moderate current that snakes its way through one of the nearby gorges that populate the region.Our guide was a twenty-somethinged American who was engaged to a local girl.He was all blonde surfer dude but seemed to know his stuff all the same.Due to the low season it was just the three of us and we navigated through some heart stopping and gut wrenching rapids along the way.One section in particular, the Waterfall, was a grade four drop that had us nearly tipping over into the icy water but we managed to right ourselves at the last minute.It was very wet and a lot of fun.
As with Cuzco, most visitors to Arequipa come with the intention of undertaking at least some of the many hiking opportunities that the rocky region affords.Two of the main expeditions on offer are the Colca and Cotahuasi canyons, the latter being the deeper and more difficult of the two.We settled on the three day Colca trek and the next day were picked up by our guide along with a party of three Germans.After missing out on the Inca Trail we were keen to do some actual hiking but alas the entire first day was essentially a road trip through the dry desert of the canyon country.Fortunately it was extremely informative and we stopped off at some inspiring sites along the way.One of these was an odd collection of rock formations fashioned by years of exposure to the desert winds.They resembled various shapes including a face and a couch (?) but mostly looked like stone teeth set into a rocky jaw.
Another was a rare oasis where hardy famers take their hardier livestock and was crowded with all sorts of South American camelids; llamas, vicunas, alpacas and guanacos, all of them similar in appearance with long legs, hairy bodies and gentle faces.These animals have been used for centuries as pack animals by the Incas and still serve that purpose today.Their wool is highly coveted for clothing while their meat is commonly eaten as part of the Peruvian diet.Alpaca makes for pretty nice steaks, which taste somewhere between chicken and beef but contains less fat than either (so I'm told).
Our journey took us through some of the most desolate country we'd seen yet; dry, featureless desert with a bare minimum of brush and trees.We reached the edge of the canyon around noon and drove down the winding road that took us into the heart, arriving at the principal town of Chivay by lunchtime.This dusty town is in effect the capital of Colca, though we skipped through it to continue on to Yanque where we had lunch.The few towns that survive down here subsist mainly on the agriculture of the surrounding valley, where Inca built terraces can still be plainly seen.The Spanish built many churches in this area in an effort to convert the locals to Christianity, but many of them have suffered from the aftermath of the frequent earthquakes that periodically hit the region.Now there is a ghost town feel to them and any second you expect tumbleweeds to bounce across your path, blown about in the dusty climate by tendrils of dirty winds....It's that kind of place.
We continued on after lunch, driving through some rough terrain that surprisingly had its fair share of green surroundings.Indeed, at a glance the countryside was almost reminiscient of a blooming Tuscany landscape.Passing through small village after small village, we stopped to photograph each church that seemed to be the only buildings of any real note.Most of them were closed during the day, due to robberies of religious paintings and whatnot in the past.They did provide a nice distraction however, each of them with their own distinct design and character.We took our pics and drove on.
Passing by locals on over worked donkeys along the way, we continued on up the rocky road as it wound its way slowly upward.We stopped at various points, photographing the exquisite panoramic views on offer.This area has been inhabited by many differing cultures over the years, but its the indomitable Inca terraces that are the most visible remnants around now.They transformed what once was inhospitable mountain slopes into easily cultivated land and enabled the Incas to survive in what was otherwise an unlivable region.At one stop our gazes were directed upward to a crevice in the rocks overhead, a place the Incas had built many years before.These 'hanging tombs' were home to long deceased priests and other important figures, their function to obviously deter the pervasive grave robbers (huaqueros) with their difficult to reach location.The grave robbers were more than up to the task, however and had plundered these abandoned sites long ago.
Our final destination on our first day was Cruz del Condor, an outcropping of rock in Colca canyon that is famously home to many Andean condors.Most tours reach it in early morning, but we were here in the early hours of dusk to avoid the crowds.Since sightings aren't guaranteed we held our breaths, but we needn't have worried; several condors were circling overhead, gliding effortlessly on the thermals.They are elegant creatures that belong to more romantic times and somehow seem both out of place and at home here in the canyon.Whatever their own thoughts on the matter, they kept a clear distance from us and never ventured too near.Years of visiting tourist groups probably have that effect.
We ended the day at Cabanconde, another small village not far from Cruz del Condor.This was to be our home for the night and more luxurious lodgings we could not have imagined.Our room was a wide, circular cabin built of solid, painted adobe and enclosed in a roof of thick wooden beams.A double bed that could fit three (if only!) sat in centre and off to the side was an en suite with a sunken bathtub (!).Dinner was served in a restaurant of star quality that wouldn't have looked out of place in the more expensive parts of Cuzco and was predictably delicious.(fresh river salmon if I recall).All this in the depths of a dusty canyon miles from 'civilization'.It was good our first night was so comfortable for our next would be spent in the confined space of a cramped tent down at the real floor of the canyon.But for now we were in heaven.
The next day dawned bright and early.We'd be forgoing our van and hiking down into the real centre of the canyon, a drop of some thousand metres straight down.While our guide prepared the hired donkeys to carry the heavier tents and gear we busied ourselves with our own backpacks.Plenty of water was necessary for the hike down and we made sure we had enough.Once ready, we set off following our guide.An early start was essential for once the blazing afternoon sun hit us it 'd be next to impossible to do any hiking.We reached the edge, looked out once over the vast blue sky and dark mountainsides and began our descent.The path was extremely rocky and narrow,with a precarious edge always at our side.Slipping and stumbling downward we were soon sweating profusely.The steep angle of the path meant that our thighs took the brunt of the work and soon enough they were burning with the effort.Many, many stops and a full three hours later we finally reached the ground.
And what a sight!The small patch of ground we'd viewed from above was a veritable and literal oasis (sangalle), a brightly coloured lawn of green grass, palm trees and straw huts.Dotted all over were tiled swimming pools built into the natural stone of the area and as we explored further we even found a well stocked bar!The oasis was right beside the canyons river, whose low roar could be heard in the distance.But we were too hot and tired to care about that!Stripping off our sticky clothes we plunged straight into the clear, inviting pool.It was bliss!Afterwards we dried ourselves in the hot sun before being served a fine three course lunch under the nearby palm trees.Lomo saltado, a Peruvian favourite of shredded fried beef, chips and rice served on the same plate.We'd tried it many times before and were pretty fond of it.Lunch was followed by idle chatter and relaxed laughter and while some of the others caught a few z's I went off exploring the area, particulary the river and its raging current.The remainder of the day was spent much the same, with a minimum of physical activity.In the cool of the evening however, we did hike to see some more hanging tombs nearby as well as a suspension bridge farther upstream.Our guide showed us an interesting feature of some cactii that flourishes in the area; infecting the leaves was a small insect, that, when crushed, bleeds out an unnatural red colour.This is cochineal and the red dye is known as carmine.It has been used for centuries by the Incas as a dye for their clothing and costumes.The colour is so stark that the invading conquistadors were stunned by its quality and immediately began appropriating it for their own use.It is still in use today and fields of this same cactus are deliberately infected with this parasite to yield the dye as a commercial commodity.Carmine remains one of the most versatile dyes around and is used in everything from fabrics, cosmetics and foodstuffs.
Our night was spent in small comforable tents rather than the many huts on site due to the high likelihood of insect infestation (scorpions and spiders among them).We had to rise at the ungodly hour of 5am to begin the hike back, again to beat the scorching afternoon sun.As we stumbled around in the still dark yawning, we picked out torch beams on the mountain trail hgh above us, another tour group whose hike had started at 2am!We ate a quick breakfast and started out, picking our paths with our own torches.The cool of the pre dawn made it possible to hike in relative comfort, but the going was still rough and very physical.I can only imagine the hike in full sunshine!Myself and Janelle distanced ourselves from the others and began hiking at a quick pace, though we were still overtaken at times by locals who regularly make the trek in an hour and a half.We stopped halfway up and took a rest and some water and watched in silence as the sun rose over the mountains on the far side of the canyon.It was a beautiful, peaceful sight.The suns rays would reach us in another couple of hours so we hurried on, half climbing, half stumbling up the steep path.We unexpectedly reached the top an hour or so later, managing the climb in an impressive two hours when it had taken us three just to get down!We found our way back to the town and our driver, collapsed into the van and awaited the others.
An hour and a half later we were all enjoying hot coffee and fresh bread at a local cafe and afterwards piled into the van for the drive back.Along the way we stopped at one of the many hot spring resorts in the canyon and soaked our tired muscles in the tepid waters.An hour or so of this was enough to adequately soothe our bones and we gratefully made our way to Yanque for a buffet lunch, the final meal of our trip.It was fantastic, every type of Peruvian delicacy was on offer; lomo saltado, alpaca steaks, alpaca curry, aji de gallina (a type of spicy curry), rocoto relleno (spicy peppers stuffed with beef), grilled chicken breasts, rice, soups and everything in between.We were even served deep fried cuy (guinea pig), a dish I'd been keen to try.It wasn't exactly what I was expecting (very tough and chewy) but I guessed it was okay.
Suitably well fed, we made the long journey back to Arequipa, dropping the three Germans off at a bus stop seemingly in the middle of nowhere for a transfer onwards to Cuzco.Our driver left us right to our hostel, where we dutifully tipped both driver and guide as per backpacking custom.We had the remander of the day to rest before packing up all our belongings yet again for the long trip to our next destination.The desert town of Nazca, where we'd witness one of modern archeology's most perplexing mysteries; the ancient wonders that are the world famous Nazca Lines.

Arequipa and the Colca Canyon remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Machu Picchu and The Inca Trail

2009-03-25T17:14:39Z

In 1572, nearly 40 years after the fall of Cuzco, there remained but one threat to the Spanish domination of the Inca Empire and Peru.The last surviving Incan Emperor, Tupac Amaru, had fled into hiding with a select few of his supporters to a remote outpost in the Peruvian jungle known as Vilcabamba.Its location was such that several attempts on behalf of the Spanish to find it had gone unsuccessful as it was rumoured to lie in an area of thick, impenetrable jungle that was nigh on impossible to reach.Tupac Amaru's existence was a constant reminder of the failure to successfully obliterate all traces of the old Inca Empire which the new viceroy of Peru, Francisco Toledo, found intolerable.He determined to capture Amaru and put an end to Incan resistance once and for all.On 14th April he declared war on the fugitive Inca and sent an army out from Cuzco to find the location of Vilcabamba.Surprisingly they were successful, although they found the refuge deserted, the Inca and his people having left only the day before. The soldiers gave chase through the jungle and managed to track down capture Amaru and bring him back to Cuzco for a summary trial.He was sentenced to death and hanged, thus bringing to a close the era of Inca rule for ever.

Vilcabamba was eventually forgotten in the mists of time.Its location once again became a mystery but it's role in the history of the Incas ensured it an importance in the eyes of scholars to whom pre Columbian history was a specialty.One such man was Hiram Bingham, an historian who lectured at Yale university.After some time spent in Chile and Peru, he returned in 1911 to man a more co-ordinated attempt to locate 'lost ' cities of the Incas, including Vilcabamba.He was incredibly fortuitous and with the help of several locals living in the area, discovered quite a few overgrown ruins of Incan origin.

But it wasn't until a local 11 year old Quechan boy led him up some steep steps to a certain ridge high above the Urubamba river that he made what was to be the discovery of his lifetime.Located in an incredibly scenic setting above the valley floor against a backdrop of the surrounding green mountain range was a complete stone city of incomparable beauty.Bingham had just discovered Machu Picchu, but at the time was convinced he had found Vilcabamba.Incredibly he didn't linger, taking only basic measurements as he had no formal archeological training.He left soon after though he returned in 1912 and again in 1915 with the support of the National Geographic Society to continue excavation and later published his findings in his book " The Lost Cities of the Incas".The publication made him famous and pushed Peru and Machu Picchu to the front of every adventurous travelers wishlist.

And there they stayed.To this day, Machu Picchu is Peru's number one tourist attraction and the acknowledged highpoint of the Gringo Trail.Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1983 along with Cuzco, its allure has only increased since its 'discovery' in 1911 (there are disputes over whether Bingham was actually the first to find it).In 2003 it attracted a record 400,000 visitors keen to walk in the footsteps of the Incas and there are no signs these numbers are dropping off.To limit damage to the site numbers are strictly controlled and visas to walk the Inca Trail are restricted to 500 per day, including guides and porters.Our visas had been booked months before and we were finally packed, paid up and ready to go.

Except that we weren't.My sudden fever the previous day hadn't abated at all during the night.If anything, it had intensified.I dragged myself out of bed at 5am and had serious doubts over my ability to walk to the front door, let alone hike the Inca Trail.I sucked it up and jumped into our transport driven by our guide, Jimmy (who swears he's no Irish in him) and drove the hour and a half journey to Ollantaytambo where we picked up some last minute supplies and the porters and cook.We drove on to the real start of the Trail, an area known as Kilometre 82.By this stage I was feeling a bit better after washing down antibiotics with some coca tea.

We had our passports and visas verified in the registration office while our porters went to check in the gear.Due to some unscrupulous companies overloading their staff in recent years, all porters are now legally required to weigh in their loads, 20 kgs being the individual limit.We crossed the raging Urubamba river on a short suspension bridge and climbed up some steep, rocky steps.We were now officially on the Inca Trail!The weather was hot and humid and the sun scorched our backs as we climbed steadily upward through thickets of dried cactii.The path Bingham had taken to reach Machu Picchu years before was no longer used; instead it was the grounds for a railway line that connected Cuzco to Aguas Calientes, the small town nearest the ruins.The first class train that carried rich tourists direct to Machu Picchu was named in his honour and even now it blasted out steam as it thundered past us on the far side of the valley.Normally we'd be taking this same route back but due to the proposed rail strike this was looking unlikely.

The classic Inca Trail covers a distance of 33kms from its beginning at KM82 to its final destination of Machu Picchu.The path follows a winding and circuitous route that climbs steeply up forested mountains, over clouded passes, through deep valleys and along cool riverbeds.Every step is an unforgettable experience among some of the finest scenery Peru has to offer.Along the way are numerous lesser known ruins that would be world class attractions anywhere else, but here are merely interesting preludes to the 'lost city'.Each night we would camp at pre designated spots along the trail, in tents set up for us beforehand by our accomodating porters, whilst our talented cook would prepare delicious spreads at every mealtime.It seemed ideal.

As we walked our guide Jimmy explained a bit about the history of the Incas.He was an excellent guide, spoke perfect English and had a good sense of humour.Every now and then porters from other companies would jog past us, overburdened with enormous baggage and sweating in the dry heat.It looked like a tough job and I didn't envy them.We stopped for lunch after a few hours hiking and enjoyed a three course prepared with professional efficiency.Moving on we picked out the first of the Inca ruins, Llactapata; an ancient stone city built right into the back of a mountain on the far side of the valley.Its an impressive first display of the well constructed stone terraces the Inca are famous for, simultaneously providing arable land in a mountainous region aswell as acting as an natural defense.The ruins seemto be in amazingly good repair, even from this distance.

I wasn't able to admire them too long however.By this stage I was beginning to feel seriously run down.The antibiotics had worn off long ago and I was definitely struggling.As the day wore on I became progressively weaker and by the time we reached camp I was completely and utterly exhausted.I slept right through the night and by morning it was clear I was in no fit shape to continue.Reluctantly we made the decision to go back in order to get me to a doctor.We pushed on back that way we'd just come, me stumbling along among the rocky trail and finding it harder and harder to continue in the burning sun.At one stage we considered hiring horses from the locals to carry me down.We made it back, eventually, though it took every last ounce of energy I had.Later in Cuzco I'd learn I had a serious case of salmonella aswell as being infected with Giardia parasites, a real nasty combination.

We reached civilisation in the form of Ollantaytambo and scoured around for a doctor, but this being sunday there was none available.Janelle went off to acquire drugs of any sort, while I checked into the nearest available hostel and crawled straight into bed.Luckily by that evening I was feeling marginally better and we decided to risk the train ride straight to Machu Picchu, seeing as hiking the Inca Trail was out.We still had our passes and damn it if we weren't going to use them!Fortune smiled on us and we managed to procure some of the last remaining train tickets for the next morning, although they cost us the proverbial arm and a leg.At this stage though, we probably would have paid any amount.To come to Peru and NOT see its most famous site was simply out of the question!

We left the next morning on the 6.45am train.The sun was bright, the weather was clear and I was feeling relatively energetic.The train ride was surprisingly pleasant, with onboard service and a semi transparent roof to provide better views of the valley.The line runs straight through several tunnels carved straight out of the rock and follows the Urubamba river closely for most of the journey.Several terraced ruins built into the valley walls were visible along the way providing some entertainment.Pulling into the station at Aguas Calientes, we hopped off and rushed to the queue for the minibuses that take you up the steep road to Machu Picchu.Our last minute tickets meant that we'd have to return sooner than we would've liked, so we had only four or so hours to enjoy the experience.We climbed into the packed minibus with all the other lazy tourists and set off.

Arriving at the top of the steep dirt road that leads to Machu Picchu is akin to going to Disneyland or the World Cup.The excitement at being near such a mystical and world famous site is tangible.We pulled into the small parking lot and leaped off the bus in our enthusiasm, ignoring the theme park atmosphere outsite and rushed through the gates.The drive up had teased us with maddening glimpses yet it was only once at the top could we truly appreciate the incredible scenery of such a location.Even if these Inca ruins had not been present the view alone surely would have generated visitors by the truckload.Surrounded by heavily forested mountains on every side and shrouded in a near constant veil of mist, the ridge that supports Machu Picchu looks like some celestial place of worship (and may well be).The Incas could hardly have chosen a more appropriate setting.

Pictures don't do it justice and words can barely begin to describe it (though I'll try regardless).Beautiful is too lame.Breathtaking too obvious.Awe inspiring barely covers it.Majestic.Monumental.Stunning.Sublime.All these adjectives taken together and blended to create the ultimate accolade might give you an idea.Despite the overwhelming feeling of deja vu, Machu Picchu delivers on every level.It isn't just another humdrum ruin to visit and tick off your list.Nor is it a sight meant to be rushed with barely a cursory photograph.It is an experience to savour, a world wonder to behold.Just gazing upon the splendor of such a sight is enough to send you into a state of deep contemplation of the type of world that was, and is, possible.Staring over the precipice into the valley below you can just imagine the Incas who once lived out their lives here, convinced they shared the same hallowed space as the deities they worshipped.It is almost enough to turn one religous.

Built sometime around 1460 AD, Machu Picchu stands at an altitude of 2,430 metres in the Urubamba valley.Some 80 kilometres northwest of Cuzco, its name in the Inca language of Quechua (which is still spoken in parts of Peru) roughly translates as 'Old Peak'.Officially discovered in 1911 by Bingham, it was one of the few Inca settlements of any size that was never sacked by the Spanish and is thus still in excellent condition.Since its discovery its exact purpose has been the subject of academic debate and at various stages it has been described as a defensive fort, a religious centre, a prison, an astonomical device and an estate of an Incan Emperor Pachacuti, the latter being the most widely held belief today.It is likely it served more than just one purpose however.It occupies a position of natural defense and is served by the numerous terraces that the Incas used to grow crops on.

Machu Picchu is comprised of many stone buildings in classic Inca style architecture.The Incas were justifiably regarded as being master stonemasons (even by the invading Spanish) and used a style of building that fit cut stone blocks together in tightly fitting patterns without the need for mortar.Their mastery was such that their buildings survived earthquakes intact while Spanish built dwellings would crumble.This would seem to be one of the main reasons for the remarkable condition of Machu Picchu as Bingham found it.As they had yet to discover the arch they used a trapezoidal shape when constructing windows, a hallmark of their unique style.The Incas were also masters of irrigation and used ingenious stone channels to ferry water from local springs, many of which are still in working order.

As a settlement, Machu Picchu was divided into three main zones; Sacred District, the Popular District to the south, and the District of the Priests and the Nobility.The Sacred District contains the most impressive archeological sites.The Intihuatana stone was an important astronomical device that pointed directly at the sun during the winter solstice and allowed for precise calenderial measurements - an essential method for anticipating the seasons in a society that depended greatly on agriculture.The Temple of the Sun, used to worship the sun god, Inti, is a curved, tapering tower that contains some impressive stonework while the Temple of the Three Windows gives a splendid view over the main plaza below.There is also a huge rock that is carved in the likeness of a condors head, with the natural rock behind it resembling the bird's outstretched wings, apparently the site of occasional sacrifice.

Wandering around the stone buildings and temples of Machu Picchu is an overwhelming experience that is not spoiled one bit by the crowds of tourists.It is spread over such a wide area in such a unique setting that it is easy to find yourself alone among the many ruins and still enjoy the relative silence.Climbing up the steep steps to a lone thatched hut we caught our breath and stood in awe at the scene before us; the view that every single photographer simply has to capture and the one that is found in 90% of all postcards.An exquisite panoramic of the ruins, with the remarkably green plaza in centre surrounded by the stone huts, temples and stairways that climb off in every direction, with terraces on either side that just fall away into the abyss, all backed by the sheer green precipice of Wayna Picchu, itself covered in wisps of cloud.We dutifully took our own pics and continued on down into the ruins themselves, eavesdropping on the guides of other groups for lack of our own.

Before too long however, our time was up.Our train was due to leave soon and we had no choice but to leave with it.In all honesty I wasn't too pushed about leaving early as my fever was beginning to reassert itself and my energy levels were flagging.We took one last lingering look, bade our farewells and made our way back to Aguas Calientes.From there we hopped on the train and were soon in Ollantaytambo, where we caught a taxi that took us back to Cuzco.We may have missed the once-in-a-lifetime experience of hiking the Inca Trail, but seeing Machu Picchu with our own eyes was recompense enough.I'll take the memory of that any day.

Machu Picchu and The Inca Trail remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Cuzco

2009-03-19T20:52:44Z

With the experience of the Death Road still fresh in our minds we packed up and once more hit the road.Our destination was Peru, arguably the most popular country in South America for a myriad of reasons and the assured highlight of our entire trip.It is a travellers paradise that caters to every impulse within a landscape that is as varied as any in South America.From roaming the dessicated deserts of Nazca in search of its famous petroglyphs to hiking in the canyon country that is Arequipa; enjoying the many cosmopolitan delights of capital Lima to revelling in the sheer sublime beauty of Lake Titicaca; to climbing in the sheer mountain ranges of the Cordilleras or boating lazily downriver in the lowlands of the Peruvian Amazon; Peru really has it all.Nowhere in South America will you find such a diversity of landscapes, people or activities.
But it is its ancient capital of Cuzco that draws visitors first and foremost.Cuzco had been the seat of ancient Incan rule up until its sacking during the Spanish conquest and still contains many relics of its bloody and tumultuous history.These alone would have made Cuzco a must see for any self respecting backpacker but there is one reason above all that guarantees it an essential place on the Gringo Trail checklist: its proximity to Machu Picchu.The 'lost' city of the Incas and one of the most famous and well preserved archeological sites in the world.For many tourists a chance to wander among its many ruined buildings in such a famously scenic setting is reason enough to come to Peru. Every Gringo worth his salt was either setting off to see it or just getting back.
We, of course, were only setting out.La Paz, Bolivia to Cuzco, Peru is about a 14 hour bus ride but we were making a quick stopover in the large town of Puno, itself a popular backpacker destination.Its position on the main highway to Cuzco ensures it receives its fair share of visitors but Puno's popularity mainly stems from its setting on picturesque Lake Titicaca.At an altitude of 3,812 m Titicaca is South America's highest navigable lake and with an area of 8,372 km2 is also its largest.The lake is shared almost equally between Bolivia and Peru and can be visited from either side of the border, Puno being the preferred point of entry from the Peruvian side.
The reason for this are the incredible floating reed islands of Uros.The high point of any trip to Titicaca, these artificial islands are woven together from the totora reeds that grow in abundance in the lakes waters.The people who live there have done so for hundreds of years and originally built them as an original method of defense.Now they let the public come over and marvel at their unique way of life in exchange for small gifts of fruits and bread.Most of the tours to the islands leave from Puno and we planned to make a quick day trip to see them on the way to our eventual destination of Cuzco.
And so we left La Paz in high spirits, bidding a fond farewell to the lofty capital that had unexpectedly become our favourite city so far.The bus took us over some impressively high and rugged terrain and before too long we reached the border crossing at Desaguadero.After some confusing border formalities we finally had our passports stamped and entered the country.We were now in Peru!We found our connecting bus amidst the chaos and after another few hours reached Puno in late afternoon.During the journey we'd learned of an ongoing national dispute between farmers and the government that effectively closed the roads from Puno to Cuzco.It seems the government were trying to introduce reforms that would charge farmers for the water necessary for crop irrigation.The farmers were up in arms and reacted by erecting blockades on available routes to Cuzco and other major cities in the hope they could force a change of policy.This sort of thing went on all the time in Peru apparently.
This was bad news for us; we had no choice but to in Cuzco by that weekend.The world famous Inca Trail to Machu Picchu hiked by thousands each year is limited to 500 people per day, including guides and porters.This is done in an effort to maintain the Trail and not to let it become too overrun.What this translates to is that each hiker has to book his or her place on the Trail by way of a visa months in advance.We had booked ours before leaving Ireland and our start date was rapidly appraching.Miss it and we would lose our only chance to hike on one of the most famous trails on the planet, a trek that was said to be as impressive as its final destination.And since we'd already paid the expensive fee this was clearly not an option!
We quickly made a decision; skip Puno and Titicaca for now and head straight to Cuzco if possible.We'd be returning this way later anyhow and the priority was obviously seeing Cuzco and Machu Picchu.We checked every bus counter in the terminal before eventually finding one that sold us tickets.It was for a bus that night and due to the blockades it'd be taking a long circuitous route through the mountains that effectively doubled the journey time.However, we had second thoughts when I happened to read a horrific account of a bus accident that had occurrred only days before.A night bus traveling from Cuzco to Puno had veered off the road and crashed when the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel.More than thirty people had been seriously injured and a young German backpacker had been killed.The article concluded with a severe warning against traveling at night when these sorts of incidents were more likely to occur.
Bus crashes in Peru are unfortunately not rare.In fact, they're very much a fact of life here and we'd already heard plenty of the horror stories.In a panic we cancelled our tickets and made arrangements for the next morning instead.After a fitful nights sleep we found our way back to the terminal and boarded our coach, very appreciative of the fact that we'd be travelling by day.Our coach took a winding path through small rural villages and over sparse mountain fields on a road that had long since ceased being paved.The journey was slow, boring and uncomfortable, with no tv or meal service, but we settled back into our seats just happy to on our way.
Just as we were enjoying a spectacular view of a lake filled mountain valley the coach shuddered to a stop.A huge tailback was right in front of us and from the look of it had been there some time.We got out and learned that the bridge ahead was blocked off and there was no way through.We spent a good two hours waiting around in frustration until the farmers finally relented and backed off.The road was cleared and the traffic started back up and continued on, only to be foiled once again by a much larger bridge that wasn't blocked off but completely burnt out!By this stage the Peruvian Army had come in to assist and erected a makeshift bridge that enabled vehicles to safely, but slowly, cross over.The scene was like something out of a Hollywood disaster movie, all spotlights and chaos!We waited another couple of hours for our coach to get its turn and by the time we were back on board the sun had well and truly set.We drove through the night and arrived in Cuzco well after 2 in the morning, waking our hostel manager up only to find out he had no record of our booking.After the long and tiring day we had just endured this didn't surprise us in the least but we convinced him to give us a room all the same.The traverse may have taken us more than 14 hours but we'd finally, thankfully, made it to Cuzco.
Cuzco was the capital of the once mighty Inca empire that ruled over much of Peru and even as far north as Ecuador and as far south as Bolivia and parts of Chile.Inspired by Cortez's recent success in Mexico, a Spanish expedition led by the tenacious Francisco Pizarro struck forth into the southern recesses of the Americas in search of fame and fortune.Their arrival happened to coincide with a civil war between the sons of the previous Incan Emperor, Huayna Capac, who were fighting for his title after his untimely death.Pizarro's small expedition took advantage of this state of civil unrest to penetrate deep inland where they were amazed by the Inca's advanced engineering skills they encountered, particulary their methods of crop irrigatation and their obvious mastery of stonemasonry.From interrogating the locals that they came across, the Spanish learned of the existence of the newly crowned Atahualpa and of his whereabouts in Cajamarca.Making contact with a messanger from the Inca, they arranged to meet in the town square.The Emperor arrived with some 7,000 unarmed soldiers in contrast to the 170 men that comprised the Spanish troop.In an audacious move probably brought about by sheer panic, the Spanish attacked and slaughtered many thousands of the Inca's soldiers before they could properly react and captured the Emperor.This unlikely outcome was due in part to the Spaniards' superior weaponry, including guns and cannons, near impenetrable armour and mounted horsemen (which the natives had never encountered before).
Holding the Emperor ransom the Spanish demanded unreasonable amounts of gold and silver, much of which was stripped from temples in the capital of Cuzco, some thousand miles away.Once the ransom was paid however, the Spanish saw Atahulapa as a dangerous liability and had him unceremoniously executed.They then marched on Cuzco, enlisting the service of Atahuapla's enemies and in a series of battles, took the city in 1533.Despite several spirited rebellions over the years, the Inca's never reclaimed their capital and with it, they lost their power and ultimately their way of life.Over the following years the Spanish systematically set about destroying any remnants of the Incan Empire, including any vestiges of their religion, which focused on worship of the sun god, Inti.Their conquest of Cuzco and eventually Peru virtually eradicated an entire Empire in less than a hundred years.
We put the lengthy journey behind us and spent the next day or two taking it easy and seeing the sights.Cuzco is quite a magnificent city to behold, once you ignore the constant hassle from the street vendors who throng the sidewalks.When Francisco Pizarro arrived he was stunned by the beauty and splendor all around him and wrote to the King that "it is so beautiful and has such fine buildings that it would even be remarkable in Spain".
Cuzco's history and charm is such that it was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1983.Its archictecture is a bold mixture of Spanish style churches and narrow Incan streets that wind up into the hills surrounding it.The historic Plaza de Armas is the city's heart and its' picturesque setting is the home to the imposing Spanish built cathedral that dominates the area, while cafes and restaurants litter the remaining sides of the plaza.The cathedral was built on the site of an older Incan palace using blocks from nearby temples and forts.Much of the city was rebuilt by the Spanish in the same way, destroying in the process much of the original buildings although there are still some examples of the fine Incan stonework that remain intact, particulary the hugely impressive Inca walls along Loreta.We wandered through the narrow streets and up the many steep hills enjoying the sights; llamas being paraded around by girls in traditional costume; the artisans and painters working in the open air by their shopfronts; the many hidden niches that contain stall after stall selling the finest llama wool and ironic Peru T-shirts.Sure, its touristy, but its exciting nonetheless and we loved every minute of it.
Apart from the magnificent cathedral in the main square, Cuzco also boasts a wide array of historical buildings and museums that demand a visit.Among these are the Spanish built churches, including the adobe style Iglesia de San Blas whose pulpit is an astounding display of superior woodcarving; its creator's skull is said to reside in the top part.The museo Inka has great examples of Incan metal and gold work, pottery, textiles, mummies and more.They have a great replica of a Incan burial site complete with grisly bones and skulls that is more than a little creepy.
Also worth a view is the museo de Arte Religioso which contains an extensive collection of period paintings and fantastic woodcarvings from the colonial era, showcasing in particular the style of the Spanish conquistadors.
Our time spent exploring the city was pleasant enough, but, like every other Gringo that crowded into Cuzco, we had come primarily to see Machu Picchu and its a fact the locals are well aware of.Every second doorway you pass is draped in colourful advertisements for the Inca Trail while outside on the streets sellers push leaflets into your hands.But while the trip to Machu Picchu is the main event there are many other activities to spend your money on in and around the city.Rafting, mountain biking, horse riding and paragliding are all on offer while the surrounding countryside contains some splendid ruins that are also well worth visiting.We hired a taxi for the day to take us to the nearest few which included the sprawling fortess of Saqsaywaman (pronounced 'sexy woman'), an amazing example of the Inca's mastery of stonework with colossal walls made from gigantic interlocking stones.We also visited Q'enqo (zigzag) a large limestone rock riddled with niches and caves; Tambomachay, a ceremonial stone bath that still channels clear spring water; and Pukapukara, a commanding ruin with spectacular panoramic views of the valley.
As entertaining as these sights were we were eager to begin the trek.We'd met with the company rep that day to finalise the itinerary and pay off the remaining costs when she informed us apologetically that there was a small problem.While the Inca Trail is a tough four day hike from its starting point the return journey is a relaxing train ride from the small mountain town of Aguas Calientes (the town nearest MP) in the Sacred Valley back to Cuzco.This is included in the cost of the trek but yet again the Peruvians had scuppered our plans.Peru Rail, the company responsible for all rail travel in the country had just announced a strike in support of the farmers and it was due to start the day of our return.Typical!We discussed options and concluded the only choice was to go ahead with the trek and hope our guide could arrange some transport for the return.A little disheartened, we returned to our hostel to pack whereupon I began to feel suddenly feverish.Cursing my luck and my weakened immune system I popped some pills and crawled into bed to sweat it out, praying I'd have enough energy to begin the Inca Trail the next day.
Despite its charm and allure, Peru, I decided, was beginning to seriously piss me off.

Cuzco remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

The Death Road

2009-03-19T20:53:31Z

After all my concern regarding our journey back to La Paz it turned out to be quite a normal pleasant flight.Janelle for once seemed at ease and I was beginning to hope her fear of flying was going to become less of a problem from now on.We landed at El Alto airport in the late afternoon and quickly caught a cab back to the same downtown hostel we had stayed at prior to leaving for Rurrenabaque.It had only been a few short days but the culture shock of being back in the bustling and vibrant capital was still quite unexpected.Plus the rapid ascension from sea level to 3,660 metres was starting to have some noticeable side effects, at least in me anyway.I figured that having become acclimatised some three weeks before would somehow make me immune to it but apparently this was not the case.I soon began feeling dizzy and lightheaded with some nasuea thrown in for good measure and spent the next day or two confined to my bed eating little but toast and fruits.We had already fallen behind in our tightly planned schedule and this was certainly not helping.But, like so many other things there was nothing to do but ride it out.
Luckily I improved around the third day and we made the decision to stay one last day in La Paz in order to do the Death Road, a decision I was very pleased with as we came close to skipping it in order to regain some of the time we had lost.Ever since I'd read about it in the Lonely Planet back in Ireland I'd been determined to do it.But it was not my will that was in question unfortunately.Janelle had steadfastly refused to even entertain the idea once I had explained it to her (and in a lot of ways I couldn't blame her).The name alone put her off and ever since Brazil whenever I brought the subject up it had been quickly dismissed.
You see the Death Road is exactly that.From a geographical standpoint it is known as the North Yungas or Coroico Road, but the locals know it by a more sinister name: El Camino de la Muerte.It is a 68 km stretch of mountainous gravel road that runs from La Paz to a town called Coroico in the northeast and connects Bolivia's capital to the country's lower region of rainforest.Built in the 1930s during the Chaco War by Paraguayan prisoners it is legendary for its extreme danger and earned the notorious title of the World's Most Dangerous Road from the inter American Bank in 1995, when estimates for annual fatalities exceeded 250.
There are many reasons for its absurdly high death rate.The mainly gravel road is carved into the mountainside in an area of high rainforest where rain and fog frequently combine to produce extremely poor visibility and dangerously low traction.The road's widest point is just over three metres across though is often considerably narrower and there is not one single guard rail along its' entire length protecting traffic from plunging the 600 metres over the side.Rockfalls from the hills above are a common occurrence and the numerous waterfalls that drop directly onto the roads pathway makes for a driving experience more akin to an obstacle course than a government highway.Buses and trucks have made up the majority of the unfortunate victims over the years.In 1983 a bus veered off the Yungas Road into a canyon, killing the more than 100 passengers aboard in what is said to be Bolivia's worst road accident.Accidents like this are a tragically common occurence and yet the Bolivian campesionos continue to use the road in an effort to get to and from La Paz cheaply, despite the fact that a newer, slightly safer road has opened in recent years.
Despite of (or more likely, because of) all this, many agencies in La Paz have opened their doors with the sole intention of biking down this treacherous road for the express pleasure of thrill seeking backpackers.In fact there's a whole industry in La Paz that caters to it.The very real risk inherent in such an activity drew me to it as much as it horrorfied Janelle.I had my hands full convincing her but in the end I shamefully resorted to guilting her into it by reminding her how we 'lost' three days in San Pedro due to her overreaction to altitude sickness.She had eventually relented and we'd booked it just before leaving for Rurrenabaque.Now that we were back in La Paz it was time to put our skills (and courage) to the test.
We met our guides and the other adrenaline junkies at a cafe the next morning.After breakfast we piled into a less than reliable looking tourbus whose loudspeakers were blaring out heavy metal.The company we'd booked with, Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking, were one of the more reputable of those offering treks.Since the Road had become a fully fledged tourist traps some years before there had been an inevitable number of fatalities among those looking for something a bit more riskier than skydiving or bungee jumping.Some thirteen official deaths had been recorded since 1998 though the number was likely higher.Our company had had only one fatality in their ten years which went some way toward reassuring us.Our guides were all professional or semi professional mountain bikers with years of experience between them.They were all dyed spiked hair and neon biker shorts but they were also a good bunch who obviously took their responsibilities seriously.The instructor assigned to us was a blonde Swede named Chris whose dubious claim to fame was that he went over the edge of the Death Road his first time down it and lived to tell the tale.Impressive!
We set off and reached the starting point about an hour later, a snowy pass between two rocky mountains known as Le Cumbre.At 4,800 metres it was nearly five kilometres above sea level; a kilometre above La Paz and roughly the same height as Mont Blanc, Western Europe's highest mountain.At this altitude even light pedalling took the breath away.The guides unloaded the bikes from the tourbus and inspected them as we wrapped up in protective
clothing: gloves, helmets, weather proof pants, reflective vests and goggles.We were also each given a refillable canteen that attached to the back of our vest.The bikes were all state of the art porfessional models with high quality frames, tires, shocks and brakes.Each one cost the equivalent of $2,500 USD.Once suitably attired we were given our bikes and shown how to use them.How to brake properly using both front and back simultaneously to prevent skidding and also being thrown.How to turn into the corners in order to maximise traction.And how to position ourselves on the bike according to how fast we wanted to go.As over 90% of the Road is downhill we wouldn't be pedalling too much and would hopefully be able to concentrate solely on not going over the edge.
Just before we left Chris had us arrange in a semi circle around him as he did one last safety briefing.He first introduced us to his 19 and a 1/2 inch Pink Stiffy (his bike) before he explained in detail what to expect.The 68kms was divided into several sections and we would stop after each one to ensure everyone was doing okay and to do another briefing before we tackled the next part.To pacify the mountain spirits the Bolivians traditionally spilt blood from livestock but we made do with alcohol and christened the front tire of our bikes before having a swig ourselves.We then set off in single file, every biker giving the proceeding one a wide berth in case of crashes.There was one guide in front and one in back, all followed by the tourbus that was acting as a support vehicle in the event of an emergency.This was it!
The air at this altitude was cold, bitter and thin.The wind immediately began to assault us as we picked up speed, whipping around any loose clothing and biting into any parts of our face that wasn't covered.The first section or two was on solid tarmac, a nice easy start.The snow capped mountains in the distance looked on impassively as we wheeled along, everyone getting used to the feel of their bikes and the ground beneath them.As Bolivians drive on the right (like most South American countries) we were on the side closest to the edge and had a good view of the drop hundreds of feet below us.I was concentrating a bit too much on the scenery when a car roared right by me nearly knocking me off my bike.I had momentarily forgotten that while it may seem at times that we have the road to ourselves it is still in full use by hundreds of motorists every day.I decided to be a bit more attentive after that.
We soon stopped at a rocky ridge where there was a spectacular view of the road ahead as it snaked downwards into the distant mist.Chris checked everyone was settling in okay and gave a few more pieces of advice before we set off again.I was starting to warm to my bike, but otherwise the rest of my body was getting cold.Janelle was directly in front of me so my pace was determined by how fast or slow she felt safe going.And she was definitely not rushing anything, though I of course couldn't blame her for that.We passed through the first section or two with no problems whatsoever.We stopped at a drug checkpoint where there we were just waved through and continued on through tunnels cut directly through the mountain.I was starting to really enjoy myself when we came to another halt where half the bikers had already dismounted and were standing around Chris who was talking intently.Turns out we'd reached the one section of the Road that is uphill.Chris explained that most people preferred to secure their bikes on the roof of the bus while they rode inside but that if anyone was keen they could push ahead with him.Janelle was already on the bus when I decided, in an act of regrettable lunacy, that I could handle the hills ahead.
The few of us who decided to continue took off layers of clothing on Chris' advice and filled our canteens while the remaining blkers settled comfortably on the bus.Chris pushed off first followed by a couple of other bikers who, I later discovered, were ardent mountian bikers themselves.I was left behind with two others who, like me, were complete novices at this sort of thing but who were determined to test themselves regardless.The road instantly became steeper and we all switched up to the higher gears.Of the Road's 64km length, 8kms of it were uphill though I was (needless to say) unaware of this at the time.The air in my lungs began to burn with a fierce intensity and my legs pumped harder and harder.I broke out in a heavy sweat which further chilled me in the high misty air.Fortunately though each uphill had a corresponding downhill where we'd get our breath back and coast down.At this stage Chris and the two others had long since disappeared and the three of us left struggled to keep going, the bus driving patiently behind us all the while.
The air at this altitude, which was about 3,500 now was still quite thin and made it extrememley difficult to pedal on level ground let alone up steep inclines.And considering that I had only recently recovered from a bout of altitude sickness myself I was starting to seriously reconsider my decision.The driver of the bus had made it clear that we could stop at any time and get back on but so far I had resisted the temptation.Until, that is, we crested another hill and saw the largest one yet up ahead.I fell of my bike, breathing furiously and sweating copiously despite the cold.No more!I'm done!!The driver had seen me dismount and had pulled the bus over and opened the door.The guide who had stayed with us frantically encouraged me on, promising us that this hill was the final one and that we were nearly there.So be it.I lifted my bike up off the ground, climbed on and put both feet back on the pedals.That last hill was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life!Each inch was a struggle and every breath was my last.But I finally, painfully made it to the top.And what did I see but more hills up ahead, many more.That sneaky Bolivian!Cursing his ancestry I kept going, the adrenaline from cresting the hill propelling me onwards.
Just at that moment the dark clouds overhead that had been threatening to break all day finally opened up in a downpour worthy of rainforests everywhere.We were all soaked through instantly.We grudgingly kept cycling, our actions no longer fully conscious but the result of a stubborness that knew no relief.Until eventually we spotted, far up ahead the outlines of Chris and the others leaning on their bikes and shivering in the rain.We fell off our bikes and into the bus, greeted by a round of applause from those who had stayed behind.It felt like we'd reached the end when it reality it was only the beginning.
The end of the uphill section also marked the beginning of the Death Road for real.The smooth tarmac we had been on all morning gave way to rough stony gravel which at this stage was already dangerously slippery.Any guidebook will tell you that The Death Road is only advisable in dry weather and that to attempt it in anything else was suicide.In fact they specifically warned against booking with agencies that brought backpackers out in the wet season.
While it was still technically the dry season this was the rainforest after all and getting wet was just a fact of life here.Chris gathered us around for another briefing, one that was much more sombre and serious than the others.He repeated his earlier warnings about the very real risk the Road posed, although this time he threw in some more unsettling facts to illustrate his point.In the event of a serious emergency the nearest hospital was in La Paz, some three hours away.They only responded to call outs in person and with cash payment up front.No phone calls, no credit.Helicopters were generally useless because of the mountainous terrain and the near constant mist.He then told us in a matter of fact tone the story of the single fatality the company had ever had, a French girl who had dismounted on the wrong side of her bike and had slipped hundreds of feet over the edge.She had fallen too far for ropes to reach her and lay screaming in agony as the group above could do nothing but wait for help to arrive.She died just as the ambulance got there, too little too late.
Suitably horrorfied and with the story still ringing in our ears we set off once again, the mist thick enough now to shroud the person ahead of you completely.The rain had settled to a fine drizzle and everyone was going slow.Suddenly the trail we were on opened up completely and the left side of the track just fell away in a white blanket of fog.Maybe it was just as well we couldn't see how high up we were.One last thing about the Death Road; while Bolivians generally drive on the right (which would keep us safely on the inside wall of the mountain) the rules for the Death Road were a bit different and it was the traffic coming UP the hill that had right of way.Which meant that for the entire journey down we'd be required by law to keep to the left, right at the mountain's edge!This seemed to me just one thing too far!
As we continued on we broke through the fog and the entire vista suddenly became visible to us for the first time.The road we were on was a combination of muddy soil and stony gravel and was pitted with deep rivulets that had formed over the years.The view on our left however was nothing short of spectacular; distant mountains loomed large in the mist, their entire surfaces covered with a thick layer of flourishing green trees and ferns while dark luminous clouds still gathered on the horizon.Ahead of us the road meandered ever down into the distance and contained a dizzying array of sharp turns and bends.Up ahead a small waterfall cascaded directly onto our path and would have seemed scenic had we not had to ride straight through it.But it was to the very edge of the road where our gazes were collectively drawn; the sheer drop into the green wilderness far below was now terriflyingly visible to us and in some ways I think I preferred it when we couldn't see it.
But we didn't have time to admire the view, perfect as it was.Each of us was busy concentrating on the piece of road directly ahead of us.We splashed through the waterfall in an instant, the freezing water finding its way down my back though truth be told I was still wet from the earlier soaking.The road became just the few feet directly in front of my front tire as I negotiated around rocks and over bumps, my fingers constantly pumping the brakes.My hands were starting to go numb through the gloves and I was finding it hard to maintain a decent grip.And to top it off the bike's suspension was taking an almighty pounding from the rocky terrain, so much so that I was painfully bouncing around on my saddle ever since we'd left the safety of the tarmac.
To my relief we stopped for lunch soon after.Chris and the other guide passed around pre wrapped sandwiches and soft drinks as the rest of us shared jokes and nervous laughter.The biking hadn't seemed too difficult but you could easily see how a moments loss of concentration or a mechanical failure could cost you your life.We had passed by numerous black crosses dug firmly into the edge of the road, each one marking the spot where some unlucky soul or another had lost their life.They were a constant reminder to remain alert, if one was needed.Chris was giving us some more advice on the next section as I was rubbing the feeling back into my numb fingers.Apparently there were some rocky outcrops up ahead that jutted out into the road and failing to spot one in time could shatter your shoulder and/or send you flying.Death wasn't the only thing to worry about up here it seemed; broken femurs, busted knees, shattered shoulder blades, torn cheeks.....Chris had unfortunately seen them all and he warned us again to remain cautious.
We set off once we'd eaten our fill, the ground becoming even rougher the further down we went.The mist and rain had dried up at this stage though the road remained slick.Most of us were becoming increasingly familiar with our bikes and had speeded up and were really starting to enjoy the biking, even pulling wheelies and skids.I took out my small camcorder at one stage to record some footage though it proved next to impossible to ride with one hand (not to mention dangerously stupid).The distances between the riders had increased substantially and at times it could feel like you were all alone up here.The longer we rode the more confident we became, but this was something we had been warned about.In reality we were only getting more and more tired and hence more liable to make a fatal mistake.The most dangerous part of the road wasn't particulary narrow or trickier than any other section, it just happened to be at a point where exhaustion kicked in and bikers let their concentration ebb.All it took was one small mistake and you'd fly over the edge.It was that simple.We had been biking for some four or five hours now and tiredness was beginning to set in.This was when we had to be the most vigilant.
We continued on through another two sections with no problems.The distant sun was lowering on the horizon and I prayed that the end was near.We were all tired, nearing that potentially fatal stage of exhaustion.It struck me suddenly that we hadn't run into any vehicles coming up the road and how strange that was.Chris seemed to think so too, though he seemed to take it as a good omen.He shared with us another of his colourful stories to illustrate a point about a tricky part of the road that lay ahead.There was a large rockpile just after a tight turn and you had to approach it very carefully.A cocky English biker had been riding far too fast when he reached this particular bit and slammed on his brakes too hard.He flipped over his bike's handlebars landing on the rough gravel and, as Chris put it so succinctly, "tore himself a new arsehole!'We all immediately slowed right down.
Finally, when it seemed we were all running on pure adrenaline and nothing else we reached the last obstacle, a freezing river that flowed directly over the path of the road and dropped down into the valley below.It wasn't particularly swift but it was a few feet deep and we had to build up a fair burst of speed before we could splash through it.Everyone got soaked, from their shoes right up to their shins.Luckily we could now see that the ending was in sight and upped our speed, spurred on by thoughts of a cold beer and a hot shower.We reached the small ramshackle town of Yolosa not long after and passed through it triumphantly to the gross indifference of the locals.We dropped our expensive bikes unceremoniously in the dirt and pulled off our sweaty dirty clothing, still wet from all the waterfalls, rivers and rain.Throwing them into a pile at the door of the bus we crossed over a small bridge into La Senda Verde, an animal refuge strangely located at the base of the road just before Coroico itself.Everyone collapsed into wooden chairs and with tired arms raised a toast to the Road, the Mountain, its Spirits and anyone else we could think of.Only after one of the monkeys had run off with an empty beer bottle did we find the energy to move.We trudged toward the changing rooms and had steaming hot showers and a change of clothes before being fed heaped plates of pasta from the kitchen.Afterward, those with the energy went off to explore the sanctuary and play with the animals including the monkeys who were notorious for stealing from tired backpackers.We left not long after and fell into our seats on the bus outside.
The bike ride down however only seemed to be half the experience.To me and Janelle the ride back up was far more terrifying.We'd sat at the back beside the window and had a birds eye view of the perilous drop directly below us.At times the road seemed to just disappear altogether and you could see right down the tumbling cliffside into the valley below.The bus shook and jerked with every turn and the gears squealed as the driver negotiated his way up the tricky inclines.It was far too apparent how dangerous this still was; at least biking down it we'd been too engrossed in staying on the path to let the fear really sink in.But on the bus with our lives in the hands of a small casual Bolivian at the wheel it was all too real.But, there was nothing for it but to sit back and hope he knew what he was doing and to trust in whatever gods you believed in.We made it back safely of course despite the crazy Bolivian at the wheel.You'd have to be crazy to do a job like that day in day out.It had been an exciting, exhilarating ride, one which we both thoroughly enjoyed despite the danger and would do again in an instant.We'd survived the World's Most Dangerous Road.Now all we had to do was survive getting to Peru.

The Death Road remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Rurrenabaque and Chalalan

2009-03-19T20:59:30Z

We left La Paz early that morning and grabbed a taxi to the city`s main airport, commonly know as Él Alto.Our destination was Rurrenabaque (aka Rurre), a lowland settlement on the banks on the Rio Beni deep in Bolivia`s slice of the Amazon Basin.The journey by road takes a staggering 16 hours along some of the most dangerous jungle trails in Bolivia (and that's saying something) where buses and even 4WD jeeps frequently don`t survive the trip.Unsurprisingly, most gringos choose to fly there with Amazonas, the regions' own airline on a flight that takes just under an hour.Flights are often booked up weeks in advance due to the popularity of the treks and luckily we had the foresight to do the same.But something was troubling us as we approched El Alto; or rather, something was troubling Janelle.
You see, Janelle`s not the best of fliers.In fact, she`s one of the worst fliers I`ve come across and having worked in the industry I`ve met my fair share of nervous passengers.Strangely, this affliction only struck her in the last year or so and has gotten no better.She dislikes taking drugs and won`t drink alcohol (probably a good thing) so it was up to me to calm her as best we could during any flights we took.Not that I was very successful; my advice was along the lines of 'If we crash then we crash, and there`s nothing we can do about it', or ' I´ve jumped out of smaller planes than this', which strangely didn`t seem to reassure her.Anyway, as luck would have it the plane that would be taking us down to Rurrenabaque was a twin prop 19 seater DeHavalliand, a small cramped aircraft that any nervous passenger would run a mile to avoid.It`s the kind of plane that you can see right into the cockpit as there is no door due to the cramped cabin.And of course it goes without saying there were no flight attendants to calm Janelle down, the only technique that seemed to work in the past.Nor did we have the option of another airline -there isn`t one.
So, after a quick breakfast (which Janelle declined) we headed to the departure lounge and boarded the plane.It was small, it was cramped, it was full (of course).Take off was a roar of engines and a quick sprint down the runway before we were suddenly, shakily, airborne.Janelle was squeezing my hand so tightly it went numb.She`s normally one of the most placid people I know but put her on a plane (especially one this small) and she turns into a different person.Every single bump or change in altitude she`d give a gasp, and any small noise out of the ordinary she`d frantically twist her head around trying to locate its source.In short, every minute of the 50 min flight she was on edge, hyper vigilant like a cat on amphetamines.We were both of us desperate to land.
However, Rurrenabaque`s airport is, how shall I put this, a bit more rustic than we were used to.The landing strip consists of a single unpaved dirt track that turns to mud during the wet season and frequently leads to the cancellation of all flights, often for days at a time.Luckily the weather had been bone dry for weeks.Our flight had taken us from the high mountain peaks surrounding La Paz down to the verdant lush forests of the Amazon in less than an hour.As we banked for the final aproach I noticed the runway ended rather abruptly at the foot of a large forested mountain.The plane dropped onto the dusty track with a bang, the wingtips just missing the neighbouring vegetation by mere inches.The entire cabin broke into nervous, relieved applause and let out gasps of held breath.We`d made it, safely.
Once off the plane we were immediately assaulted by the intense and humid heat of the tropics.La Paz, being at such a high altitude remains quite cool during the day (though you`re still liable to get burned), whereas we were now practically at sea level in one of the hottest parts of the country.It was like being smothered with a steaming hot blanket and then bundled into a sauna.Even Janelle who loves the sun found it hot, and me as a lily white Irishman found it decidedly less than bearable.We made our way to the arrivals hall (read; shack) grabbed our bags and met our contact, the guide who was to bring us to our lodgings in Rurre for the night.We piled into a van which didn't made it more than two kms before getting a puncture and as we waited for a replacement tyre to be brought by motorcyle we were approached by a expat Frenchman selling fresh, warm pain au chocolate.How strange!I bought a few and hungrily ate one as our alternative transport arrived, our guide deciding his charges didn`t want to wait while the tyre was laborously replaced.
We arrived at our hostel soon after, a wonderfully serene and relaxed abode where our host brought us fresh juice in chilled glasses on our arrival.The courtyard inside was dominated by a large wooden roof supported by thick beams of natural timber upon which were roped numerous comfortable hammocks.We showered off and changed into more appropriate clothing before sinking into these, content to just sway in the breeze and enjoy the days remaining warmth amid the distant sound of the cicadas.This was more like it!
Rurrenabaque was not our final destination out here, however.It was merely the last town of any note before we took a six hour canoe trip upriver to the Chalalan Ecolodge the next morning.This was our real reason for coming; Chalalan was a model of sustainable eco tourism in an area of protected rainforest known as the Madidi National Park, an area of nearly 20,000 squared km.In 1995 a local community of indiginous tribesfolk known as the San José de Uchupiamonas decided to approach the frequent incursions into their land in a novel and remarkably foresighted way.They realised that they would never be completely free from outside interest and instead decided to embrace the inevitable tourist trade in a way that would be both informative and unique for visitors and also entirely beneficial for their people, all without destroying their way of life.The result was the Chalalan Ecolodge; a small collection of luxury huts built using only natural sustainable materials by the local tribesfolk.From here guided treks and nature walks would educate and surprise while the meals provided were rumoured to be nothing short of exquisite.All profits from this enterprise go directly back into the small community and help in educating, feeding and clothing the tribe.As the San José de Uchupiamonas have lived here for over 300 years it`s no surprise they want to remain where they are.
We were extremely excited to be leaving for Chalalan; Madidi National Park is one of the greatest hotspots of biodiversity on the planet, with over 4,739 species of plants, 1,370 species of vertebrates and highest number of bird species in the world, some 1,100 species.The park is also home to 670 families (some 3,500 inhabitants) spread out among 33 communities.The chances of seeing any number of exotic birds and animals in their natural habitat were high.We had splurged and booked the matrimonial suite, a luxury cabin with a double bed and en suite bathroom.We figured we deserved it.
We left early the next morning, having enjoyed a few drinks in Rurrenabaque`s liveliest joint the Moskito Bar the night before.We met up with our guide, Ivan and also the other tourists in our group; a few good natured Americans of retirement age and a youngish English couple who seemed to prefer their own company.We piled our gear into the canoes which lay on the banks of the Rio Beni, a warm coffee coloured river of reasonable current.The canoes themselves were brightly painted in the green and yellow of the Chalalan company logo and were thankfully covered by canvas stretched along a wooden framework which gave us essential shelter from the bright sun.They were each powered by diesel engines whose propeller dipped low in the deep river water.Once all the gear and supplies were aboard we set off upriver, powering against the current as we left the bustling Rurrenabaque behind.We passed small wooden shacks and a few other canoes but before long the river was ours alone.
After an hour or so of churning up the river we reached the Rio Tuichi, a river of considerably stronger current whose blue water was in stark contrast to the dirty brown of the Beni.We passed through the confluence and turned right, again heading into the current.The Tuichi would take us right up to our final destination but we still had some way to go yet.We contented ourselves by observing the local wildlife, including cormorants and macaws and were even lucky enough to spot some howler monkeys clambering up some vines on the far shore.Pretty soon though, the gentle sway of the boat along with the cooling breeze and hum of the engine had a decidedly soporific effect on most of us, and we soon dozed off.Upon awakening we'd reached our halfway point, a low bank of reddish clay where we clambered off the canoes, stretching and yawning and feeling quite hungry.Luckily, this was to be our spot for lunch and we were each handed a tupperware box of cooked chicken, along with plantains and fruits.Once finished, I set off to find a hospitable place to relieve myself, only to find several huge pawprints in the sand not ten feet from where we'd landed the canoes.I finished quickly and hurried back, convinced that at any time razor sharp claws would plunge savagely into my back.I encouraged our guide to set off immediately, even as he tried to convince me the prints were probably just those of a Tapir.I wasn't taking any chances!
The last three or so hours went by quickly, although at one stage we were surprised when all the men onboard bar the one manning the rudder suddenly leaped into the swirling current.It turned out that due to the dry season the water level of the river was quite low in places and this made it difficult for the canoe to navigate properly.To counter this the men had to physically drag the canoe through the rushing water,which they did with some effort.They had to do this a few times before they could climb back aboard, soaking wet but grinning with the success of their accomplishments.Once aboard, the driver revved the engine and we continued on.
Suddenly we turned a bend in the river and up ahead on the stony bank spotted three men by a makeshift landing jetty made of loose planks.We pulled up alongside, our driver cutting the engine while the other men on board leaped out and tied up the canoe.They piled our baggage onto a rusty wheelbarrow while we were helped out of the canoe and onto the wooden planks, relieved to be back on dry land.Our guide explained that our bags would be carried for us and we were to follow him.So we all set off, excited to be finally here and eager to see what was ahead.We followed our guide into the thick, green rainforest, which immediately came alive with sounds of distant birds and insects, all the while listening as our guide explained the history of the lodge and its importance to his people.The site of the lodge was on Lake Chalalan, hence the name and was surrounded by numerous trails each of which was named for a local jungle inhabitant.The trail we were on, from the Rio Tuichi to the lodge, was the Jaguar Trail.
We arrived thirty short minutes later.The campground was in a clearing surrounded on three sides by thick jungle, with the Chalalan Lake on the remaining side.Two large wooden buildings lay to our right while on our left was a medium sized hut and, in the distance, two smaller huts.All were constructed from dark brown mahogony wood, grown locally and roofed with innumerable palm leaves, and all of them were on short stilts to prevent against flooding in the wet season.This was the rainforest after all.From the front porch of each swung deep luxurious hammocks suspended from the timber beams supporting the roof.In front of us, down a series of short stone steps was the wooden jetty on the lake, tied to which were several dugout canoes.Just before this was a tall lookout like structure, which we later learned was the solar panelled water tower.We dropped our smaller backpacks and sat down on one of the smooth panelled porches just taking it all in.Our guide left to announce our arrival and returned with the rest of the tribe who bade us welcome with wide friendly grins and bearing cold drinks.He then showed us each in turn to our lodgings.Ours was a large wooden hut with a short stairway up to the entrance.All the windows were covered in thick mesh to protect against the numerous insects that would invariably assault us during the night, while the large double bed was covered entirely by a heavy mosquito net suspended from the ceiling.The bed was bookended by two lockers, upon which lay bottles of fresh water while the tiled en suite wouldn't have looked out of place in a four star hotel.The only drawback was a lack of hot water for the shower but in this heat that hardly seemed like a problem.Ivan left us to settle in and once we'd showered and changed we headed back to the main hall for lunch.
And what a lunch!Three full courses served on white china at long mahogony tables with real cutlery and glassware.All sorts of rice, fish, meats, salads and fresh fruit were on offer with juice and tea or coffee for after.It was a meal I would expect in an expensive restaurant, not in a wooden hut in the middle of the rainforest served by local tribespeople.While we ate we listened as Ivan, who sat with us, explained the daily schedule and what he expected us to see on our guided treks.He was to take us on the Monkey Trail after lunch, a trek that circled around the lake and ended at a jetty similar to the one on this side.From there we would paddle back on one of the canoes and get a better view of the area before we arrived back at the lodge.After lunch we had an hour or two to relax and laze in the hammocks, or to read from the extensive library that was stocked with National Geographics and other such literature, or even to spend swimming in the warm waters of the lake.Ivan explained to me how the great hall where we were eating, which must have measured the length of a swimming pool, was erected in less than a month.It was astounding, considering it included a full length bar and had a high, spacious roof that was as tall as a two storey house.The workmanship on the smooth wooden floor, the woven walls and roof was exceptional and it all looked reassuringly watertight.
He also explained how the lodge had limited sleeping huts to cater for a maximum of only twenty visitors at any one time.This ensured that the lodge never felt overrun or crowded and also made for an intimate and friendly atmosphere.In fact the whole area was pristine and it was hard to believe they had been running treks here for as long as they had.I mused that in any other setup like this they would've squeezed in as many tourists as possible but here they seemed content to allow just small groups of like minded individuals.In the ten years since it had opened the locals had never felt the need to expand.In fact the very idea went aginst everything they were trying to achieve here.
We met as a group an hour or so later.There was just me and Janelle, the young English couple who never felt the need for conversation, and our guide Ivan.The Monkey Trail started literally right behind the main dining hall and as soon as we stepped onto its barely discernible path the safety and comfort of the clearing fell away and we were right in the thick of the jungle.Shafts of afternoon sunlight pierced the heavy canopy overhead as we followed Ivan past thick tree trunks and wildly overgrown bushes and ferns.The calls of distant animals and birds reached our ears providing pleasant background music to our trek.Ivan identified tree after tree in English and Spanish and was even able to give them their scientific names in Latin.He told us how the bark of this tree or that was used by his people to cure everything from diarrhorea to headaches and even sexual impotence ( 'natural Viagra' as he called it).In fact as far as I could tell every tree's bark seemed to have some sort of effect on sexual performance, although this may have been more a reflection on me rather than his people.
Then suddenly Ivan urged us to stop and remain still.He had spotted something in the the trees.We turned our gaze upwards and strained to see what it was until the tiny creatures eventually came into view; a whole family of Capuchin monkeys.They chattered to each other and leapt from tree to tree, searching out the fruits that grew high above the ground.Using each limb seemingly independent of the other and especially the tail, the monkeys used the tree branches like trained gymnasts using the parallel bars.Ivan showed us how one monkey was also on gaurd for predators, sitting atop the highest tree and keeping lookout for the whole family.And lucky he was for there was a sudden explosion of squeals and movement as a white hawk, the Capuchins natural predator, came swooping in through the trees with its talons outstretched.The monkeys scattered, squealing loudly to warn each other while the hawk flew off, its element of surprise ruined.We had just enough time to take a few hurried pics before they left too, presumably for safer territory.
After that highlight the remainder of the trek was a little subdued.We reached the lakeshore not soon after and climbed into the dugout, using the rough hewn oars to propel us across the still, oval shaped lake.It was beautiful; an entire lake to ourselves with the sun setting above us and the lights of the lodge just beginning to come on in the distance.We made it in no time and as we set off to return to our cabins for some rest Ivan promised to take us out later for a night trek, when the majority of the jungles inhabitants would be out on the prowl.We told him we looked forward to it.
Dinner that night was again as delicious as the lunch had been, yet there was an added bonus.The cooks had prepared a traditonal meal of dumqwist, freshly caught dogfish oven cooked in banana leaves.It was served buffet style with an enormous selection of side dishes and was absolutely delicious.Ivan again outlined what we were to expect on our trek, explaining how we would only have to venture a few yards from camp to see all manner of jungle creatures in their nocturnal state.Snakes, including the poisonous bushmaster and treesnakes were regularly spotted aswell as all sorts of insects, frogs, nocturnal birds, caimans and spiders.He knew where a tarantula nest lay just off the path and promised to show us, much to the consternation of the girls.
We set off after dinner, again just the two couples and Ivan.I was surprised to see our guide wearing thick boots and he informed us that it was to protect against snakebites.Suddenly the sneakers we were all wearing seemed somewhat inadequete.Ivan led the way slowly, his torch picking out the path ahead aswell as tree branches at head level.The snakes, he told us seriously, often dropped from the trees onto unsuspecting passers by.We all suddenly became as wary of the trees around us as the ground in front of us.His torch picked out the gleaming eyes of small frogs and even the red eyes of a caiman that was resting on the banks of the lake.Caimen are large reptilian looking amphibians, whose crocodile like appearance is distinctly threatening although we were assured that they were quite harmless to humans.The atmosphere became tense, creepy even.In the sheer, impenetrable darkness of the jungle every sound was magnified and there was a lot more animal noises than during the day.And adding to this the torches only illuminated a few feet ahead, leaving the majority of your surroundings in total darkness.No one spoke much and everyone seemed intent on staying as close to our guide as possible..The two girls in particular seemed a bit scared by this stage and Ivan had to check that they were okay to continue.I was enjoying myself thoroughly but I seemed to be the only one.
We stopped at a small wooden bridge over a trickling creek and Ivan led us off the path around to a mound of hard earth.Shining his torch on a large hole he leaned forward and poked a tree branch in.A large black spider, big as his hand came darting out of its nest - a tarantula.Its long hairy legs probed around the entrance to its lair, looking for the cause of the disturbance.Ivan drew back to let us get a better look at it.It was beast of a creature and in the brightness of the torches glare it looked huge.I snapped a few photos before the girls decided they'd had enough and convinced Ivan to go back.With the rest of the group keen to return to the safety of the bright lights and cabins I had no choice but to follow them.We followed the path until we reached the clearing and said our goodnights.

The next day dawned bright and humid.We had both slept soundly amidst the jungle noises of the night, which became rather soothing once you got used to them.Unfortunately however, Janelle seemed to be suffering from the beginnings of a fever of some sort and we had to miss breakfast and that mornings hike.I informed our guide who became immediately concerned and promised to brew up some local concoction to help with her symptoms.With the nearest pharmacy 4 hours boatride downriver we had little choice but to rely on his assistance.The brew was hot and pungent and contained coca leaves, ginger and treebark among its many ingredients.Ivan assured us it would help and a few hours later Janelle was feeling much better to my immediate relief (and hers).We joined the others for the afternoon hike through another of the lodge's many trails.Among the many highlights spotted were walking vines, a type of tree whose above ground roots actually moved by as much as three feet in a month in search of sunlight; the bullet ant, an inch long insect whose bite would put you in serious pain for 24 hours; leafcutter ants, whose red swarms lined the forest floor for miles around as they gathered up foliage; numerous frogs whose camouflage ensured they blend in with their immediate surroundings; a nest of angry hornets and even a small snake who scurried into the undergrowth before it could be identified.We spotted red woodpeckers, tropical parrots and other exotic birds as Ivan showed us how to identify the birds from their calls.He was an extremely informative guide, knowledgable about every animal insect or bird we encountered and had a story for each illustrating their importance to his tribespeople and to the rainforest.His high spirits and genuine love for the jungle and its inhabitants kept us going even when the high humidity threatened to sap our strength.We returned to the camp exhausted but enchanted with Nature in all her glory.
The evenings adventure promised to just as unforgettable; a nighttime paddle around the lake in search of resting caimen.We finished another delicious meal and followed Ivan out to the jetty, the torches leading the way and climbed carefully into the dugout canoe.We pushed off, myself and Janelle paddling with the oars as Ivan's torch led us across the water.The moon was a bright low orb in a night sky populated with thousands of tiny stars.I'd never seen so many at once, even on the astronomy tour in San Pedro.The lake was a black mirror image of the sky bar the quiet ripples caused by the oars.We headed straight for the edges of the lake where the caimen rested amongst the reeds.Straightaway Ivan's torch picked out the telltale red eyes in its beam and we paddled toward it.We came upon a young caiman, its head just breaking the surface of the water with the distinctive crocodile like body barely visible in the darkness.We watched it for a few minutes before leaving it in peace and found another three or four specimens nearby.All around us the sounds of the jungle echoed over the lake and over our heads bats swooped down low from nearby trees to catch the swarms of insects basking in the moonlight.There was a sudden explosion of squealing and chattering among the trees as the monkeys came down to drink from the water.We paddled around for a bit before deciding to head back in, at one stage extinguishing the torches so we could float in the middle of the lake in complete darkness.It was a serene, surreal moment.
The next morning started like the others, with the low calls from the jungle gently rousing us from sleep.After a hearty breakfast of breads, fruits and cakes we set off on our final trek.This time Ivan took us off the established trails and we headed down a rough path through thickets of wild bushes and reeds.We followed a strange repeating call that led us to its source on a low rock formation.The culprit was neither bird nor animal but frog; a tiny colourful frog about the size of your thumb.Its call was to attract a mate Ivan explained, although he also warned us that this particular amphibian was extremely dangerous.The secretions from its back were highly toxic; in fact, Ivans' people used it to coat their tiny darts that they shot from blowpipes when they were hunting small birds or monkeys.A small drop would be enough to kill an adult human in no time.Another point of interest was a tall tree whose bark was entirely covered in tiny spines an inch or two long.Ivan told us how, according to his tribes tradition, a man wishing to marry had to prove himself to his intended bride by climbing the tree to the top, enduring the pain all the while.But the real highlight of the trek came toward the end, when our guide urged us to stop suddenly and bade us to crouch down behind some bushes.He had spotted something, but we couldn't see what it was.Then we heard it; a low grunting sound followed by a sniffing of some sort.A family of wild boar was up ahead, scavaging about for food.Their foul stench hit us immediately after; a smell of dead, rotting meat.We tried to stay upwind of them to avoid being undetected but they were skittish and impossible to get near.Ivan told us how in the wet season his people would hunt the boar for meat, but in the dry season they were frequently infected with parasites that caused intense sickness.We watched them for a time as they nosed about the forest floor looking for food, until they passed from our sight and disappeared.We too, decided to head back to camp for the last time.
As we said our goodbyes to our kind hosts, it struck me how lucky we'd been.Although I did have a feeling of regret that we hadn't managed to see a jaguar or some other such impressive beast, as unlikely as that was.We shouldered our packs and followed Ivan down to the Tuichi river.As we approached we heard the boats engine from afar, although it sounded louder and more guttural than we remembered.Again, Ivan stopped and began gesturing into the trees in front of us.In the distance we saw some shapes that were.....monkeys.But this time they were larger and darker than the Capuchins we'd seen on the first day.And it was they who were the source of that loud rumbling growl.Howler monkeys.We'd thought it was the boats engine!The males have a large gland on their throat that enables them to make this strange sound which is used (as always) in attracting a mate.We stood in silence marvelling at the diversity of nature before we left them to their courtship and boarded the canoe.
We made the journey back to Rurre in about three hours, far less than the six it took us to get there.Along the way we passed more canoes heading to the lodge, carrying with them excited backpackers who were yet to begin their unique and unforgettable experience in Chalalan.I envied them their virgin status, and longed to be back at the beginning again, but we'd had our time and it was everything we could have hoped for and more.The food, the people, the huts, the lake, the treks, the animals.....we'd experienced the rainforest in a truly wonderful way from the people that called it their home.And in a genuinely eco friendly and sustainable way.It was hard to leave but we had other things to think about now; we would be leaving La Paz and Bolivia in a few days but we had one more Bolivian adventure to doundertake first.Something I'd wanted to do since I first read about it and which had taken me several months to persuade Janelle to even THINK about doing.The World's Most Dangerous Road (aka The Death Road) - a mountain bike ride down 64kms of some of the most treacherous trails on the planet.But first we had that flight back to La Paz to take.And something told me that for Janelle this would be worse than anything the WMDR could throw at her.

Rurrenabaque and Chalalan remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Uyuni and La Paz

2009-03-19T21:00:17Z

Uyuni is not the type of place to linger in; it`s a sprawling desert town with dirty, dusty streets and no real noteworthy sites (bar the train graveyard outside of town, which we`d already seen).Street vendors block your path as you negotiate the crowded sidewalk whilst you`re forced to keep a secure eye on your belongings - even more so than normal that is.Its low, squat adobe buildings are littered with neon signs advertising tours to the Salar and beyond.With over 60 agencies currently operating from here that`s a lot of Bolivians hassling you at every street corner.The dry hot desert together with the high elevation (3675 masl) makes for an uncomfortable climate, especially for us gringoes.After three days out in the arid altiplano all we wanted was a town to kick back and relax in, but unfortunately Uyuni wasn´t it.
We decided to leave ASAP.Our next destination was Bolivia´s capital, La Paz, and to get there we had to endure a long 12 hour bus ride, and yet again the only option was another night bus.We were getting a bit sick of these by now to be honest.Even the most comfortable of them can`t make you forget that you`re stuck on a bus, and most guidebooks warn you off the night buses for safety reasons.We heard second and third hand accounts of buses stopping in the middle of the night while everyone´s asleep, and the luggage being taken right out of the hold!And if you do manage to bring your packs onboard, keep them next to you at all times.One German girl we met told us how she was duped when a local spilled water on the floor unbeknownst to her and recommended she leave her bag in the overhead shelf, so as not to get wet.Then when she fell asleep he rifled through it, taking her camera and mp3 player, among other things.So, yeah, we were loathe to take another one.But we didn´t have a choice so we booked our tickets, ate a hasty meal, and left later that night.
What a night!By far and away, the worst night of my life!The bus was a battered excuse for a roadworthy vehicle; balding tyres, peeling paint, torn upholstery, cramped seats.Plus it was packed full of Bolivian families, their kids on their laps crying more or less incessantly the whole time.There was no toilet either, and the driver stopped once the whole trip, at 1am, to let us use the facilities of a questionable cafe in the middle of nowhere.It was also freezing cold, really Baltic, and the best we could do was don ski socks and fleeces and shiver uncontrollably.We didn`t have sleeping bags with us and we enviously eyed up the locals in their heavy woollen blankets which they`d packed with astute foresight.But worst of all was the road.Or should I say, the trail.For a full 6 hours, half of the entire trip, there was no paved road.And not just not paved, but extremely bumpy, rocky and full on dangerous.We had known that the area between Uyuni and La Paz was more desert, but we had just assumed that there`d be an actual road, somehow.The bus lurched and fell as it traversed over hills of hard rock and soft sand, the gears grinding in a most distressingly brutal way as they tried to cope with the demands of the unforgiving terrain.We`d have been better off in an off-road 4WD.At one stage the bus even threatened to tip over!How the buses (and drivers) do this night after night I`ll never know.
Anyway, after hours of this torment we finally reached tarmac.Tarmac!Ah tarmac!It was a revelation to be back on level, solid ground, where the bus stayed horizontal and the gears assumed their normal pitch.I even began to fall into some semblence of sleep at one stage.However, as able as the driver had been taking us over some of the worst terrain imaginable, he obviously lacked some of the more basic of driving skills.Just as I was reaching that cozy state of deeper sleep, I was thrown nearly out of my seat along with everyone else as the driver spun the wheel hard to the left.Quite what he was avoiding on the road at 3 in the morning in the middle of the desert I wasn`t sure, but it sure as hell didn`t reassure me about arriving in La Paz safely.In South America I was quickly learning, you take nothing for granted.
Well.We made it.Of course.Bar a street demonstration as we neared La Paz (a not uncommon event, apparently) there were no more problems.By this time we were both tired, hungry and cranky; and in no mood to admire the breathtaking sight of Bolivia`s capital as we approached it from above.La Paz is a city of 1.5 million inhabitants and sits at an altitude of 3660 masl, which makes it the world`s highest captial city.The city`s location is in a long, wide valley which spills down from high surrounding mountain peaks, the snowy, imposing Mt Illamani (6402m) throwing the longest shadow downwards.Makeshift housing cling precariously to the sides of the canyon and the further south you go the posher the suburbs get, culminating in any number of modern glass skyscrapers down in the main thoroughfare (commonly known as the Prado).
But of all this escaped us.All we knew was we were cold and tired, plus the early morning sky was cloudy and wet which didn`t improve our moods.We hopped in the nearest taxi without checking the fare and made straight for our hotel.Bolivia being quite a poor country, we figured we could afford to stay somewhere a bit more luxurious than our budget normally allowed.The result was Hotel Fuentes, a mid range accomodation smack in the middle of the Mercado de Hechiceria (the Witches market) and behind the Iglesia de San Francisco, two of La Paz´s top sights.We checked in and promptly fell asleep.
Our time in La Paz was typified by taking it easy.We hadn`t really had time to recuperate after the draining, but thoroughly enjoyable, trek throught the salt flats, so we were keen on taking some serious time out.Luckily for us, La Paz turned out to be a great destination for such a requirement.Our hotel, for one, came equipped with cable tv; we spent hours just watching whatever film or programme happened to be on, as long as it was in English.Another great pastime was the internet, specifically the many internet cafes that proliferate all around the main street.Many an hour was had sipping excellent coffee whilst surfing the ´net, occasionally writing up a blog or posting up photos.We also, of course, did the requisite sightseeing, browsing through the many of La Paz`s markets and street vendors and checking out churches, plazas, museums and the like.One of the more interesting markets was right on our doorstep, the Witches Market, so called due to the abundance of elderly Bolivian women selling all manner of exotic wares; potions, powders and poisons of every colour; herbs and the dried leaves of unusual, indiginous plants; empty armidillo shells and shrivelled llama fetuses, which the locals bury beneath their house porches for good fortune.There was also the inevitable stone carvings, replicas of actual artefacts found in nearby archeological sites.It made for an unusual shopping experience, a bit like browsing through the famous markets in Marrakesh perhaps, where anything and everything is for sale.Another local area was the Mercado Negro, or black market, where more usual commercial products were on sale; tvs, mp3 players, guitars, amplifiers, keyboards, cameras, camcorders, memory cards... all manner of high tech electrical equipment was on offer and despite its name the market is all above board.It`s spread across a huge area, and you almost can`t move for the jostling crowds it attracts.It is, however, notorious for the particularly nasty practise of spitting, a technique used by thieves whereby one of their number spits on an unsuspecting gringo from afar whilst another robs him as he`s cleaning himself off.They typically use knives to slash rucksacks and then take whatever falls out.We heard of a pretty disgusting variation whereby a backpacker had faeces thrown at him!Nasty!
Another of our visits was to the famous Coca Museum, a backpackers favourite and just up the road from our hotel.The museum itself is pretty dated and in probable need of a facelift, but the detailed tour (in English) was fantastically illuminating.Coca is grown at specific altitudes on specialised terraces and there are three distinct varieties depending on how high it is cultivated.We learned how the plant had been a valuable crop for Pre Columbian cultures for its many medicinal properties, from combating altitude sickness to tiredness and hunger.The Inca`s thought so highly of coca that they reserved its use to the Incan nobility and for most of their sun rituals.Indeed, many, if not all Incas were buried with a special weaved pouch that contained dried coca leaves.The Spanish had no need for it and tried to ban its use until they realised that the natives would work much longer hours in their silver and gold mines, especially at Potosi in Bolivia.Indeed, they soon passed a law actually forcing the natives to use it, as they had to endure 12 hour days in the dangerous mines, often without food.At one stage the value of coca leaves was outstripping the value of the silver that the natives were extracting, so essential was it to the continued slave labour.
Later in the early 20th century the essential ingredient of coca was isolated, and cocaine was first synthesised.Its use heralded a new age in anaesthesia, and surgery, before it was recognised to be habit forming and subsequently banned.Indeed the first known cocaine addict was none other than Sigmund Freud, an early proponent of the drug.Around this time, an American called John Pemberton derived a non alcoholic version of a French tonic wine called Vin Mariani that used coca as it main ingredient, naming it Coca Cola.The rest, of course, is history.But while Coca Cola has famously stopped using cocaine in its drinks, it still legally ships huge quantities of the crop from Bolivia every few years, for ´taste´ purposes, or so it claims.Is it coincidence that the worlds most recognisable product is partly manufactured from the raw material of one of the world´s most addictive drugs??I think not.....
Then, of course there was a whole load of information pertaining to the current problems of cocaine addiction and the resulting US-led `War On Drugs`.The raw coca leaf is neither harmful nor addictive and is high in calcium, iron and vitamens, whereas cocaine is an obviously highly addictive CNS stimulant.The DEA attempted to curb the problem in the 1980`s with a now familiar 2 pronged approach; eradication of the coca crops in areas of high cultivation and the introduction of alternative agricultural products.This approach largely failed, as it has with the opium poppies in Afghanistan, mainly due to the negligible profit margin and long culivation period of these alternative crops.The simple fact remained; coca was a profitable, hardy plant with a fast rate of growth that the poor campesino farmers had no choice but to rely on.The fact that it devestated distant communities far removed from Bolivia had little meaning to these simple peasants trying to eke out a living on inhospitable soil.Unsurprisingly, the bulk of the cost of cocaine goes not to the growers but rather to the middlemen and jungle chemists who treat the pulped leaves with various chemicals to arrive at the distinctive powdered form.Until the demand for the drug is curbed at the source (i.e. largely US and Europe) these farmers will continue to do what they have to to survive and the War On Drugs will never be successful.
La Paz is an interestingly diverse and endlessly colourful city.Its streets are frequently jammed with fume spewing collectivos, minivans that double as bus transports to all the corners of the city.They rush by at speed as the `conductor´ leans perilously out the open door, shouting out the names of eventual destinations.The women here (that is, the campesino women, people from the country) are all strangely dressed in identical clothing; they are all short and more than a little round, with stumpy legs and long jet black hair down to their waist, always in a thick double braid.On their heads they all unfailingly wear a black bowler hat (I`m not making this up) while their skirts are thick with many layers of multi coloured petticoats.Quite why they all dress in such similarly unique clothing I`m not sure, though we were to see more of this style throughout the rest of South America.Shoeshine boys, the scourge of the city, their heads covered sinisterly in full length balaclavas (no doubt to protect them from the spewing collectivos), harrass and petition everyone who walks by them.Vendors wait on every street corner, selling everything from watches to cooked chicken to pirated dvds.But it is also a city that likes to dress up and have fun, as evidenced by the citywide parade that took place one weekend, where half the citys inhabitants had dressed themselves up in traditional Bolivian attire while the other half lined the streets to watch.Teams of dancers, men and women, in every colour combination imaginable paraded before the excited crowd, who cheered and clapped and laughed and danced.Full marching brass bands complete with matching suits tried to outplay each other until the resulting tumultuous din deafened those watching. Playful children clutching icecreams ran through the parade, dodging the dancers expertly as their anxious parents looked on....It was colourful, it was loud and it was dazzling.
And that summed up the city for us.It mightn`t have the landscapes of Rio, the sophistication of Santiago or the vibrant tango halls of Buenos Aires, but La Paz was a bustling, bright, brash revelation.Its steep cobbled streets (which would exhaust the fittest of travellers), sprawling markets, casual coffeehouses and elegant churches made this one of our favourite cities so far.We hadn`t expected too much, and perhaps that was why.Either way, it made for a relaxed yet exciting break between bus rides and we certainly left it on better terms than we had found it.But luckily for us we would be here again, for our next destination was to be into the isolated Amazonian rainforest, via the lowland village of Rurrenabaque and the only way back was through La Paz.So we left in good spirits, glad to have a familiar city to return to, and glad to be leaving for another of the expected highlights of the trip; the Chalalan Ecolodge.An all inclusive trip into the heart of the deep Bolivian rainforest, where we would stay for three days with some indiginous locals and hopefully get the chance to observe some of the country`s little seen flora and fauna.But first, once again, we`d have to endure some uncomfortable travelling conditions, though it was going be more uncomfortable for some than for others.

Uyuni and La Paz remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Salar de Uyuni

2009-03-19T21:01:20Z

We left San Pedro that morning bound for Bolivia.Our tourbus picked up the other tourists we`d be spending the next couple of days with; two Kiwi girls, and a Dutch couple who were travelling with an Irish girl.We made for the outskirts of town where the Chilean border crossing was and had our passports stamped, then headed east climbing steadily upwards, passing by the volcano of Licancabur on our left.About an hour later we reached the Bolivian border; an almost derelict shack straddling the dirt road between two rising summits.We filed in, paid our fee in Bolivianos (which we`d gotten the day before in San Pedro) and got our stamp.We were now officially in Bolivia!
The area that we would be traveling through was known as the Bolivian Altiplano (spanish for high plain).Its the area where the Andes are at their widest and averages an altitude of abut 3,300 masl, though we would be ascending to well over 4,000 masl at times.The term also encompasses the terrain and climate of the region, including as it does the volcanoes, dry deserts and salt flats.Our journey was almost entirely through his high altitude region and would take us through all of these fascinating features and more.
Our guides and 4WD jeeps were waiting for us at the border, and we made our way over and made introductions.Whilst they laid out a modest but tasty breakfast on a makeshift table I inspected the 3 vehicles that were lined up for us.Specifically I was looking for seatbelts; apparently the recent accidents wouldn´t have been so tragic had the jeeps been equipped with them.But no, they were all without, though I wasn`t all that surprised.I picked out the least beat up jeep that looked at least somewhat comfortable and laid our backpacks beside it.While we finished breakfast I wandered around the site, snapping a few pics and managed to spot a cupelo fox skulking about, an animal indiginous to the region.I got a few shots as he sneaked past, looking for scraps of food no doubt.
Breakfast finished we loaded up our jeep with the help of the gude/driver, who had only a small bit of English.This is not uncommon on these treks, though it was somewhat frustrating of course.Luckily one of the Kiwis who we were to share the jeep with had decent Spanish, the only one among us, and she was invaluable as our translator in the coming days.
We threw our packs up to the guide who fastened them to the rack atop the jeep, along with a gas container and other food supplies for the trip.Once it was safely enclosed within a tarp, we jumped in and set off.
Our first stop was a small group of recent looking buildings that were the entrance point to the national park that protected the entire area.Again we filed off, paid our small fee in Bolivianos, received our pass and got back into the jeep.We then drove a small distance to our first proper sight, Laguna Blanco, a wonderfully pristine, almost white coloured lake that lay before some imposing mountains.Pink flamingoes lined the shores, standing on their one leg, while birds that resembled seagulls flew just over the surface in formation.The contrast between the reddish dust of the altiplano with the white lake in front and the blue sky overhead was incredible.We had just 20mins to enjoy the sight before we climbed back in to the jeep and set off again, the 4WD throwing up clouds of dust behind us as we sped away.
Not too far from Laguna Blanca was Laguna Verde, another lake of stunning beauty that was this time, you guessed it, green in nature.It sits at an altitude of 5,000 masl, and is that beautiful turquoise colour you see in picture postcards of caribbean seas.We stopped off a bit away high on a rocky outcrop to get a classic panoramic shot, and found ourselves surrounded by literally hundreds of small piles of stones, some maybe a couple of feet high.These were apachetas, offerings to the gods of the mountains all around us, made by the few locals but more recently by the tourists who pass by here daily.They are similar in nature to the Inukshuks made by the Inuit of northern Canada as markers to identify paths out in the wilderness, though those are shaped more like a person.They make for a nice focal point in photographs anyhow.
By this time we were all a bit hot and sweaty and as luck would have it our next destination was an area of natural hot springs that are a highlight of the first day of the trek.We joined a few other tour groups and peeled off our already grubby clothes and leapt into the warming waters.At this altitude it can be quite cold during the day, despite the scorching sun in the sky, and it was a very great pleasure to be able to rest there in perfect comfort.The springs are at the foot of another giant lake, and its this view that we had from the clear warm water.Just the thing to soothe our aching bones.
Suitably refreshed, we all got dressed and once again set off.The scenery changed gradually, from dry rocky dirt to more sandy plains.We drove on a long straight stretch of road surrounded by desert, and drew near a series of strange rock formations that lay up ahead on our right.This was the Dali Desert, so called because of the surreal shapes of these immesnse rocks that stand out for miles around against the flat desert surface.We got our driver to stop and a few of us preceeded over to them to get a closer look.But out here in the endless sands distances are deceiving, and we hadn`t even made it half way before we turned back, exhausted and thirsty.Our driver explained that they are over ten kilometres away and laughed at us for thinking we`d get near them.We fell back into the jeep and took long draughts from our water bottles to cool ourselves, cursing our naiviety.
Our next stop was down a reasonably steep track off the main road and before long we smelled the sulpur that signalled the presence of geysers.We pulled up beside pools of bubbling hot grey mud, the edges of which were blackened with the heat or else yellow with crystallised sulphur.The smell in the air was strong and malodorous, like rotten eggs, as hot steam bellowed from each pit.The pools were fascinating to watch, as bubbles slowly formed in the viscious mud before bursting their rotten contents.We were warned not to get too close though; people have been known to fall in and scald themselves very badly.
The last part took a few hours, as we headed toward what was to be our final sight for the day, Laguna Colorado.Not too far from it was our lodging for the night, but to get there we drove over more sand, rocks and dust then we had up til that point.At times the `road`was just a trail, or even invisible to us in the jeep, as our driver took us through short cuts and routes that only he knew.Down steep hillsides and through fields of rubble we drove, the jeep`s suspension taking a serious pounding.We later learned these vehicles have a life expectancy of only two years on average.
We eventually reached our accomodation for the evening, a series of newly built concrete buildings with corrogated metal for roofing.In fact, half of the area still looked like a construction site, with cement mixers completing the scene.The land was backed into the side of an adjacent hillside, for obvious shelter, and was staffed by a family of hardy locals.Even the children had tough leathery brown skin from living in such extreme conditions, though they were still playful and mischievous as only kids can be.
By this stage we were at an altitude of maybe 4,300 masl, and even walking around was hard work on our lungs.We were all of us exhausted, but first there was lunch to be had.A serious spread was laid out for us;hotdogs, salad, crunchy breads, fruits, coke....it was really something, considering we were in the middle of nowhere.We ate like starving orphans and then one by one disappeared off to collapse into our beds for a late siesta.Since crossing over in to Bolivia we`d gained an hour, so it felt much later than it was.We dozed fitfully before our guide gently woke us up and insisted on taking us over to the lake before darkness fell.We complied and headed over in the jeep, though it wasn`t more than 5kms away.
An absolutely breathtaking sight lay before us; a lake of pure rust red that had dotted through it islands of the purest white, like giant icebergs in a sea of blood.The islands are formed from borax, while the lake`s surreal red colour comes from sediments and the colouration of some algae that reside in it.And feeding on these algae were flocks of James`s Flamingoes, their pink colour derived directly from their unique diet.It really was the strangest sight, out here in the empty altiplano where there was just rocks and sand and dust and more rocks.We crowded down onto the shore, snapping away with our cameras like mad, disturbing the flamingoes that had been feeding nearby.They rose up into the air awkwardly but managed to fly quite gracefully to a safe distance away.I spotted a few natural springs near the edge, the water rising up from the bottom a deep blue colour but changing to red as it flowed down to the lake.The contrast was spectacular.
We headed back to the jeep, and, getting in, I noticed the driver swigging from a suspicious bottle.We`d had no problems or anything with him so far.In fact, he`d been a very safe driver for the most part although at times he did drive very fast when the notion took him.But we were still cautious after all the horror stories we`d heard and it was only prudent to be careful.But then again, it was the end of the day and he probably deserved it.I took it upon myself to only mention it if he started drinking first thing in the morning or something, which thankfully he never did.
We got back our lodging and went back to bed, if only to rest.Janelle and I had brewed some mate de coca, or coca tea, early that morning and brought it with us in a flask.Made from the leaves of the coca plant, the tea is widely drank around South America but especially in the higher Altiplano, where its thought to combat the effects of altitude sickness (which the locals know as soroche).We had been drinking it since San Pedro and had noticed some benefits, so we brought a supply with us.The leaves contain small amounts of the alkaloids that become cocaine, though you`d have to drink maybe 500 cups to get high.Another way to use the leaves is by chewing them, which is probably the more common method used by the locals.A batch of leaves is procured, the greener the better, and the veins are taken out by hand.The leaves are then put into the pouch of the mouth between the cheek and the jaw, and masticated slowly until they become a juicy wad.At this stage the leaves are bitter and nasty!After 45 mins or so, a pinch of llipta is added, which is the ashes of a plant known as quinoa.What this does is help release the alkaloids from the coca leaves.Once this happens, your face turns a bit numb and a mild sensation of alertness and a reduction of appetite is felt.Coca is chewed almost constantly by the farmers in the region to help in their day to day work.We tried it and found it a bit nasty.Plus we didn`t use any llipta so we only got a slight sensation from it.The tea was much easier to make and quite pleasant to drink actually.Tastes a little like weak green tea.
Not long after arriving back we were fed dinner, extremely tasty pieces of roasted chicken with chips and rice.Nice!While we ate our hosts`two children played some Bolivian music on their pan pipes and single drum, singing along in their native tongue.It should have been hokey but wasn´t, the somewhat sad music reflecting our tired minds.We all dutifully handed over some Bolivianos and they scarpered off into the night, still playing their instruments.
We settled down quickly after dinner.Some of the group drank wine or beers but at this altitude alcohol can hit you very hard and is generally a bad idea.Plus we had a very probable long night ahead of us.Along with the extreme cold (we each had around eight blankets made from warm alpaca fur), the altitude at 4,300 masl was not exactly conducive to a good night`s sleep.Most of us had had bad headaches all day and were swallowing pills like candy, though if that was the worst we`d be lucky.We tucked in as best we could and tried to sleep.
I awoke a few times during the night, but otherwise had no problems.Janelle however didn`t sleep at all, or if she did she got maybe 2 hours tops.The air at this altitude is very thin and your breathing becomes very shallow, which makes it hard to fall into the natural rhythm needed to sleep.She was in bits the next day, extremely tired and with a near constant ache in her chest, and quite panicked.But worse was to come; just after breakfast while we were packing up her nose exploded in a torrent of blood and she started to vomit.This was bad!Very bad!We rushed her to the toilet and as she retched into the bowl I mopped the blood from her face.I got one of the girls to look after her while I found our guide and explained the situation.He said we would be descending much lower once we got on our way so we all loaded up quickly.Meanwhile Janelles`nose had stopped bleeding and her vomiting was under control but just in case we strapped an oxygen mask to her face and had her breathe deeply until she felt better.One of the other drivers with us gave her a soroche pill he had for such emergencies which proved to be quite effective.We climbed aboard our 4WD and took off.Luckily enough she recovered quite quickly and by noon she was feeling much better, by which time we were at about 3000 masl.
Crisis averted we resumed our trek.We drove for some time over long stretches of sun baked sand and stopped at another collection of unusual rock formations that are so out of place in the flat desert they look like they were carved by some giant hand and placed there.One of the rocks here is famous for its treelike shape and is suitably known as Piedra Arbol, or The Rock Tree.A few pics later we were back on the road.
By this time everyone in the group had gotten to know each other well.We joked around and told backpacking stories to kill time between the sometimes long distances we had to travel.Our guide had a habit of playing the same song over and over (at least we thought it was the same song), a type of popular local music known as Reggatron, which is essentially a mix of reggae, electonica and dance.It nearly drove us mad, so we played music from our mp3 players through the jeep`s stereo when we could.He didn`t mind too much.He seemed to dig the Chili Peppers anyway.
We passed a few more lakes that day, some of which were of interest, but nothing compared to the sights of the day before.We still took photos though.One lake had a huge population of flamingoes, which were much tamer than those of Laguna Colorado allowing us to get that much nearer and obtain some great shots.We headed for lunch to an area of yet more (sigh) unusual geological features, this time a cooled lava field that had smooth slabs of stone punctuated with holes where bubbles had formed.Our driver laid out a picnic blanket and took out bowls of fresh salad and bread, along with fruits and Coke.We ate a leisurely lunch and lay in the sun, which by this time had gone behind some clouds.
Once we were fed and happy we were on our way again.We had a fair bit of distance to cover so our driver kept a steady speed while we enjoyed the scenery.The road had again changed, this time to more mountainous terrain which at one point got so bad we all had to abandon ship for ten mins or so while our driver negotiated through a really rocky patch of dirt.We eventually came to the edge of our first salt flat, Salar de Coipasa, and hurtled down onto its white dusty surface.This is the smaller of the two salt plains we had come to see,the other being the larger and more visually impressive Salar de Uyuni.We only stopped once we were about halfway across at some railway tracks, the remnants of a service that had long ago ceased to operate.We took our pics and headed on.
We reached our destination a few hours later, a small town of no great importance that lay not far from the Salar de Uyuni.It was a real one horse town, with dusty cobbled streets and litter strewn hillsides.Our driver initially seemed unsure as to where we were staying, but he eventually found our spot for the night, a basic but clean lodging with creaky, sagging beds.While our kindly hosts prepared dinner we took the opportunity to explore, but beyond a reasonably presentable chuch in the town square found nothing of any real interest.We came back to a simple meal of spaghetti bolognese with bread, preceeded by a delicious broth of fresh local vegetables, which we obligingly devoured.We settled in for the night not long after, most of us tired after a day spent in the confined space of the 4WD.
The next morning we were woken at 4am, an ungodly hour but necessary if we were to catch the sunrise.We dressed quickly and loaded up, the jeep taking maybe 15 mins to start in the cold air.We had all of us slept better the second night, presumably due to the lower altitude to which by now we were surely acclimatised.We sped off into the darkness amid yawns and the occasional snore.The sun`s first rays were visible just over the horizon as we left the dirt road and crossed onto the flat salt plains 40 mins later, the suspension getting a well earned break.We stopped maybe 10 mins after that and jumped out of the jeep, cameras at the ready.The sun finally broke through some clouds and like a fiery globe threw down its rays and lit up the world.We were standing upon a vast white desert floor, solid rock salt, that stretched off literally as far as the eye can see.The mountains behind us, initially in shadow, were bathed in the fantastic red colours of dawn, while the salt floor at our feet seemed to pulse with blazing whiteness.Our jeep and even ourselves lay down some immensely long shadows behind us, which contrasted nicely with the prevailing white.As the sun rose higher the sheer spectacle of it unfolded before us.Bright orange sun, clear perfect blue sky, pure white desert and red hued mountains.Absolutely jaw-droppingly beautiful.We stood agape and simply stared.
At nearly 11,000 km squared Salar de Uyuni is the world`s largest salt flat, and at an altitude of 3,650 masl, the highest too.It, along with Salar de Coipasa, Poopo Lake and Uru Uru Lake were formed when the giant prehistoric Lake Minchin dried up some 40,000 years ago.It contains over 10 billion tons of salt with some 25,000 tons extracted annually.It is also the site of half of the world`s lithium reserves, which is an obvious component of modern batteries.Due to its unnatural flatness the Salar is also a major transport route across the Bolivian Altiplano.Its role as a source of raw minerals aswell as its tourist status is of vital importance to the relatively underdeveloped Bolivian economy.
Once we`d recovered our senses we snapped away like mad, the surreal landscape providing ample opportunity for some unique photographs.As the white desert floor stretches away to the horizon all perspective is lost, and with some clever positioning of props it can seem like you`re lifting a jeep on your shoulders or drinking from the world`s largest beercan.It makes for some funny pics.We all took our share of these before our guide urged us back into the jeep.It was time for breakfast!
Breakfast was another 20 mins away in the strangest location yet; Isla de los Pescadores (Fishermans` Island).This is the only elevated piece of land for miles around, in an area of unbroken white flatness.Its actually the remains of a ancient coral reef from when this entire area was under water, although now its the home of hundreds of giant cactii.
We went off exploring a well marked path that took us all around the island while our driver cooked pancakes and brewed coffee.The cactii here are huge and look every bit the stereotype of the tall, green man with curved, spiney arms.Some of them are over 900 years old!We climbed to the islands` peak where we were afforded an unbelievable view of the surrounding desert, all white surface and blue horizon.So surreal!Another part of the island consisted of a coral cave which made for a nice picture though I later discovered it was also the basis for a popular postcard so I was a bit miffed at being unoriginal.Anyways...
With the island explored, pics taken and breakfast eaten we again piled into the 4WD and drove off into the white.At this point our driver decided he could trust us enough and offered to let one of us drive.Bored of being in the back I jumped at the chance and settled into the driver`s seat, adjusting the mirrors etc. to my tall build.Traffic here keeps to the right and even out here in the desert the same rules apply.Of course this means gear stick and handbrake to your right hand, which just feels plain wrong to an Irishman.But it did feel great to get up to 90kph and cruise along the desert, enjoying the sun on your face and wind in your hair (heh).I guess our driver was tired `cos he let me drive for quite a bit and I didn`t mind at all handing the wheel over to the only other male backpacker there, the Dutchman whose name I can`t recall.
After the fun and games of driving uninsured in a beat up 4WD we finally handed the controls back to the driver, who took us to our next port of call; the famous salt hotel.Situated in the middle of nowhere, the hotel is constructed almost entirely from solid rock salt from the surrounding flats.From the walls supporting the roof to the beds in each of the rooms - pure crystal salt.Even the dining table and its chairs are made from the abundant mineral.Of course the beds have mattresses while the toilets are made from porcelain but apart from that its all white and salty.Some of the tours that go through this region (and there are many) stay overnight here, but since the entire building is officially an illegal construction that contravenes local ecological regulations we were only visiting.It is quite a sight
all the same, similar I suppose to the famous ice hotels in Norway, the difference of course being that this doesn`t have to be rebuilt each season.We took our pics, bought some sweets from the local girl on duty, and pushed on.

The rest of the day was pretty tame compared to the start I suppose.We lunched in yet another nameless dusty town at the tail end of the flats, a town that was remarkable only for being wholly unremarkable.Another two hours of driving later we were at the end of our journey; we`d finally arrived in Uyuni.But first our driver took us to the outskirts of town where a collection of ruins was to be the unusual finale of the trip; a train graveyard.Huge hulking wrecks of rusting iron and steel lay beneath the scorching sun on oil stained sand; some still on upright on their tracks while others lay on their sides like giant beached whales destined never to see the sea again.We played around inside the cabins and engine rooms of the wrecks, before becoming bored and returning to the jeep for the last time.The driver dropped us off at the company offices in town and we tipped him generously for not killing us and said our goodbyes.Myself and Janelle left the others, found the nearest hostel we could, checked in, and fell into bed.But not before we`d each had long, steaming hot showers.Our first experience of Bolivia had been spectacularly unforgettable, and we fell asleep dreaming of what more wonders this wild country had in store for us.We`d seen
little of her towns and none of her major cities but that was about to change with our next destination; La Paz.The country`s capital, and the highest on the planet.But first, of course, we had another long bus journey ahead of us.And this one would prove to be the worst we`d experienced yet.

Salar de Uyuni remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

San Pedro de Atacama

2009-03-26T18:41:02Z

San Pedro de Atacama is a small oasis town smack bang in the middle of the Atacama desert, a vast dry expanse of land west of the Andes and north of Chile.The town is the only settlement of any note in the area, in a desert that`s noted for the being the 2nd driest in the world, after the McMurdo Dry Valleys of Antarctica.This place is HOT and this place is DRY;50 times drier than California´s Death Valley.There are areas in this expanse of dry rock and dusty sand that have experienced NO rainfall since records began.It`s THAT kind of place.Its also high, at an altitude of around 2,500 masl (metres above sea level), and was to be our first foray east into the Andean mountain range that would eventually lead us into Bolivia and then further north into Peru.We had come to this desert oasis like so many others to see the highlights of the Salar de Uyuni, a vast dry salt lake just across the border in Bolivia that was supposed to be like no other place on earth; dry white desert as far as the eye could see; lakes of red, green blue and white, all beneath a perfect blue azure sky and a burning relentless sun; rock formations of such surrealistic quality that they`re collectively known as the Dali desert;boiling hot geysers fields bursting out of the yellow scorched earth; and the sparse flora and sparser fauna that somehow manage to survive in one of the driest places on earth.All this and more was ahead of us, and the town of San Pedro was to be our gateway.
We arrived after a mind numbing 24 hour bus ride.I won`t go into detail; but it was LONG.We very nearly managed to miss our bus at one of the meal stops when we decided to order some hot sandwiches and our driver decided to leave.Most of it was along the coast which was nice for scenery purposes but around Antofagasta we headed inland and started to drive east.We passed a semi interesting town on the way, Chuquicamata, the site of the country`s largest copper mine, which measures about 4.5km long, 3.5km wide and nearly a km deep.Apparently at one stage this mine was responsible for making Chile the world`s largest exporter of copper.One girl who visited it told us that the quantity of molybdenum that they mine in consequence to the copper is so valuable on the world`s ore markets that it pays for the running of the mine itself and the copper ore extracted itself is all profit.Nice!
But we didn`t stop ourselves to look around.We headed on and eventually arrived at about 7pm, an hour after sundown.We literally fell off the bus into the hands of a waiting Bolivian who took us to her hostel nearby.Seeing as we hadn`t booked anything before we`d arrived we were only happy to oblige.She led us to a small neat hostel that was built of adobe (mud brick) and had a thatched roof with a courtyard lined with hammocks that hung beneath the clear night sky.Our beds were constructed out of rough timber but had comfortable pillows and lots of blankets, which is essential at an altitude of 2,500 masl where it gets quite cold at night.In fact, we`d already noticed that we were a little dizzy and after our mammoth journey we decided a good nite`s sleep was the only solution.
Altitude sickness is a potentially fatal illness that can develop in some one who ascends rapidly to heights of 2500m or more.It can strike anyone and being fit offers no protection.The higher one goes the more serious the symptoms,which include; headaches, nausea, dizziness, vomiting, insomnia and loss of appetite.Severe cases may result in pulmonary or cerebral edema, which is fatal.The only cure is to descend to a lower altitude.But since we were at the cutoff point so to speak we weren`t too worried, although we did intend on taking it easy the first few days just in case.Janelle suffered from some insomnia and the static electricity from my rough blankets caused some sparks the first night (a strange sight, let me tell you), but apart from that we were okay,at least at first.
We awoke to a bright hot and clear day.The sun here is ever present and it gets HOT in the daytime.I`m talking temperatures in the high 30`s where even the locals are smart enough to don sunhats.There was no clouds at all.None.And we realised quickly that this was the norm.Just clear blue skies and scorching hot sun.This was the desert after all.
We checked out the town after breakfast and visited most of the main sights the first day; the white washed adobe church off the main plaza (Iglesia San Pedro) where the main front door is hewn from cardon cactus; the main plaza itself, a pretty little tree lined square where the locals and tourists alike come to cool off in the shade and watch the world go by; and the two main thoroughfares, which are just streets of dried mud with some excuse of sidewalk.In fact, there`s no paved road anywhere in town.Just dusty, dry, sun baked red clay.It gives the town a real frontier feel to it, like it`s the Wild West of America.Well, apart from the hordes of adventure agencies offering tours of the salt flats and the tourists that they cater for, which here are in serious abundance, probably outnumbering the locals two to one at my reckoning.
But apart from that, a real nice little town.We decided to book a tour that day to the Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), an area outside of town that consists of, well, rocks and sand that look like the surface of the moon.We joined a group and headed out to the nearest mirador (lookout) just ten mins away that overlooks an amazing expanse of dry desert and jagged mountains known as the Valle de Marte.The lookout was up on a high cliff of crumbling rocks and the view was absolutely astounding;reds,browns and greys all combining to from an impression that was closer to the surface of Mars than the moon.After taking the requisite number of photos we left for Valle de la Muerte (Death Valley), another otherworldly area about 15mins drive away.Jumping out of the van we set off on a short hike over endless grey fields of rocks, craters and dust.This was more like it!Unfortunately the sheer heat of the sun and the lack of ANY half decent shelter meant we were all parched mere minutes into the hike, but oh well!We reached the actual valley not too long after; a long smooth sand dune descended down into it from its rocky edge and all around the sheer red/brown cliffs frowning down upon the valley floor.And in the distance, the looming face of the resident volcano, Lascar;a steep climb at 5,600m.We all took off our boots and shoes and plunged into the warm sand on our guides advice and half ran/fell down the dune.Very cool!Just off in the distance ahead of us were a group of sandboarders trying their luck on the driest slopes in the world.It looked like fun but we were told its hard work due to the burning heat and lack of ski lifts.Maybe another time!
We hit the valley floor, booted up and followed the rocky path through the towering cliffs on either side.This whole expanse of desert is so dry that combined with the high altitude it makes for no air humidity whatsoever.This itself makes for some very interesting natural phenomena, chief among them the natural salt crystal formations that occur over eons of time.The very cliffs we were walking by were made entirely out of rock salt, covered with a thin layer of brown clay.You could break off chunks of it and actually taste the salt.Very strange.We left the valley soon after and headed toward another quirky rock formation known as the Tres Marias though these weren`t quite as impressive.
The highlight of the tour, though, was watching the sun set atop a vast rolling sand dune at the Valle de la Luna.We joined scores of other tourists and clambered up the sandy slopes to await the dimming of the strong sun, which cast colours of ethereal quality over the valley and neighbouring volcano peaks as it set.A truly beautiful and awe inspiring moment which made for some great photos.
Anyway.The next night we booked a tour we`d heard was another `must do`- the local astronomy tour.Due to the high altitude and unique position of San Pedro the local astronomy scene was booming and night time was made for some of the clearest stargazing around.We arrived at a shack not too far outside the town where a Frenchman named Alain had been studying the night sky for years.He took us inside and by candlelight explained to us the history of stargazing from the earliest astronomers through to the seafaring empires of Europe and finally to modern astronomy and the Hubble telescope.When our eyes had acquired their natural night vision he then took us outside to gaze upon the crowded night sky, explaining the stars and their constellations in detail with the aid of his funky green laser pointer.He turned out to be an entertaining and quite witty speaker, and had the entire group`s rapt attention.When he had finished he let us try out his telescopes in the courtyard, seven in total which included Chile`s largest in a private collection.He showed us stars, the moon, the Milky Way and various other aspects of the cosmos.We all got to snap a photo of the moon in close up through one of his telescopes, a shot that looks just amazing.We finished the tour with a brief summation and some hot chocolate which was just the thing after a night in the open gazing at stars.A truly unique experience and one I`d highly recommend.
There were many more such tours to do in San Pedro, but the sheer heat of the place combined with the fatiguing effects of the altitude meant we very quickly adopted the local attitude.Which was; take it easy and take it slow, and definitely take in a daily siesta after lunch.One of the main attractions nearby the town was the El Tatio geyserfields, at 4,300 masl the highest in the world, but to get there you had to wake at 4am and drive 2 hours away through the freezing morning air.We`d heard stories of people`s water bottles freezing solid in the bus!We figured we`d see plenty of geysers once we left on the Salar de Uyuni tour so we gave it a miss as we`d booked a 3 day tour that day.Now, there are countless tour agencies in San Pedro, all offering pretty much the same thing; a 3 day trek through the desert flats in a 4 WD, taking in all the main sights, with food, guide and accomodation included.Problem is, none of them had 100% reputations, and seeing as we`d heard horrendous stories of guides driving drunk, jeeps breaking down, food and accomodation being below par etc, we were pretty cautious.Just a few months ago a jeep had overturned on the desolate salt flat and killed 3 tourists and the driver.We heard from other guides that the driver had fallen asleep!In fact, since the start of the year no less than EIGHTEEN people had died out in the desert, mainly through driver incompetence.This being South America, the whole industry is pretty much unregulated and you take your life in your hands choosing an operator.So, yeah, we were careful!
After some careful checking we decided on the one that had the least complaints, Estrella del Sur (the South Star), a company that had a reputation for being safe and providing good food and guides.Problem is though, the guides/drivers are all Bolivian and the groups meet them at the border along with the jeeps, so you`ve really no idea who or what you`re getting until you leave Chile.
Anyway, we were due to leave the next day, and we`d picked up all the supplies we`d need and packed them all away.Unfortunately though, Janelle, who was suffering more than I with the altitude, slept very badly, a fact not helped by some locals who`d decided to party until 4am.By the time light dawned she was exhausted, and feeling quite poorly.The last thing you want to do with some one suffering from altitude sickness is bring them higher, and thats exactly what we would´ve done had we left òn the tour.So we made the decision to cancel, in the hope another day or two would help Janelle acclimatise better.But when we visited the offices of our agency later that day we were told it would be another three days before we could leave on another tour, which was a bit of a blow.We were on a relatively tight schedule and had already spent three days in San Pedro which was more than enough.But, with nothing to be done, we set about making the most our extended stay.I decided to rent a mountain bike for a few days and explore some of the nearby ruins while Janelle rested up.
The nearest was called Pukara de Quitor, a 12th century collection of crumbling adobe walls built on the slopes of the Cordillera de la Sal, about 3kms from town.It overlooks the San Pedro river, which in this climate isn`t much.Built by the native Atacameno who were mainly agriculturists, the site was a natural choice beside the river in a otherwise arid desert.I locked up my bike and clambered up the slopes to explore, which in this heat and altitude wasn`t easy.But the views of the river valley and of San Pedro itself were quite worth it.I followed another path up to the top of the site, leading up to a purpose built lookout whose summit was adorned by a large concrete crucifix, and surrounded by a courtyard with Inca type heads built into the walls.The view from here was even better; the faraway San Pedro river twinkling in the valley behind me while before me lay the vast dry desert in all its arid glory.The town looked like a genuine oasis surrounded on all sides by miles of rock and sand while towering above it was the local volcano of Lascar, all under an unbroken blue sky.It was quite something.
Another day I biked out to Catarpe, some Inca ruins about 12kms from town.This took only an hour but in the exhausting heat of the desert it was far enough.I had to cross a river to get there and was a bit disappointed by the quality of the site, which was just more crumbling stone walls.Being Inca I expected more, somehow.I only spent a short time there so on my return back i took a bit of a detour through Quebrada del Diablo (Devil`s Gorge), a well known biking track through a deep gorge.The guidebook recommends it as a mountain bikers`dream, and I was keen on trying some actual mountain biking.I had been given a rough map of the area by the rental agency but had somehow lost it at the ruins.But from what I could remember the track wasn`t too long.It started off well enough, though I didn`t pass a single other biker or tourist out this far from town, which was slightly worrying.I biked for an hour or so, on the hard gravel of the gorge`s floor, which at times gave way to frustratingly difficult sand.By this time my water was running a bit low and while there was plenty of shelter from the overhanging cliffs I was getting a little worried.I hadn`t anticipated it being this long but I figured it would come though the other side soon enough so I continued on.By this time the sides of the gorge had lowered considerably and I found myself on a wide flat plain covered in deep sand.Getting even more frustrated I dismounted and walked my bike through, encouraged by the ghosts of tracks made by earlier bikes.They must lead somewhere I reckoned.So I continued on up a steep hill, which when I crested led to more hills.I ran up a nearby slope leaving my bike in the dust to get a better view.By this time I had been in direct sun for over two hours, my lips were cracked and my mouth was dry.I started to get seriously worried.No one knew I was here.Janelle knew I was at some ruins but that was it.The detour had been a last minute decision.I was on my own, lost in the desert with little food and less water.There was nothing around me, no rivers, no lakes no waterfalls.Just sand and rock as far as I could see.And it was getting late, maybe 3 or 4 in the afternoon.I decided to climb the next hill and if I couldn`t see the end of the trail I would go back the way I came.So I climbed it and saw more of the same.Decision made, I walked back to the bike, drank a little water and started back.Once I`d cleared the impossible sandy section I mounted the bike and began pedalling.Funnily enough it was way easier than coming through as the gorge`s floor was sloped downhill somewhat and i managed to pick up speed and negotiate my way though the turns much faster.I made back to the start in less than an hour.Thank God!I pedalled back the ten or so km back to town and fell into the hostel, convinced I had heatstroke.Which I well might have.I rehydrated myself and covered myself in aftersun, swearing I`d never take unnecessary risks again.I read an article in a backpacker paper later that described an almost identical experience by some bikers who`d been told the gorge wasn`t too long and made the same mistake I did, except they continued on and made it back to the highway, although by this time it was well after dark.Little did I know that I`d soon be biking an even riskier track in Bolivia, but for the time being I`d had enough!
And so, after a few days of this we said goodbye to San Pedro.We`d stayed longer than expected or even needed to and were keen to move on.Janelle had properly acclimitised by this stage and we got picked up the next morning by the tour bus that would drive us to the Bolivian border and on to the strange wonders of the salt flats.We`d been in Chile not much more than a week but had enjoyed our stay here.Bolivia was our next stop and it promised to be very interesting.Here was one of the poorest countries in a continent of second world countries.A country of civil unrest, protests, continuous strikes and sometimes even violence.A country of high desert landscapes and low lying rainforest.A country where 95% of the roads are unpaved and driving by car is an actual health hazard.This promised to be the REAL South America and we were stoked.But first, we had deal with some of the highest landscapes we`d ever been to.And with Janelle`s recent brush with altitude sickness we were more than a little worried...

San Pedro de Atacama remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Santiago and Valparaiso

2009-03-19T21:02:09Z

We left Bariloche on an afternoon coach, headed for Santiago.Our journey wasn´t to take too long relatively speaking, only about 17 hours total, though it was to be split into 2 legs; a five hour ride over the Andes through to Osorno and then an overnight bus to Chile´s capital of Santiago.The only catch was that there was a 5 hour wait in Osorno until the next bus, and Osorno wasn´t exactly known as the party capital of Chile.The first leg was pleasant enough, our coach driving alongside Lago Nahuel Huapi for a bit, then climbing steadily higher as we approched the mountain pass through the Andes that would take us into Chile.The air got colder and the scenery changed from lush to snow covered, though a lot of the snow was melting as the warm spring was coming into season.We soon reached Parjaritos, the first town of any consequence in Chile and also the site for the Chilean border formalities.Everyone trudged off the bus, sorry to be leaving the comfort and warmth of their seats, and lined up patiently inside the customs building, while our rucksacks and bags were thrown onto the conveyor belt to be X-rayed.We got our stamps and entrance cards and crossed over to drop our smaller backpacks onto the belt, which we carried with us at all times, containing as they did all our valuable documents, wallets, mp3 players etc.Janelle was perplexed to be unable to locate her bag after it had gone through the machine, only to be helped by a friendly customs guard who was wearing it on his back for a laugh.She didn´t think it was very funny tho...
Once through customs we sped onwards to Osorno.The scenery again changed and became quite lush and green ane we spied many a vinyard through the window, Chile famously being a large worldwide supplier of wine.Osorno is a large agricultural hub in these parts, though there is little here that warrants any long term stay.We arrived not too long after and were thankful just to be off the bus.It was in the dingy and slightly seedy bus terminal we had our first taste of Chilean food, a local favourite snack called un completo.It´s basically a hot dog in a bun, though it comes served smothered in guacamole tomatoes and mayo, avacadoes being another one of Chile´s primary agricultural products.Tastes pretty good though, and it comes cheap.
On major difference between countries is obviously the currency used.And while Brazilian reals and Argentina pesos are near enough numerically speaking to Euros and dollars, Chilean pesos are somewhat different.Their notes start off in denominations of 500 pesos and go up to 20,000.This can be quite confusing when you´re used to paying 10 or so Argentinian pesos for a coffee and are then suddenly handing over a 2000 peso note for the same.It takes some getting used to ley me say.
We managed to kill 5 hours by wandering aimlessly around the small town centre, and by spending a few hours in an internet cafe updating blogs etc.We headed back to the bus terminal at night, ignoring the locals who catcalled after us in Spanish.We boarded quickly and set up in our seats, and as it was after 10pm at this stage we managed to fall asleep in no time.
We reached Santiago around 9 the next morning.It could not be more different than Osorno.Chile´s capital city, with a population of more than four and a half million is situated about halfway down the length of South America´s spine, and is about 2 hours inland from the sea.In fact, the shape of Chile being what it is, the width of the country is apparently never more than 200kms across, though it does measure some 4300kms from Peru in the north to the Straits of Magellan in the south.While northern Chile is hot and arid, with some of the driest desert on the planet (the Atacama desert), the south is wild and wet, containing any number of volcanoes (some of which are still active) and ends in Tierra del Fuego, which it shares with Argentina.Santiago however is located in neither extreme, and is thus perfectly suited to the requirements of being a capital city.
Santiago is smokey.And by that I mean it´s covered in a near permanent haze of smog that can obscure the neighbouring mountains that tower behind it.Its also quite possibly South America´s most commercial city, with shopping malls quite literally spilling out onto the main streets.In fact its famous for them, much like Rio´s famous for its favelas.In looks and character it most definitely does not seem to be of South American origin.Indeed, with Chile being the one country in the continent nearest to being awarded first world status (most, if not all the others in SA are 2nd world countries) its main city recalls parts of London or even New York.In spite of this, or maybe because of it, most backpackers hate Santiago.It is for many the first port of call in South America as they´ll fly in here from Australia or NZ or else leave from here on their way home.We didn´t meet a single traveller who liked it.Its ¨crowded, smoky, expensive....just another big city¨ was all we heard, so we weren´t expecting to like it.But surprisingly we did.
First of all we picked a nice cosy hostel in the bohemian part of town, Bellavista.It was safe, funky and a convenient base to exlore the area, being only 10 mins from the metro.We´d expected Chile to be expensive, indeed had budgeted it as one of the dearest countries; but we found it on a par with Argentina costwise and were thus pleasantly surprised.Smoky it was;but hot it was also.After all the cold weather we´d experienced in Argentina Santiago was a very welcome temperature, at least 25 degs most days.It was almost too hot sometimes, and we learned to travel in the shadows of buildings or trees to avoid the direct sunlight.Or at least I did.Janelle is better suited to this heat and loved every second of it.No, Santiago was a pleasant change from the towns and villages of Argentina;it had everything we´d missed while backpacking around; pedestrianised streets with cafes serving good coffee;bookstores that sold English titles;malls that catered to every taste and whim;restaurants of every ethnic food group from Japanese to Indian to Chinese.The area where we were staying was friendly and funky, with brightly lit streets at nite and murals covering the walls during the day.Local watering holes served the local brew Escuardo (very nice BTW) all night along with the Chilean version of empanadas (deep fried).Downtown was a bustling area with Chileans of all dress hurrying along to whatever business they had to attend, while every street corner was occupied by enterprising locals offering freshly squeezed OJ.There were many parks museums and gardens to spend time in and all were well maintained and serviced.We felt safe at all times and enjoyed being back in our first big city since Buenos Aires.
Unfortunately we hadn´t budgeted much time in Santiago, only two days, but we made the most of them.After wandering at leisure through the many malls downtown and picking up some necessary equipment (an adaptor plug being among them) and sipping coffee, we dined in fancy restaurants that served Japanese cuisine (much to Janelles´delight).We did some sightseeing too, and took a local bus up to Cerro San Cristobel one morning, a nearby hill of 485m that delivered some beautiful views of the (mostly hazy) city.It also contains a national park aswell as an Christian church (along with requisite Virgin Mary statue) whose outdoor pulpit must rank as one of the most inspiring places to addess a congregation.The park is served by a lengthy cable car system, that takes you right around the most interesting sights and eventually back down to ground.We found it a charming and quite relaxing way to spend an afternoon.
As nice as Santiago was, it isn´t exactly overflowing with activities.True, there are ski slopes nearby, but the season was at an end.And apparently there are wine tasting course and horse riding on offer, but we weren´t bothered.So we decided to head out to nearby Valparaiso two hours away on the coast.We´d heard great things about this port town and it regularly receives rave reviews from Lonely Planet and other guidebooks.In fact, its listed as one of the ´must sees´in Chile.So we headed out for the day with high hopes.
We arrived after two hours or so and were immediately besieged by locals guides urging us to take their tours.We politely listened to one so as to not be rude and then declined her offer once we´d learned all the places to go.She wasn´t too happy after all her talking!Ha!We sauntered on with the free map she had given us and somehow ended up straight at the nearest mall.Hmm.Though it was VERY impressive inside, moreso than some in London and other such cities.Anyway, we chose the mall because it warm, and the weather in Valparaiso was anything but.I´d dressed for the sun, as it was out in force when we left Santiago, but it conspicously absent in this seaside town.After warming ourselves up a bit we braved the outside.It was dull, dreary weather, overcast with no hope of sun at all.Not what we were hoping for.And maybe it was the weather but we couldn´t take to Valparaiso at all.I mean, its listed as a UNESCO world heritage site, its considered the cultural capital of Chile and it has bucketloads of history but none of it impressed.The seafront is mostly obscured by vast port containers waiting to be shipped or by the immense cranes used to ship them.There is no beach, no sand, no surf.Just an ongoing dockland.It wasn´t too dissimilar from the Dublin docks and I can´t imagine anybody wanting to go there for the day!
You could take boat tours out to see the bay from the water but we weren´t bothered with the weather.The only thing that brightened our day was discovering one of the many ascensores (elevators) littered thoughout the city; wooden platforms that take you right up from the lower downtown up onto the cobbled hillsides.These were built between 1883 and 1916 when the city was a great trading post for much of Chile, before the opening of the Panama Canal made it pretty much obsolete, and look every bit their age.Though they do take you up to much more sceneic barrios, and of course they give a great view of the port, grey as it was.We snapped away at the many murals lining the cobbled streets, all created with obvious attention to detail.Past a few churches and cafes here and there we descended again to the main plaza and rewarded ourselves with some swee coffees.We bumped into an English couple from our hostel who had the same opinion of Valparaiso we did and spent a few hours trading travelling tips before we decided to leave for Santiago.We´d only been there 4 or so hours and we were bored.Luckily we hadn´t booked accomodation as I´d initially wanted to before we´d arrived, and I was extremely grateful for Janelle for having talked me out of it.Anyway, we left ASAP and vowed never to return.
The next day was our last in Santiago, and as much as we´d enjoyed it, we were happy to move on.It IS just another big city, though as big cities go its not the worst by far.We were keen on reaching our next destination in Chile - San Pedro de Atacama, a small tourist town out in the middle of the Atacma desert.There we would experience one of the expected highlights of the whole trip; the Salar de Uyuni, or Uyuni saltflats, an otherworldly place of dry white desert, sentinel-like cacti, lakes of green,white,blue and red, and pink flamingoes to boot.But first we had to brave another hellish 24 hour bus ride and combat altitude sickness before we could enjoy it.And something told me it wouldn´t be so easy....

Santiago and Valparaiso remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Bariloche

2009-03-19T21:05:13Z

We left Peurto Madryn that evening on a 18hr journey bound for Bariloche, a ski resort town set in the Lake Distict area of Argentina.Due to booking our tickets a little late we couldn´t go direct, so our route took us a bit further north than necessary, passing through the province capital of Neuquen.This added a few hours onto our bus ride, but by this stage we had become accustomed to these long journeys and weren`t really too bothered.We spent a quiet nite on the bus, reading whatever was to hand and watching two Shrek movies back to back.We arrived in Neuquen at about 6.30 in the morning and had just enough time to wolf down a cafe con leche y medialunas (white coffee with croissants) before we transferred onto the next bus bound for Bariloche.This journey was only supposed to be 4 or 5 hours, but it promised to be much more visually interesting as it passed through many of the areas`numerous lakes and mountain passes.And so it was.Beneath an unchanging blue sky we wound down hilly highways and passed stunning lake after lake, all practically undeveloped and unspoilt.Mountains the colour of sun baked rust framed our window view from the coach as we took in the stunning beauty of it all.
I for one was very keen on spending a lot of time in this town, whose full name is San Carlos de Bariloche, for many reasons.It`s the Lake Districts main tourist trap and everyone who travels through Argentina for a length of time ends up here at one stage or another.It`s settled on the shores of Lago Naheul Huapi, a 100km long glacial lake that is surrounded by lofty snow capped mountain peaks and is only a few hours from the border with Chile.Its`proximity to the national park that bears the same name means that Bariloche is the ultimate mecca for the outdoors enthusiast.Hiking, fishing, ski ing, rafting, horseback riding - its all here, and more.We had heard numerous reports from fellow backpackers on what a great place it was, and nearly everyone we`d talked to had spent double the amount of time here that they`d planned.To me it sounded a bit like Queenstown in New Zealand, albeit without the bungee jumps.I was sure I`d love it!
We arrived mid afternoon, an hour late, into the bustling grounds of the main bus terminal.We stepped off into quite a chilled air though the sun was still out in force.To our right lay the magnificent Lago Nahuel Huapi, so long its end shores cannot both be seen at once (perhaps from air?), its icy chilled waters throwing up white tipped waves.More of an inland sea than a lake.Beyond it lay the mountains.We took a cab into town and quickly found our hostel, a small but cozy place called Pudu that was owned by an Irish couple who had come here a year or so ago and had decided to stay.Apparently Pudu is the name of the local, rarely seen deer that is almost pygmy in size.They loved the place so much they`d gotten a 6 year lease on the premises and hit the slopes to board and ski every they had off.They had only opened the hostel a few months before, and still had a lot of work to do.But it was clean, and it was warm.And they had draught beer on tap!We had booked it solely on the fact that our room had a fantastic view of the lake, high as the hostel was in one of the hillier parts of town.
Once shown around and settled in we headed into town for lunch.We did some quick sightseeing of the plaza and the two main thoroughfares, Avenida Bartolome Mitre and San Martin/Perito Moreno which run parellel to each other.Both are chock full of stores built of wooden logs and stone, the kind you see in every ski resort.In fact, Bariloche IS a ski resort, though its main slopes are 20km away on Cerro Catedral.The centre boasts more than 50 runs and 40 lifts, one of the biggest in South America, though we`d heard if you were used to skiing on European slopes you may be a little let down by the quality of the runs.I was all for a day on the slopes, though we had unfortunately arrived just at the tail end of the season, and was persuaded otherwise.
The downtown area really is very pretty though, and could have been mistaked for any number of European ski spots, apart from the lack of visible snow.Though the cold chill certanly reminded you where you were.Hordes of rich Argentinian schookids bounded around, clad in their expensive ski gear, chattering away noisily in Spanish and blocking up the footpaths.The locals however, kept low key, strolling around in the crisp air with the ever present thermos under their arm and their mate tea and gourd no doubt near to hand.We strolled around and soaked it all up, and felt in no need to do anything physical whatsoever.
And so it remained.With a quick check of our finances revealing that we had (not surprisingly) been overspending our budget, we came to the very difficult decision to do no tours or expensive trips, and just entertain ourselves with the free trails and treks that were in and around the town.I was very keen to do horseback riding, as I`d never been on a horse before and seeing as Argentina`s the home of the gaucho and all......but it was not to be.However we contented ourselves with three days of seriously prefessional lounging around, reading in cafes whilst drinking hot chocolate and snacking on the gourmet chocolate that Bariloche is (also) famous for.And man is it good!I had to tear Janelle away!We also explored the greater area of the town and did a few (free) treks that were recommended to us.One of these took us up Cerro Campanario, a steep but short climb up a dusty trail that can be reached by ski lift but we decided we needed the exercise and tackled it head on.It ends in one of the most spectacular views ever, and I`m really not just exaggerating here.National Geographic declared it one of the top ten views worldwide.Ever!We`d heard this claim beforehand and were dubious but it really is something.A permanent cafe on the summit allow for gorgeous views all around of the surrounding lakes, mountains, rivers, islands, valleys, gorges and just about every scenic geographical feature you can think of.We, again, had the place practically to ourselves, and spent a good two hours sippng cafe con leche and staring dreamily out the window.I`m not sure about its title but it IS very probably the most amazing view I`ve ever seen, and that`s saying something I guess.
Another day we busied ourselves with an easy 3 hour trek through some dense forest and (strangely) a plethora of bamboo groves to a `Secret Lake`that we had, again, all to oursleves.We picniced at its shore and took numerous
photos of the area before we headed back to town.We pretty much did everything we could that was free, and to be honest we didn`t mind it too much.It was nice to just relax and kick back after so many days on the move, and I think that we certainly needed to, whether it was deserved or not.
In fact, the only real money we spent in Bariloche was on food.To be honest, the two of us are pretty bad once we get hungry and its nigh on impossible to not eat out.But we consoled oursleves with the fact that we deserved it seeing as we`d spent nought on trips and such.So our first night we feasted on Chinese, after coming across our first Asian restaurant in a month of travelling.Our second was leftover Chinese (from Janelle) and tasty baked empanadas from a great cafe across from the hostel.And our third nght, which was to be our last in Bariloche aswell as Argentina, we decided to try the parilla, an Argentinian favourite of spit roasted meats.For this we headed to Tarquino, a kooky restaurant built of wooden logs that has a full size tree growing in the centre of its floor that reaches right up and through the roof.Its entrance is a heavy wooden door that is circular in size and resembles the doorway to Bibo Baggins house. Truly original.The food inside was delicious and I washed down my meal of roasted pork lamb and steak with a draught of Argentina`s finest, Quilmes,while Janelle had chicken skewers and juice.It was a fitting meal to the end of our jaunt through this fine, wild country.We`d tangoed in Buenos Aires and been soaked by the waterfalls of Iguazu.We`d hiked beneath awesome mountain ranges.We`d stood before the true giant of ice that is the Perito Moreno glaciar and marvelled at the desolate beauty of the Patagonian steppe.We`d seen whales and penguins, elephant seals and guanacos, condors and foxes.We`d travelled the length of Argentina and seen it as a vast wild,desolate country, from city to port, from resort town to isolated village.We`d tasted it`s local treats, the tasty empanadas, the thick grass fed steaks, the Italian influenced pizzas and pastas, the continental breakfasts and the superior chocolates.We drank its teas, coffees, beers wines and mate.We experienced as much as one can in such a time and enjoyed every priviliged moment.We left the next day, heading west to Santiago Chile, safe in the knowledge that new horizons lay ahead of us and that with them were more experiences to savour.We left happy and tired.

Bariloche remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Peurto Madryn

2009-03-19T21:06:46Z

If i remember correctly I left off at the end of our stay in Calafate.We had arrived back from Chalten after hiking the Fitzroy range late in the nite and woke late enough the next day (most hostels have you check out by 10am, so late would be 9 or so).We had nothing much to do but pack our gear and saunter down to the mainstreet to do some souvenir shopping.Janelle picked a hat and a fleece but I wasn´t too bothered, though her stuff was quite nice.Anyway, we had nasty day of travelling ahead of us; a 4 hour bus ride to the port town of Rio Gallegos on the east coast of ther country and then a short stopover before an 18 hour ride north up to another port town on the coast, Peurto Madryn.So all in all, 22 or so hours of butt numbing boredom.Now, as I´ve said before, these buses are equipped pretty well, with plush reclining seats, balnkets and pillows, tv´s, and snack/food service.But no matter how you try to soften the blow, its still 20 hours sitting on a bus.In Argentina they break down the seats according to comfort (and respectively, price); semi cama, which is a bare bones seat, much like you´d find on any airliner.These do recline but they´re quite cramped, so sleeping on them can be very difficult.Then there´s cama, which are much wider and softer.These do the same but that extra width makes ALL the difference.And then there´s cama total, which are as wide as cama but recline 180 degrees, fully horizontal.These are the ones you want!But, of course, at a price.We tend to stick to cama if its available because as backpackers its hard to justify the luxury of cama total )tho we did splurge once before).
Anyway.I won´t bore you with the details of the journey, long as it was.We made it to Peurto Madryn about lunch time the day after we´d set out.This resort town is, in itself, not anything exceptional, but its popularity owes much to its proximity to the nearby wildlife sanctuary of the Valdes Peninsula.The main attraction here are the southern right whales, which make the sheltered bays around the peninsula their home for up to six months between june and december.This is for the express purpose of birthing their calves and nourishing them in relatively safe waters, before returning to the Antarctic for the rest of the year once their young have gained enough weight.Its an amazing spectacle, as up to 1200 whales a year can make the area their home for the time and sightings are almost gauranteed.
Once we´d found our hostel and checked in (very nice, The Hi Patagonia;double room with a fridge AND a tv), we set about......chilling out.Tired as we were we took it easy, did some minimal exploring of the town and booked a tour for the next day.We were picked up along with a group of other backpackers and driven straight to a lookout point about 20mins from town.Right there, not 30 feet from shore were between seven to twelve of the whales, playing around in the sea sticking their fins and tails out of the water and whatnot.They´re quite ugly beasts actually, the traditional whalelike shape in apperance but they have a very blunt front end that is usually covered in stone looking crustaceans that attach to the whales for life.Difficult to get good full shots of the creatures bar the usual half fin or tail sticking up.That or their continous blowhole expulsions.Once we´d all taken our fill of photos we were herded back onto the tourbus for another 40 mins of bone jarring driving to the actual park entrance, where we disembarked again to pay our entrance fee and had a quick look around at the few exhibits on display, including a complete reconstuction of an entire young males skeleton, that had washed up on shore intact a few years ago.
We left soon enough and drove further into the park, which covers almost the entire peninsula.Our guide pointed out a few of the other animals on offer, roaming freely through the grasses; tall elegant guanaco, a distant relative of the llama and some large Patagonian hares, the size of dogs, squatting in the dirt.By this time we´d arrived at Peurto Pirimide, the only town in the park.This is where we donned bright orange lifejackets and headed out to sea in the hope of catching some more whales in their element.It took some time but once we´d motored out past the sheltered bay and hit the choppy open seas, we weren´t long in sighting some whales.Our captain took us in as near as he could without disturbing them too much, while everyone clambered over to the side of the boat that offered the best view, snapping away like mad.But what with the movement of the sea and the whales breaking the waves at inconsistent periods, it was, again , quite difficult to get that perfect shot.We lost sight of these ones as they dived to lower depths and caught track of a few more and powered over to their location just in time to watch them dive.Foiled again!At this stage we headed for shore and ate a quick lunch before continuing on to another location;the elephant seal colony.
Again, once we´d arrived we trailed off the bus and headed down the wooden steps to the beachfront, where, behind a low protecive barrier, lay maybe two dozen elephant seals, all in various stages of lazing around.I mean these things are chilled out!They lay there enjoying the sun, the males the biggest, up to 2 tons, while the smaller females fed their small dark pups from their exposed underside.They were pretty impressive, but you couldn´t help just wanting to get closer to them, or to see them move around a bit.The most they´d do was flip some of the gravel up from which they´re lying on onto their bodies with their fins, or maybe let out an occasional high pitched yelp.These southern elephant seals are the biggest in the world, and come to the Valdes peninsula for the same reasons as the whales.But we left them feeling little underwhelmed.
Back at the carpark however we noticed a commotion and hurried over to check it out.A group of tourists had formed a circle around something on the ground and peering between them , we saw a hairy armidilloe being fed scraps from a Japanese man.The armidilloe was entirely unafraid, scuttering between the legs of us while he chased bits of food around.I suppose he was used to all the attention as tour after tour would turn up here daily.We took a few pics and boarded the bus to head to our next destination; the penguin colony.
Just a few mins up the road was a stopoff where a relatively recent penguin colony had arrived only seven years before.Up to two thousand of them live here, the Magellaninc Penguin, which is small by Emperor Penguin standards measuring only a foot and a half off the ground.They were again cordoned off by a low fence but luckily their burrows were only a few feet away which made for some excellent close ups.We even caught one guy sleeping standing up!Very, very cute.
With that last stop under our belts we headed back to town, another hour and a half away.We had considered going on another tour, to a place called Punto Tombo which is apparently the biggest penguin colony outside of Antarctica, with 700,000 in all.But money and time conspired against us,and we were told that one tour was much the same as the other.So we decided aginst it and bought our tickets for our next port of call, Bariloche.Unfortunately the bus didn´t run til the next evening so we spent the next day downtown, killing time window shopping and drinking coffee.We did see more of the town itself, which wasn´t so bad and we also had time to check out the seafront´s boardwalk, a pier which stretches out far to sea.But we were lucky enough to catch some whales coming right up to the end of the pier, so close you could touch, a mother and her calf I think.We got better shots then than we had on the boat.In fact, the whole seafront was full of whale activity, fins and tails everywhere you looked it seemed.We counted at least 12 of them.Oh well, we had to leave and catch a bus.Another overnighter to another destination, Bariloche, 17 hours away.

Peurto Madryn remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

El Calafate and El Chalten

2009-03-19T21:08:06Z

Right.Where was I?Oh, yeah.I left off at our departure from BA.Well, basically what happened was this; we had booked a flight from BA to El Calafate down in Argentinian Patagonia weeks before we left for South America.We´d heard flights fill up quick and we had already decided to fly down as the only real alternative was, you guessed it, by bus.Now, as comfortable as these long distance coaches can be, we really weren´t keen on a 42hr bus journey.I mean 42 hours!Man, we´re getting bedsores from the seats at this stage!Anyway, nite before we leave we book a taxi to the airport.Smart move you may think.It was.Only we booked it to the wrong airport.You see, there are 2 airports in BA, the one that deals mainly in domestic flights, and the one that deals mainly in international flights.Stupid us, we assumed our flight, being a domestic, left from Jorge Newbury, whereas we found out, after we´d arrived, that it was actually leaving from Ezeiza International!Anyway, suffice to say with that with a 50 (US)dollar fare in it, our driver tore through the morning rush hour and got us there in half the time.We made it.Barely.Never been so happy to board a flight.Even Janelle with her fear of flying had a smile on her face.Didn´t last the lenght of the flight tho...
And so, 3 hours later we find ourselves approaching Calafate airport, a hokey one runway outfit stationed about 15mins outside the town itself.The view from the plane was one of a vast, unbroken stoney grey landscape, the Patagonian steppe.Though not in of itself ugly, just... empty.And cold.We stepped off the plane shivering, peering out at our desolate surroundings taking it all in.I loved it immediately.Patagonia.The almost mythical land thats inspired travellers, trekkers, climbers and an outdoor clothing company.First impressions were good.
Calafate is a prime stop on the gringo trail for those with a love of wild remote landscapes aching to try some serious hiking, trekking or just plain soaking up the views.And does it have some views!Perched on the edge of Lago Argentino, the turquoise coloured lake that boasts the lower end of the Andes as its backdrop, the town itself consists of an almost random scattering of buildings and streets, mainly unpaved.Indeed, the main road into town seemed to be the old runway from an earlier airport!It seems half the hotels,hostels and restaurants are still under construction, while the other half are recently finished or awaiting improvements.Indeed, the whole town has the air of being unfinished, looking from afar more of a remote settelement than a well planned tourist stop.Its only when you get to the well paved main street that you see all the flashy stores, every second one selling outdoor clothing and equipment or souvenir t shirts and hats.It strikes you then what it is reminiscient of; a ski resort town.And yet somehow it manages to combine these two seemingly opposing characteristics into a town that remains charmiing in its one way.
Anyway, we were here for one thing.Well, mainly one thing; The Perito Moreno Glacier.Located in the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, about and hour and a half away from Calafate, this 60m high monster is the main reason to be here.It´s deep blue hue and jagged peaks are astounding, as is the fact that its one of the few glaciars in the world that is not retreating.5kms wide and 30 kms long, this enormous river of ice is known to advance up to 2 metres per day, making for some amazing scenes whenever huge chunks of ice shear off its face and cascade down into the icy lake that surrounds it.Seeing as its generally considered low season in South America, we almost had it to ourselves.A series of catwalks and paths let you get up close and personal and we paid an extra few pesos for a boat trip up to its face, there to fully appreciate its sheer size.Just being near it was an existential experience, as was patiently waiting for a huge splash as a chunk of ice calved from its face (it never did happen).
So, that was the glaciar.The park also contains a variety of wildlife indiginous to the area, but we never saw more than a few condors circling overhead.And maybe a Patagonian hare somewhere.We spent a quiet afternoon in our hostel and decided almost on the spur of the moment to visit El Chalten, a village 4 hours north of Calafate.Reached by the semi paved highway that is Ruta 40, Chalten is a small (pop. 500) village set in a beautiful river valley that is home to the stunning snowcapped Fitzroy range.We´d heard the place closes down in the low season but were assured this wasn´t so.Just that very little is open.But the hiking there was supposed to be amazing.So we packed our bags and hopped on the coach.
Chalten makes Calafate look like Buenos Aires.It is small, unpaved, dusty, remote and totally underdeveloped.And it is absolutely charming.Like a farming outpost in some Swiss valley, it nestles between two towering walls of rock next to a river of ice pure water.Green fields and the nearby mountains complete the scene.But it is remote; no ATM, no general store, no hospital...Hell, I wasn´t even sure if there was a doctor in the village.But stunning.Worth the bouncy bus ride here alone.
We quickly dumped our bags in the only hostel open this time of year (dorm rooms only) and set about lunch.Which was hard t find.But after checking a few likely looking places, only to be met with blank stares, we were finally directed to a nearby cafe (everything here is nearby).We feasted on pollo milanesa, which is chicken breast in breadcrumbs, served as a sandwich.And what a sandwich!One would have been enough for both of us, and we were starving!So we packed the leftovers for our hike and set off.
We didn´t have time to go too far seeing as it was already lunchtime and some of the recommended hikes are up to 7 hours long, so we decided on a 5 hour hike to a nearby glaciar ( I know - another one), Glaciar Grande.It was semi cloudy day, but the sun was strong when it was out.But is was also cold.Once we left the relative shelter of the village the wind picked up and we could see how the fierce Patagonian winds got their reputation.We hiked on, passing nobody for the first hour, up hills and down valleys.Through gnarled forests that wouldn´t been out of place in Mordor and by streams cold enough to deliver hypothermia.The water is pure enough to drink so we did just that, filling our canteens once emptied.We crested a large hill that looked down another river valley and got our first glimpse of our destination - a faraway glaciar, and at its foot, a glacial lake.It was semi cloudy day, but the sun was strong when it was out.But is was also cold.Once we left the relative shelter of the village the wind picked up and we could see how the fierce Patagonian winds got their reputation.We hiked on, passing nobody for the first hour, up hills and down valleys.Through gnarled forests that wouldn´t been out of place in Mordor and by streams cold enough to deliver hypothermia.The water is pure enough to drink so we did just that, filling our canteens once emptied.We crested a large hill that looked down another river valley and got our first glimpse of our destination - a faraway glaciar, and at its foot, a glacial lake, Lago Torre.It took another 90 mins to get there.We scrambled up the crumbling rocks and stone that made up its terminal moraine and were hit with some serious winds that prevented us from hanging around too long.After Perito Moreno though, this one wasn´t too impressive.But the lake at its base was almost completely frozen and when I climbed down to take some shots I could hear the ice sheets crushing and melting against each other.Very cool.We stayed less than 5 mins and headed back to the warmth and comfort of our hostel.Absolutely exhausted we ate and slept soundly.
The next day though, was a winner.Up early and reasonably rested, the sky was cloudless and blue.Perfect hiking weather.We´d chosen the main hike for our second day - another 5 hours (that turned out to be 6) along the base of the main mountain range and within sight of the two biggest and visually most impressive peaks; Cerro Torre and Cerro Fitzroy.We got a taxi to the start point ( a round trip of the hike would´ve taken 10 hours) and stopped along the way to take shots of some of the most amazing scenery I´ve seen, ever.The peaks covered in snow against the bluest azure sky seemed to loom out at you, seemed unreal somehow.And we hadn´t even started yet!Anywhere else in the world and this trail would´ve been packed with walkers, but here we were at 10 in the morning with nobody else around.Amazing!
The hike started off easy enough, then started to climb up the side of a forested valley, with a river far below and the ever present peaks in the background.The same gnarled trees sheltered us from the UV rays of the sun.We hadn´t hiked for more than an hour when we reached the first lookout point of Fitzroy.Seen from afar, the 3441m spire resembles a shark´s jagged, triangular tooth rising out of the gumline that is the Fitzroy Range.Flanked by Poicenot on its right, the mountain peak is immediately distinctive and always awe inspiring.We hiked on to the next lookout, about a half hour away.This one had a head-on view, so we could easily make out the entire edifice aswell as the glaciar underneath and the glaciar lake underneath that.With the sun out in force and the sky stil without a cloud it made for a postcard qulaity photo.
Seeing as we were basically doing the trail backwards we had seen the main sights first but there was still so much more.As we moved along the valley at the base of the range we got ever different viewing angles of the peaks and soon enough Cerro Torre (3128m) came into range.Though initially less impressive than Fitzroy, Torre is still an awesome sight and its sheer face makes it a serious task for climbers willing to test their mettle.Indeed, the whole range has some of Patagonia´s toughest climbing.
We trekked on through an ever changing landscape, though always with those mountains behind us.More rivers, lakes and stone, all under the blue sky.The weather never failed us once and at times it seemed like too good to be true.Anyway, most of those pics are up on my Facebok site for your viewing pleasure.I strongly recommend you take the time.
We left for Calafate late that evening, but still managed to capture the mountains as the sky turned pink over them.We passed by wild Patagonian horses, roaming the steppe in loose herds, emaciated but free.We even passed by flamingoes.And we stopped for cafe at a midway estancia, or outpost.These really are outposts for the gauchos that live out here.This one, La Leona, had been a hiding spot in 1905 for none other than Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ( and his wife Ethel Place ), after they had robbed the Bank of London and Tarapaca in Rio Gallegos.They apparently spent a month here, and were only recognised by the owner afterwards when he was shown their mugshots by the local Policia.So they claim anyway.
We spent the next day or so taking it easy, met with some friends of Janelle´s and eventually booked tickets to Peurto Madryn, a port town on the east coast of Argentina that was 22 hours away by bus.But I´ll write about that later I guess.

El Calafate and El Chalten remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Buenos Aires

2009-03-19T21:08:52Z

Hey all,

Right.If I can remember correctly I left off with our stay in Iguazu Falls.Which was AWESOME.Well worth the travelling time etc etc.The pix speak for themselves I think.Anyway, our next stop was Buenos Aires, the port capital of this fantastic country.But first we had to get there.
This required a bus ride.But no ordinary, hour long commute into the city centre from whatever suburb of Dublin you call home.NO, this was a wee bit longer...
Twenty two hours, to be exact.BUT!This is Argentina, where they have a very, very different transport system to the one we experienced in Brazil.They have well paved highways for example.But fortunately for us, the biggest and best difference was the quality of the long distance coaches.We splashed out (the exchange rate at the moment is very good, about 4.5 Arg pesoes to the euro- another reason I love this counry!) and went for the cama total, or the fully reclinable, leather lined, wide as a fat American´s ass seats.These things were luxury!On a scale unknown in Brazil, anyway.Included for the 200 or so pesoes were individual flatscreen tv´s, full drinks service, full dinner and breakfast service, pillow and blanket , air con, etc etc.Nice!Just the thing to spend all those ass numbing hours on the road.Perhaps the films were crap, the food not too much better than airline food, and we did have to watch a fellow passenger spill her guts for next to an hour, but these things still couldn´t dampen our enthusiasm for such comforts.
Anyway, arrived in BA about 7 in the morning.First impressions at that early hour were of a large, grey city of no more or less colour than any other capital in SA (or Europe to be fair).However, once we located the nearby metro and found our sleepy selves to our accommodation in the heart of San Telmo (the tango mecca for travelers) we perked up a bit.Seeing as it was sunday we were urged by our friendly hostel guide to make a dash to the nearby antiques market for a bit of sightseeing and haggling, as its only open on the weekend.We refused and went to bed.For a few hours anyway.Once refeshed from a few hours extra kip and a much needed shower we did head down that way to the usual fare; stalls both indoor and outdoor, hawking wares such as the ubiquitus leather caps, belts and wallets that Argentina is famous for (this is, after all, prime cow country), the cup shaped gourds with which the Argentines continually swig their much-beloved mate tea from (the yerba, as its called, is a green weed that apparently has effects much like caffeine - not too bad actually) and all the usual traditional fare that one finds in such countries.Down winding streets bathed in the afternoon sunlight we strolled, finding yet more stalls, hordes of bustling tourists and locals all accompanied by the sound of local musos playing their guitars and accordions.
That was day one.Days two and three saw us catch the major sights that you have to see because they´re there, regardless of your own personal preference.So, we took in the Obelsico, the Plaza de Mayo, the Congresso building, all manner of fountains and statues.Nice, but not so different from any major capital city.BA is surpisingly European in its architecture, or maybe not so much, as it was founded and developed by the Spanish and Italians way back when.In fact, most of the food on offer is distinctly Italian, with pizzas and pasta dishes EVERYWHERE!NIce for a day or two, but SO unhealthy.The other main dish is, of course, steak.Mmmm.SO tasty!Rightly famous and served in portions to frighten even the most ardent fan of hard core beef.Definitely to be tried either way.
We also managed to take in a morning in the Recoleta, Ba´s main tourist attraction and surprisingly, free of charge.This attraction is a high walled cemetary in the heart of the swankiest area in uptown BA, home to the bones of some of Argentina´s most famous rich and celebrated.We found it relatively deserted, and had ample time to take in a multitude of lavishly ornate and monstrously overwrought sarcophagi.Statues of angels, cherubim, soldiers, and even dogs adorn these impressive tombs, and of course crucifixes of all shapes and sizes complement these immense structures.The site is dotted with some well kept fountains and many verdant trees providing plenty of shade to sit in and contemplate the mysteries of Life (and Death).Tombs of every shape, size and design are to be found here - from the simple, squarish blocks of granite to towering pillars recalling ancient Rome or Greece.There´s even a pyramid of sorts.It really has to be seen.A definite list tick-off!
After spending the rest of our second day catching up on sleep and just lazing about the hostel, we left it to the third and final day to see what most will instinctively associate with the city of BA - the sensual, flamboyant and distinctively erotic Tango.Of course, such a show is best seen at night, so we lazed away another sunny day at the green parks of Palermo, just sitting at cafes sipping Cokes and watching the locals (portenos, so called ´Port People¨) jog, roller blade and stroll by.Nothing more could entice us at this stage...We were planning on a 3 hr tango lesson followed by a show but we went for the whole package in the end, just to save time and hassle.Tango lesson, 3 course meal with free drinks (alcoholic and non) and a show lasting just over and hour, detailing the evolution of this reknowned dance over the course of five periods.Well, let it be known that I, as an Irish straight male, do NOT dance.Unless drunk or very. very happy.Or both.So, the first part of this package was, for me, as appealing as it was daunting.Not knowing quite what to expect, we got picked up by a transfer bus at about 7 in the evening.Following a few more pick ups, mostly couples from England or Ireland, we were dropped off at a local dance hall, or milonga.Greeted on arrival by the instructor, a young porteno woman with good english and a sense of humour, we were quickly ushered into the hall.And the lesson began.With gusto!
We were quickly shown the basic moves, how the man holds and leads the woman, guiding her movements with his chest out in the typically arrogant manner of the Tango dancer.Next was the basic 4 step - back, left, forward, feet together.Then the 8 step.And so on.All to the sounds of the traditional tango songs, and all in time (in theory).We had the fun of switching partners every few mins, so not only do you embarress yourself in front of your partner, you get to do it with any number of strangers who happen to be nearby.Anyway, suffice it say, it WAS fun, it wasn´t too hard, everyone had a laugh and we all even learned a bit.Maybe with practise.Maybe...
Well, that ordeal over, we all headed up to the main hall, for, in my opinion, the main event.Not the show - the dinner!Heh, and it was SWEET!Well worth the money we had paid.Starter of carne empanada, a beef pastry common in Argentina, followed by a WHOPPER of a steak about 2 inches think and the size of, oh, I dunno, Donegal!Needless to say I finished both, but not without a serious effort of will (Janelle managed half).Then a dessert of ice cream or something, I´m not sure.Anyway, fully satisfied and nicely mellowed with the beer they poured (it comes in one litre bottles and they leave it at your table in an ice bucket, like wine) we sat back and awaited the Tango!
Hmmm...how can I really, truly describe the scene?I probably can´t, but just imagine 3 pairs of impossibly well tailored dancers, the men in suits, the ladies in all manner of tight dresses, doing all manner of moves to a live house band.Lights flashing, dry ice smoking, music beating out and limbs akimbo....You get the picture...Very impressive, very professional, very sexy.The ladies were dancing between the tables at one stage and took some of the men up to play with...I was one of the lucky ones!!Hehe.Got a nice pic to prove it too.Anyway.It was cool, wicked, amazing.Better than expected, and in a city where every hotel and hostel offer similar packages, it really stood out.Or so I´d believe anyway.Bottom line - if you´re in BA, catch a show!
So, that was BA.We checked out the next day and waved goodbye to a city I had no expectation to enjoy, but did so immensely.Worth it!Pity our flight down to Patagonia wasn´t as enjoyable.Lets just say we made a majorly stupid, rookie mistake and didn´t check our flight plans properly.And Buenos Aires has TWO airports......

Buenos Aires remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Rio to Iguazu

2009-03-19T21:10:11Z

Hola de Argentina,

Sorry I haven`t written b4 this but its just been so mad acclimatising to this place

the food, the language the madness etc.I did post up a link to a blog on the first

few days we spent in Rio on my Facebook (its in the about me section) but we`ve

done more than since then.Anyway, for those of you not on Facebook or not

bothered I`ll give you a quick summary.Landed in Sao Paulo at 5am, got crazy taxi

to hotel, slept.Did minimum of exploring (its a BIG city)and woke early to catch a

6 hr bus ride to Rio de Janeiro.Nice scenery, weather was beautiful, we thought it

couldn`t change.It did.Whole 5 days spent in Rio was overcast if not downright

wet!We did get lucky enough the first day to go hand gliding in one of the few

moments of clear dry weather.It was class!Scary at first (when you run at full tilt

off a cliff face with a man who keeps telling you its his first time too!), but it

becomes very relaxing very quickly, almost serene.Great views of the city, its

favelas, the beaches etc etc.Defo recommended!

In some ways, tho, it was a bit of an anticlimax.We spent the next 4 days in

raingear muttering about crap Brazilian weather.Well in fairness,now we can see

why its low season.We did have fun tho.Checked out the local area, managed to

enjoy a few drinks watching a reggae band up in the hills of Rio at nite.Did tours

of the local gardens etc.We did see Copacabana and Ipanema beaches, but

they somewhat lose their appeal in the rain when there`s no one around but

the homeless and hawkers selling local touristy crap.Oh, and we took a tram up to

Cristos Rendentor, or Christ the Redeemer, the 30m statue atop a large hill

overlooking the whole of Rio.As such, its become the icon of Rio, even the whole

of Brazil.And we saw ...nothing.It rained.There was heavy, heavy fog and cloud.

The statue itself we could barely make out in the absolute pissings of rain.Heh,

couldn`t have picked a worse day to go, but unfortunately, it was our last

and we had no choice.So we left Rio with a less than ideal view of the city.But,

one thing you can enjoy, rain or no, was the food.They serve a selection of bbq

meats on large pointed skewers, one after another.Beef, chicken, steak, pork,

sausages, different beef, more sausages, a spicy type of pork, a nicer cut of

steak, they just keep coming up to your table and offering it to you.And seeing

as you pay a flat fee at the door, its all you can eat.Nice.This type of meal

is known as rodizio, and it is very popular here.And bearing in mind, this is all

on top of the usual Brazilian buffet fare, rice, black beans, farofa, etc.We spent

our last nite indulging in this, washing it back with the local Choppe beer and

caipiriniaa, the famous Brazilian cocktail.Lots of rum and sugar mainly, but man

is it strong!We were warned b4hand by a British backpacker who swore that

2 of them would be enough to send you on your way.And sure enough, halfway

through her first one,Janelle turned white and had to take a break.SO nice tho!

You wouldn`t believe something so sweet would be so lethal.Anyway, we

continued drinking more of them back at the hostel, but not many more!

Right!That was Rio, or a brief summary.We then took a 22hr overnite bus ride

to where we are now, Peurto Iguazu on the very outer edge of Argentina.It was

nasty!Cramped seats, noisy passengers, and a broken toilet whose reek increased

exponentially as the ride wore on.They did show an English version of the

Incredible Hulk tho, which neither of us had seen.Funny enough, it starts off

in a favela in Brazil!Weird.Anyway, the bus ride went on and on, and we slept,

and woke, to find us still on the bus.And son on.Anyway.We reached the

Brazilian town of Foz de Iguazu at 6am.Weary and cranky and cramped, we fell

off the bus, caught a local bus to the main terminal, which transferred us onto

another bus to cross over into Argentina.The main attraction in this area, the

reason we put ourselves thru such an ass numbing journey is the world famous

and world class Iguazu Falls.275 individual waterfalls, fed from the absolutely

huge Iguazu river, plunge hundreds of feet into the abyss creating a permanent

roar that can be heard from miles around.These waterfalls, or catarats, happen

to lie on the borders of 3 countries - Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay.And as such

there are 3 cities built up respectively to deal with the numbers of tourists who

come here annually - Foz de Iguazu in Brazil, Peurto Iguazu in Argentina and

Ciadad del Este in Paraguay.But apparently Argentina have the best views, right up

close, and the better developed amenities in the Iguazu Parque Nacional.Hence

our destination.Anyway, suffice to say we crossed over the border tho we literally

had to walk from one country to another as the bus that dropped us off at the

border station wouldn`t wait for us.Bastardoes!Much to the amusment of the

armed border gaurds in Argentina...

So, yesterday we spent at the falls.And it is AMAZING!So much better than we

could have hoped or expected.We got sunny blue perfect skies too, for the first

time, which just added to everything.Boardwalks thru jungle, wild Coatis walking

alongside us, tropical blue coloured birds flying overhead, lizards everywhere...

It was beautiful..We took a train at one stage, to the main falls, Gargantan del

Diablo, or the Devils Throat and a ferry boat over to San Martin Island to get

closer to the falls.Everywhere we were covered in huge amounts of spray, and

everywhere there were rainbows rising out of the mist with the strong sun out

in force.Of course we took hundreds of photos and plenty of video.And we`re

off back again today to do some more trails that we missed yesterday.And after

that, another bus ride to Buenos Aires, tho we hear the transport in this

country is far superior to Brazil (Thank God).Anyway, must go, ppl waiting to

use thenet as alwyas in these hostels.Feel free to write and keep in touch.I`ll

keep writing anyway!Later, adios amigos!

Rio to Iguazu remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Sao Paolo and Rio

2009-02-24T22:29:41Z

Right, this is my first blog so you´ll forgive me my basic blogging errors.So, we´re here now in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, the weather sucks and thus I have time to write.Anyway, I´ll give you a brief summary of whats been going on so far.
Hmm, ok.Well, after the usual hellish flights (all 13 hours), I managed to touchdown in Sao Paulo international.So far, so good.Passport control hadn´t given me a once over and I hadn´t managed to get mugged yet.Unfortunately Janelle´s flight from Toronto wasn´t due to land for another 5 hours after mine!At this stage I´d been up almost 24 hours, having had very little sleep on the plane on account of being sandwiched between two less than fresh smelling Brazilian men.Nice!Anyway, I managed to stumble around the arrivals hall, ordering tasty cappacinos and jealously gaurding my backpack lest some opportunistic thieves sneak something away while my back was turned.Well, after an age of waiting she got in, as frazzled as I was.We quickly got a taxi to our hotel on downtown Sao Paulo (or Sampa, as the locals call it) and on the way discovered that driving in Brazil is akin to an extreme sport, albeit one which we´d failed to realize we´d signed up for.Our driver even rear ended some poor big Brazilian woman right outside our hotel much to her surprise and dismay.Out she popped with much Portuguese curses (I can only guess).Luckily, there was nought but cosmetic damage and she allowed us on with a shake of her head.First impressions of SP are hot, impossibly large, poor, crazy.All of which you´d expect.
Anyway we got our room, slept for hours, ate local food (you pay by the kilo, and just heap what you want on a plate from the buffet - very tasty and very economical) and slept some more.I was a little more affected by jet lag that Janelle due to me crossing a couple of time zones while she had a pretty straightforward flight from TO.
The next day was straight to the metro, working out where to go and arriving at the large bus terminus in Tiete Station.We booked onto a fairly comfortable coach for the 6 hour drive to Rio and killed some time in the nearby internet cafe.Brazilians have this strange habit of requesting your passport no at every turn, even when ordering food it seemed.Anyway.The ride to Rio was not uncomfortable;we had nice reclining seats and they even gave us a carboard toy bus filled with snacks etc.Sweet!Nice scenery along the way too; lush green fields, impossibly blue skies, multi coloured shanty towns, large ornate churches.We had one brief stop during which the driver made some announcement in Portuguese.Seemed we´d have to take a detour for some reason.And so we did.We left the main highway some time later and found ourselves traversing winding backwards dust roads in no name towns somewhere deep in the overgrown jungle.Nice sights tho - more impressive then the now boring side of the road on the main highway.However, it did add on an hour and a half to the journey, by which time we were numb, tired and a little cranky.Our arrival in Rio was by nite, so all we had time to view was the hills lit up by streetlights and the heavy, heavy traffic of the main roads.I must point out that we had arranged for a driver from the hostel in Rio to meet us at the station due to the seedy and very unsafe nature of the area.And so, arriving late, we were sure he´d have left ages ago.Not so!We were greeted by a smiling Brazilian man holding a Brazil Hostel sign.What a relief!He took us past a snaking line which was for the local taxis which was longer than you´d really want it to be.And so he took us to our hostel, past the darkened favelas, the street kids on corners playing football in near dark, the Maracana Stadium where the local futbol matches are played.We arrived, greeted by 2 smiling girls and shown to our (for the plave) luxurious double room complete with fan.
Anyway - Rio.Rio is big.6 million or so people call this home.Rio is hilly, surrounded by sheer cliffs looming out of the early morning cloud.Rio is loud, fun, mad, bad and dangerous.Our hostel is proud to boast that only 41 ppl staying there in their 5 year history have been mugged!Hmmm...Crime is a real problem here, and you don´t take anything out with you that you can´t afford to lose.You´re recommeded to bring a special wad of cheap notes with which to hand over in the event of a mugging.How´s that for a friendly welcome.Anyways, we´´ve had fun here, and relaxed a bit as the days go by.We´ve lept from Pedra Bonita hill (at 591m) attached to nothing more than an A frame held together with strong canvas and worringly frayed ropes.My instructor kept saying it was his first time too.Cheers!We spent the nite drinking the local cocktail, caprihainai, a very strong mix of rum and lime, not unlike a mojito, whilst watching a reggae band play in a corner up in the picturesque hills of Santa Teresa.We also whiled away an afternoon in the Jardim Botanica surrounded by tropical plants, flowers, trees, bamboo orchids, monkeys etc.And we´ve been caught in unexpected but by no means unseasonal rain showers for the past 2 days, scuppering our chances of relaxing on Copacabana or Ipanema beaches and spending the day ppl watching.Ah well.We´ve another day here after this one, and we´ve yet to witness the splendor of Cristos Rendento (Christ the Redemor) and the Sugar Loaf (Rio´s iconic landmark hill, reached by a precarious cable car).And after that....ugh.....a 22 HOUR bus ride to The Iguazu Falls, on the border of Brazil and Argentina.Not looking forward to THAT I tell ya.I´ll be back in touch after I have more news and happenings here in South America.Enjoy.

Sao Paolo and Rio remains copyright of the author Janelle_B, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs