Travel Blog

We're in the final month of our trip, and have some creature comforts for the first time in months! It's lovely to be simultaneously warm AND dry! Last time I wrote was from La Paz; highest city in the world. An amazing place but reeeally cold. The mass of street vendors, food sellers, street performers and colourful toys and tat which crowd the sidewalks gives it the appearance of a fairground or festival, and there's always something roasting on an open grill! The discovery of duvets and hot water in our hostel caused much excitement, but any chance at rest was scuppered by hundreds of marchers celebrating the independence of Bolivia/inauguration of La Paz (no one really seemed to know what they were celebrating). From nowhere, the roads were filled with perfectly aligned baton-twirlers, orchestras and people in suits. All very classy.
We spent our day exploring the endless souvenir shops selling everytihng you can imagine which can be crafted from llama and alpaca wool, and then dived into the witches market to peek at the sacrificial items sold to offer to Pacha Mama. Llama foetuses, fake dollar bills and soapstone figures are offered along with coca leaves and alcohol to ensure good harvests and weather. They weren't too pleased with tourists gawking, so we bought chocolate covered strawberries on sticks as a peace offering and scarpered!
We met our friend Matthias in a lovely little bar where men played Buena Vista Social Club on echoey guitars and drank some amazing Bolivian wine. Who knew Bolivia made wine? Who knew it would be good?! Claire felt tired so went home once the salsa started, but Matthias and I found the locals getting hammered all along the main road which had been pedestrianised, and makeshift bars set up all along the street. Women stood over bubbling cauldrons of milk with rum and té con té (there's a long more than tea in that one), and we sampled something from a few stalls, ended up making friends with some locals, and were singing and falling off our stools by the end of the night. Walked home as the sun started to come up, and were once again rudely awoken by the marching bands!
The three of us set off to Uyuni after a hectic day of souvenir shopping and hard bargaining, and arrived at the crack of dawn in a place which seemed to be made entirely of dust. It was freezing. We got thrown out of a restaurant for giggling when the waiter appeared to have nothing on the menu at breakfast, then found a much more accomodating place which actually had food. The only reason you'd want to come to Uyuni is to visit the salt flats, and pretty much the only reason you'd want to visit the salt flats is to take hilarious perspective-bending photos of you eating/standing on your friends. Which we did. Seriously though, the salt flats are an incredible sight; white nothingness which burns your eyes stretches to the horizon without interruption. It splits into hexagonal 'tiles', and salt is flung into your eyes by the strong winds. We were glad we'd made all those alpaca purchases the day before!
We left Uyuni on our second consecutive night bus (can't get enough) and made our way to Sucre. No bus journey would be complete without an anecdote of frustrating incompetence, and this was no different. At Potosi we were required to change buses, yet were presented with fat disgruntled taxi drivers with huge wads of coca stuffed in their cheeks. 10 passengers to get to Sucre, 2 taxis. After much confusion, arguing and rearrangement of baggage, we were separated from Matthias and driven the two hour journey along the windy snow-covered roads. I was wedged between a mother & baby and a sleeping man, and was actually quite comfortable. Woke up holding said baby. Confusing.
Sucre was a blur of café lounging, city wandering and market eating. Matthias attempted to teach us the European way of lingering for hours over a coffee, which we failed miserably at. We ate fruit salads in the huge chaotic market bustling with ladies shouting their wares and kids begging for spare change. We ate fruit salads at stalls laden with fresh fruit, and were each bought a beautiful red rose by our lovely companion. While in Sucre we watched two harrowing films; The Karate Kid (so bad it's good) and The Devil's Miner, a German documentary about the silver mines in Potosi. As we were visiting them the next day we decided to watch it, and emerged a couple of hours later shaken and nervous. Basilio, the 14 year old subject of the documentary, spends 6-12 hours a day 2km away from daylight boring holes for dynamite, for $2.50 a day. So, we got all remorseful and white-guilt-y, and spent the next hour in a nice cafe bemoaning how 'unfair' the world is.
After sleeping in an actual bed (even if it was made out of a centimetre of foam) and haivng an actual (cold) shower, we got on a bus to Potosi, ready to explore the mines but pretty scared about it! We arrived in time for lunch and ate in a market, washing all the rice down with 'Simba', a flourescent green drink which tastes like apple sours. Mmm, food colouring and e-numbers. Our tour into the mines began by buying gifts for the miners from the market. Coca leaves, refreshments, which included 96% proof alcohol. Ouch. We got suited up in sexy orange jumpsuits complete with helmet, torch and utility belt, the drove up to the mine, an imposing mound with houses dotted all over it. The entrance to the mine is covered in llama blood from previous sacrifices, and requires ducking over to walk inside. An hour of ducking and wlaking is hard work, and I constantly banged my head against the stone roof and icy stalagtites. The cold air got warmer and dustier and smelled more like sulphur until we heard shouts of 'trolley! move!' and had to duck into an alcove and hide. Everything got hotter and sweatier. We stopped to meet Tio, the devil who controls the luck of the miners. He is scary. A big rough sculpture with tiny evil eyes and broken teeth. And, strangely, a huge phallus. We offered him some alcohol and a cigarette (devils have bad habits) and moved on deeper into the mine. Our relief at smelling fresh air when we turned around and got closer to the entrance was palpable. Matthias had bought some dynamite to explode, so we diffused the intensity of the experience with a hilarious game of 'pass the lit explosive'. Funsies.
Our next destination was Argentina which meant leaving our new best German friend (like a puppy, he needs constant attention), so we had a final meal of the biggest pizzas we've ever seen and headed off to the bus terminal.
We got an overnight bus to Villazón and stumbled out clutching our leftover pizza at 8am. Bought onward bus tickets with dollars as neither of us had enough money (we obviously didn't learn our lessons about always being prepared at Brownies), then got our stamps and walked across the border to La Quiaca. As usual, border towns suck and are full of meanies, but we had cold pizza to console ourselves with.
The first thing that struck us about Argentina is that no one speaks Spanish. They tell us they do, it's written everywhere, but every word that comes out of their mouths is entirely unintelligible.. full of 'j's, 'che's and other confusing sounds. Just when we'd got kind've good too!
After months of hearing how wonderful the buses are in Argentina we got our first cama (bed) bus to Salta. It was ok. Looked kind've like a boat inside -- lots of polished wood and loud prints. The difference between Bolivia and Argentina was dramatic, much more European and obviously more wealthy. Also, people were blonde! Café culture is incredibly popular here, so our German crash-course came in handy! Each drink is served with little biscuits, orange juice and carbonated water.. having a coffee is like a ritual, it's lovely. We spent our first night in a cafe off the main square lingering over hot drinks and trying to blend in with the locals -- mostly old men in chinos and neckerchiefs putting the world to rights. Some things are similar to Bolivia.. it's still cold, we still sleep in our sleeping bags, and we still eat dulce de leche for breakfast. For the remainder of our time in Salta we pedalo'd in the park, wandered round some art galleries and ate in an awesome traditional restaurant which served the best empanadas we've ever had. The waiters (all old men) wore gaucho pants and cowboy hats. AweSOME!
Our next stop before Buenos Aires was Rosario, place of Che Guevara's birth. We saw the incredibly huge Monumento Nacional a Bandera (huge obelisk, huge fiery torch), continued our café culture lessons, and watched some salsa. The best thing about Rosario? OUR HOSTEL HAD HEATING! I slept warm for the first time in two months.
Our excitement mounted as we got on the bus to BA the next morning. We were going to see Cecilia again! As always, however, the bus devils were to have their say. Half an hour in, one of the window hatches blew off the top of the bus, and required three men shouting and wielding screwdrivers to fix it back on again. After an hours wait we set off again to cheering and applause.. 150 metres down the road, the other one blew off. After two hours of waiting and the consumption of all our emergency secret snacks (defies the snack pact code but is ok in times of crisis) we were offloaded onto another bus and arrived in BA three hours late. After a hefty ripping off from our first BA taxi driver; 'no, we don't use the meter on sundays and it's twice as expensive' we found Cecilia and settled in a hostel. We spent our first night eating middle-eastern food and watching a jazz funk band with a few bottles of Malbec. Civilisation! Heating! Incredibly beautiful boys everywhere! Danced home singing reggaeton classics in Spanish, resolving to buy new clothes to fit in with the unfairly beautiful people who inhabit this city.
We spent our first day sightseeing in the sophisticated Recoleta barrio; Eva Perón's grave in the huge cemetary was a little disappointing, but some of the crypts are amazingly ornate, covered with sculptures of angels, stained glass, and complete with ladders down to the coffins below. You wouldn't want to be there at night! That evening we went to see Bomba del Tiempo, a group of percussionists who make amazing sounds out of a huge range of instruments, accompanied by guitars, singers and people who play little thumb-instruments. Apart from the circle pit (why doesn anyone want to make a circle pit?!) it was an incredible experience. Another incredible experience was the standing ovation we received for walking into a bar.. while a live tango show was in session. Being three blonde girls (Claire has relinquished all hopes of auburn) in BA has its advantages!
Our wonderful and amazing friend Alex gave us the use of his apartment while he was in Mendoza, so the three of us moved in the next morning, squealing with excitement and toting supplies. It was beautiful; a lovely glass-topped dining room circled by adjoining bedrooms, a bathroom (with BATH!) and even teenier kitchen. We were in heaven. Spent the next few days seeing all the sights.. the huge colonial buildings, the old metro with wooden carriages, the terrifyingly huge road with 16 lanes of traffic.. all interspersed with luxuries like salad, submarinos (hot milk with a bar of chocolate dropped in) and shopping. A trip to La Boca, the working class (and therefore scary) neighbourhood, saw us getting a bus to a patch of waste land, only to be threatened by an old lady who told us that taxi drivers would cut off our heads. Later, we discovered that this is a euphemism for being ripped off, but luckily we escaped with heads intact and wallets too. The Camioneta is a block of beautifully painted houses with lots of art and boutiques. We watched some free tango and drank submarinos in a cafe which used to be a brothel. We love brothels. We went on pub crawls, met lots of lovely people, went to the ornate and gilted Café Tortoni (one of the oldest in BA), and before we knew it it was time for Cecilia to fly home to Sweden.
We had a decadent final meal of 400g steak and amazing wine, then a huge night out which didn't finish til the sun came up. Then Cecilia had a flight and we had to volunteer with children. Not the best timing! Volunteering took us out to the villas (slums) outside of BA. It was pouring with rain which meant that not many kids turned up, but the next day was beautiful and teeming with children. Claire felt ill so had stayed behind, so I navigated the metro alone (scared? me?) and had a lovely day helping kids colour, make birthday cards and play chess. The community centre they've built is right outside a huge half-built and abandoned hospital which people now live in. You can see the flowerpots and washing lines through the unfinished walls. A chaotic scramble for cake, a dog fight under a table, and some lovely hugs later, we were back in the van and I was reunited with Claire. We cleaned the apartment, made brownies for Alex's return, and slept our final night in the apartment of dreams.
This morning we moved to a hostel and are back in San Telmo (the historic district) for an antiques fair. It's a beautiful day but nothing except the market is open as it's sunday! Only three weeks til we come home now.. not long til you won't have to read these interminable blogs!!