Leak

Brass bands (banda de música) are a big feature here in Sucre. I was disturbed by one of these while in my room just the other day: a rag-tag group of gentlemen, not wearing any kind of distinguishable uniform as is customary.

People were throwing buckets of water out third story windows as they stumbled drunkenly down the street playing your standard marching band tune, albeit intermittently. I took a quick snap of these guys as they passed by. It was not until I reviewed the photo that I caught of what else was going on in the street. A moment not unlike that which David Hemmings experience's in Blow Up, you might say.

Getting grifted in Potosi

I say grifted because it sounds more romantic. As I said before Sarah and I had been feeling sick and grumpy when we arrived in Potosi, and this was the shortest bus ride we had been on since arriving on this continent (a meagre three hours). The town was brown, brown, brown and grey. The odious and very infamous Cero Rico (the cause of millions and millions of Bolivian deaths over the last 500 hundred years) loomed in the background.




When we got off our bus a greasy, round-faced man with the moustache of a fifteen year old boy and a grey puffer jacket that looked like a throwback from the mid-eighties (the kind of jacket I have always associated with the Hardy Boys, God knows why) greeted us and asked if we wanted a taxi. We said “no” and ignored him as he followed us around the bus. After we had our bags safely secured (they just chucked them off the bus and left them on the ground) the same guy was still asking us if we wanted a taxi. I flagged to Sarah that we should go with this guy and she, not so confidently, agreed to follow.

Once at the taxi Sarah was not feeling so great about the prospect of going with this driver. She asked me to check if there was a proper taxi sign on the front (which I did) but by then I had already given him my bag and was not in any mood to be getting caught up in details. All I wanted to do was get to the hostel. As far as I was concerned this was just like all the other beat-up pieces-of-shit we had travelled in since being in Bolivia. So what difference does it make? This is a developing country after all. As such we cannot go around pushing our white middle-class, eurocentric view onto everything. These are poor people trying to make a living. Give the guy a break.

About ten metres after we departed we suddenly had a new passenger in the taxi with us. A smiling South American man who claimed he wanted to travel with us to a hostel as he too was a backpacker. He grinned away, from ear-to-ear, and did his best to be affable despite the language barrier. He was wearing a blue jacket, round spectacles and looked “clean and respectable.” Truth be told, it was at this stage that Sarah and I both new we were in trouble but our packs were in the boot and there was little we could do. Neither of us said anything to each other or the driver. Just one nervous glance to the effect of “what the fuck.”

Finally another ten metres down the road a man in a Police uniform came out of nowhere, slowed the car down and asked to see the drivers papers. A second later he was in the car going through what can only be described as a well rehearsed routine designed to shake us up and disorientate us. As we drove of the “Police Officer” asserted his authority on us. He checked our passports scrupulously and then proceeded to search us for drugs, checking for chalk marks on our arms and rifling through all our stuff (including the bag of our colleague with a shit-eating-grin). Through this process we were dumbstruck. Our stuff was being taken out of our bags and then being handed back to us (a confidence move by our men if ever there was one). He would then shout “drogas” and a variety of other things before then going back into our bags to search further. Meanwhile the driver, quiet and unassuming the whole time, took us to some quiet back streets (though we had not noticed and had no idea where we were going anyway, having never been to Potosi). Blue jacket, shit-eating-grin guy played along, keeping proceedings calm with his amiable insistance of “tranquilla” (be cool) and his backing up of the “Police Officer” as a bonafide lawman.

By the end of it Sarah was starting to get pretty upset and then suddenly it was over. The driver had stopped and taken our bags from the boot and, very preciously, placed them up on a wall next to the car. We were free to go and the “Police Officer” had given all our stuff back. We were both so relieved to be out of the car.

Once out they were gone in a second, the street was silent and we stood staring at each other before both letting out a series of expletives. What just happened? They did not take anything. Or did they? Somehow all the shouting and disorientation had worked perfectly. We were now missing an Ipod, our camera and 700 Bolivianos. I had even checked the camera was still with in my bag minutes before exiting the taxi, I thought I had it covered. I didn´t.

The classic thing about this whole episode was that just days before we had spent an entire morning talking with a very lovely English couple about various scams and how quickly these things happen. We debated at length the need to be on guard, but not so on guard as to ruin your whole trip with paranoia. The wisdom from that conversation was clearly lost on me very quickly.
It is also ironic given my past line of work: you would not be blamed for thinking that I should have better presence of mind and/or judgement of character. Looks like the jokes on me this time. At least I have now had some of my naivete knocked out of me. In the final analysis neither Sarah nor myself were physically harmed and truth be told we will now be better travellers for this experience. You do have to be cautious, you do have employ strategies to safe guard yourself. Thanks for the wake up call Potosi.

Another four weeks gone

So I am now feeling like one of those people. The last month has been what I would describe as busy in terms of travel and getting around. When I start listing names, places and faces it all gets jumbled pretty quickly. Somehow a month has gone by and I have not updated A2SAAB once.

Since being in Tarija we have travelled to Sucre, Potosi, Oruro, La Paz, Copacabana, Sorata and then down to Uyuni. Almost two towns a week. Having said that moving around this much is not out of the ordinary for your average backpacker. In the many conversations had with fellow hostel dwellers staying more than three days in one place is often considered overstaying.

Sucre

Sucre is very nice and is a very popular place for people to come and stay for their Spanish lessons. We spent Christmas here with Gavin and Sinead, their friend Kieran (check his related blog here), Anna, Hester and Rachael. On Christmas eve we went on the March of Baby Jesus followed by attendence at midnight mass. Christams day was a really nice day with a potluck dinner shared with all the other constituents of the Hostel (Wasi Masi) plus some extras. In the afternoon I drank cheap wine and talked to some Danish guys about Swedish Hardcore (music, not pornography). In the evening we did Secret Santa (I scored a poncho courtesy of Gavin) . Wasi Masi was also good for meeting Tristan, an American in his early 20's who I could talk to about books. He also took us out on the town one night which resulted in a day-long hangover.

Potosi

When Cheetah and I left Sucre we were in bad moods and were not in the best of spirits. This was our first mistake. Once we arrived in Potosi I insisted we take the first taxi we saw. This was the second mistake, a big one. In this taxi we were “taken for a ride” (in New Zealand law this would have constituted kidnapping) and fleeced of our camera, Sarah's Ipod and 700 Bolivianos. I'll write more on this another time though I will state the obvious and note that this was a horrible experience that has left us with very average memories of the city.

Oruro

The next stop was Oruro for New Years. This was a cool town that was conspicuously gringo free. It is also the town, or region at least, that Evo Morales is from. There was not a whole lot going on in this place however we scored an up-scale hotel(Hotel Houston) for a good price and went to a discoteca for the big night. I was fighting off a bad cold and left early on (soon after the countdown) though was happy to wake up hangover free. It is also worth mentioning that I walked into a tinted plate-glass window at the hotel that night. It was easily the most gumby moment of the entire trip and as such it was met with much laughter. My head was OK, my pride only slightly wounded. Days later I could still catch Anna looking off into the distance giggling at this awesome power-move.

La Paz

With some difficulty we left Oruro to La Paz on New Years day despite being told this could not be done by the hotel manager. Once in La Paz we did La Paz related activities (i.e. travelled to Tiwanaku, listened to other gringos talk about there trip to Machu Picchu, Uyuni, et al). While there Sarah and I picked up a new Canon G10 at the very last place we looked (at that stage we had actually given up trying to find the model). The walk home was very nervous as we were still feeling the affects of the robbery, what with a new camera and all. The best part of La Paz was defintely hanging out with Gavin and Sinead. It was really heartening seeing the two of them being a couple soon to be married. They functioned well together logistically and emotionally. It was also inspiring to hear about Gavin's plans to open a book store and his thinking around that. His measured yet enthusiastic approach to that project is definitely something I can respect. Similar to my mates (James, Pascal and Ben) it is really energizing being around someone that thinks about the future and has creative ideas for it.

Copacabana & Sorata

Once we had departed La Paz we were now down to four: Anna, Kieran, Sarah and myself. The next two stops we made were Copacabana and Sorata. These two places were by far my favourite stops to date. In Copacabana the main church was stunning and the day trip up Cerro was really nice. Once at the top we spent the afternoon looking out over Lake Titicaca, it was a relaxing experience and I felt strangely at peace there. Also, the hike we went took to Isla Del Sol was through well maintained farmland. On that hike the sun was out and everything looked beautiful. The local farmers were warm and never failed to say “buenas tardes” or wave hello. A great day with exception to the major sunburn I sustained. Isla Del Sol was just fine.

Sorata was equally charming. There we stayed at a great place called Hostal Las Piedras which had the best breakfast in Bolivia (crepes, good coffee and excellent muesli), checked out the local grotto, went hiking in the surrounding area which included having a local farmer (as organized through the local tour company) take us to the top of a hill that I forget the name of. At the top was a lake that held special importance to the local campasinos. Our guide told us a story about a couple of gringos going scuba diving in it. One of them never returned and his body has never been found. This part of the trip was also favourable as I had just gotten over the cold from New Years.

Uyuni

The final destination for this leg with Anna was the Salt Plains. We bid farewell to Kieran and headed down. Not much to say about this place. Its charm came from meeting David, an old hippy who had become a bread entrepreneur in Hawaii and was now travelling the world with no real home to return to (nb. thank you Simon Gandolfi). The other charm was getting a vomiting bug on the second day of the tour. The effects of which I am still feeling seven days later. Being violently ill was not with out its benefits, though. At 02.30AM I had to rush out of the dorm to evacuate my stomach of my remaining stomach lining. In the process I made noises and strained muscles that I did not know I had. The sound of air exiting my stomach and the desperate gasping for air lead to hard guttural sounds that sounded like bones breaking and spades dragging over asphalt. But once it was over I stood up looked to the sky and I will say, that despite my discomfort, despite the freezing cold (being some 4000M above see level) I saw more stars in the sky than I ever have before, and ever will again, I dear say. If you ever want to understand where the term “milky” comes from then this is the place. An amazing sight.

Sucre (Back Again)

As for today, Sarah and I are in Sucre trying to get our insurance from the robbery sorted out as well as our laptop. The latter we had couriered from New Zealand in late December. A word to those who are thinking of couriering something to Bolivia: DON'T. It is expensive and difficult in the truest sense. It is expensive unlike anything else in Bolivia; it will make your blood boil. Besides that I just finished Robinson Crusoe and am now wondering what to read next. I end on this note in an attempt to excuse the curt and somewhat taxonomic account of the last four weeks.

Currently we are staying in the amazing hostel, La Dolce Vita, which is as good as the reviews online would have you believe. So right now we are taking the-very-good with the-very-average (i.e diarrhea and Bolivian Customs; strangely these two things go very well together, two peas in a pod).