Biking Sorata with the Dudes from Andean Epics

Most adventure cyclists riding through Bolivia stick to the high-road and miss out on the diversity of the country by ignoring the lowlands to the east. This is largely because some of these roads are a little inaccessible even for tanks like mine and because no-one wants to drop from 4000ms to near sea-level as it would be a nightmare having to climb back up again. Still, there is no harm parking the touring-bike high up in La Paz and checking out the country by other means of transport.

I was interested in going to the Jungle and Bolivia is the country where trips to the 'Amazon' are cheapest. The company Andean Epics have managed to create a really interesting trip to the Jungle that no-one else is offering and thankfully they were cool enough to allow me on board even though they were already full. I would start in the town of Sorata north of La Paz and spend two days on a downhill mountain-bike dropping from 4800ms to the river town of Mapiri at 300ms. This town sits on the Rio Kaka and from here I would jump into a motorised canoe and boat onto the Rio Beni and onto the jungle town of Rurrenabaque over three days. This would be only the third tour of my whole trip; the Jeep trip through Tibet and the surf-camp up the coast to Byron Bay being the other two. Thankfully the group on tour was full of good eggs promising to make the whole experience really enjoyable.

It was a nice luxury to have a Jeep drive me so high up a mountain and to have the benefit of a full-suspension Kona. I was shocked that the alu-Kona with its suspension felt lighter than my steel bike stripped of its bags. We started to drop down the mountain ignoring what looked like some amazing single-track that our guide Travis had built on the opposite side of the mountain. There was an experienced mountain-biker from Queenstown as well as a Dutch former down-hilling junior with us and so it was good fun mixing it with them. To get to the river we did not down-hill on proper off-road, however, the road we were on may as well have been off-road. The road barely existed and the Jeep tracks were embedded into it making dual single-tracks. It was tough on the bikes as well as the two 4x4's trailing us. We spent all day having great fun dropping to the river at the bottom of the mountain. Once at the bottom we were given the option to continue on the bikes up a climb and onto a rolling section for about 8k to our accommodation for the night. It turned out that one of our support Jeeps had broken down and so five of us would have to ride. I was tired but didn't mind as I still had the legs for it. We were losing light but it was all part of the fun in exploring a remote part of Bolivia. You learn to roll with mishaps in Bolivia and end up enjoying them for the spontaneity they add to the experience. Indeed, we eventually biked through a series of streams and made it to our accommodation in the dark only for the owners to have decided not to be around. It wasn't an issue, we simply biked on a little further over a swing bridge and found alternative accommodation for the night in the nearby village. There was a problem though; the Jeep that had broken down had our bags and we were so remote that we were out of cell coverage and could not coordinate things. Working with onyourbike.ie I could only imagine the anxiety going through Travis' head trying to appease clients but such things are likely par for the course in this part of Bolivia, which means he is now used to it. Thankfully, everybody was cool about it and so we went to bed exhausted and mucky but smiling. The next morning Travis put on a great spread of French Toast and Pancakes and we found our bags in the courtyard waiting for us. The driver had somehow managed to find the spare part for his Jeep in a tiny village and had arrived at day-break preferring to sleep overnight in the car as it would have been too difficult to drive in the dark. At last, a Bolivian who did not think that the more dangerous something is the more it is worth doing. We jumped in the Jeep once more to save us climbing a steep pass and spent another full-day riding the dirt-road to the Rio Kaka. The river was in fact below us and so we would snake it to the town of Mapiri. There is huge coca production in this area although the region is remote enough that it doesn't look too cultivated. There is also a lot of gold-mining with huge chunks of mountainside eroded from having been blasted with water to uncover gold. The place is so remote that the police don't come here. The government provides the towns with a Jeep ambulance and they pretty much fend for themselves. This makes it a pretty lawless area with a lot of unlicensed cars driving around. These cars are smuggled into Bolivia via a remote border with Chile near the salt desert. The lack of police also encourages outlaws to live here so it makes for a pretty strange place.

The biking was fabulous. We had spent two days dropping down sheer mountainsides on a dirt-road but all I could notice was the single-tracks on the opposite mountain-sides. While the Incas did not adopt the wheel they somehow managed to create some spectacular mountain-bike trails. At last I understood why Travis would leave bike heaven in Durango (Colorado) to set-up his mountain-biking business in Bolivia. I only saw a small piece of it, there is so much more to explore for the technically experienced biker.

Travis and his good friend Ben operate mountain-bike tours in one of the most amazing mountain-biking playgrounds in the world. For sure, Moab, Colorado, the French Alps, Vancouver and Queenstown are all awesome places for mountain-biking but there is something special about riding pristine trails that the Incas cut into the mountainsides over 500 years ago. The difference in elevation between the high peaks of the Andes and the lush vegetation of the Yungas makes for some crazy down-hilling; you can drop pretty much all day long. They even have scree slopes that drop into single-track creating a really interesting mix of trails for riders.

Travis and Ben are mountain-bike junkies. They are here in Bolivia exploring, building and piecing together trails so that they can share them with other riders. There are a few commercial mountain-bike operators in La Paz who take trips up the infamous 'Death Road' and do rather nicely for themselves. However, Travis and Ben prefer the more raw approach running trips in a more challenging part of Bolivia. It is difficult to operate here but the pay-off is that the quality of the biking in Sorata is clear to see and so much more fun. They showcase the more hardcore trails and continue to explore the area around Sorata and build a whole network of really challenging rides. For people who like mountain-biking Sorata is a must. Once the flights are paid for everything else in Bolivia is cheap. La Paz is a cool city with tonnes of great things to do and so it would be an amazing trip for a mountain-biker to come here and bike Sorata for a week and then enjoy the different sides to La Paz. Indeed, I am surprised that Bolivia is a little off the mountain-biking radar. On paper it is clear that is a special place to ride off-road and as soon as the big guns twig the place will explode. In the mean-time Travis and Ben will continue to enjoy the vast drops and under-biked trails. As soon as Bolivian mountain-bikers make it on the international stage people in the west are going to realise what they are missing out on over here. My guess is that it won't be long before Bolivians hit the mountain-biking head-lines as they should be naturals at the sport - being both mountain-men and totally crazy.

For sure if you are a rider and want to have some fun with guys who just love riding with like-minded people and showing them the trails they have grafted to build, then you need to come to Bolivia and ride with Andean Epics.

I'm still a 'roadie' but having seen what's here I could be tempted to cross to the mountain-biking divide.

Marco   

Back at the Races - Chuquiago Bike Cafe La Paz

My Dutch friends mentioned to me in an email that there was a casa de ciclistas in La Paz. I was six days in La Paz before I found it. This was partly due to the fact that I was busy with my US visa application and partly due to the fact that I googled it incorrectly first time around. I'm not sure why every other cyclist is so clued in but lots of touring cyclists seem to come through here. It is basically a hang-out point; being a place to grab some good food, share stories and access the internet. The cafe's owner, Cristian, is a young guy who is heavily involved in the Bolivian cycling scene being president of the La Paz Association. He decided to stop mountain-bike guiding in La Paz to establish and run the cafe. Along the way he listed himself on a couple of websites such as warmshowers.org. It is because of such listings that touring cyclists know to come here but my thoughts generally float in space so I never think of checking out such websites in advance. Based on my experience here I should make more of an effort to do so.

Anybody familiar with the sport of cycling will know that while it is not a prohibitive sport it is an expensive sport if you take it seriously. There are very few people here that can afford to own and keep a nice race-bike and so the sport itself is quite small. Still, there is an active cycling fraternity in La Paz and hanging out with Cristian in his cafe opened it up to me. It was because of Cristian that I did a nice mountain-bike trail on the Friday from 4800ms back down to La Paz. I hitched a lift up to La Cumbre where the infamous 'Death Road' starts but took another route down the mountain. A very nice Bolivian couple picked me up in their pick-up truck although there was no room for me in their cab. I sat in the back with the bike and enjoyed the views rising up from the city. It was regrettable that I did not ride in the cab as I spotted a Bavarian flag on his rear-window. When I hopped out at the top a brief conversation ensued and I learnt that the driver, like me, had spent a year studying in Regensburg. It would have been nice to have found out what German student life was like back in 1972 versus 1999 when I was there.

It was also because of Cristian that I found the world's highest velodrome at 12,001 feet or 3,417ms. I decided to go along to a track session where there was a small ceremony to introduce the new track bikes that the government had bought for kids to access the sport. I have never ridden on a properly banked track before and so I was quite excited about trying it out. There was an older English man there who had since hung up his wheels but he sourced his track bike for me so that I could ride it. It was a gem of a bike built in 1953, which both fit and rolled perfectly. In a world where everything is now disposable it was a real pleasure to ride this classic. A few laps to get used to the banking and I joined in at the back of a thirty lap race (10k). Deadly fun. Unfortunately the bike was a little under-geared for me and as I could not clip into the pedals I was unable to increase cadence to compensate sufficiently. Thus, I could not get the power that was in my legs onto the track but it was great fun riding around and I tailed in only half a lap behind the winner. This is obviously a very high altitude track. Most European professionals would never come this high for altitude training, preferring to stay at around 2000ms and then train at lower altitudes in the valleys.

In 2007 multiple-Olympic medallist Chris Hoy came to La Paz to break the kilometre and 500m flying-start records. He missed the kilo by 4 thousandths of a second due to windy conditions but comfortably broke the 500m mark. His attempt was a reaction to the UCI removing his discipline from the list of events at the Olympics forcing him to retrain his body for the other medal disciplines on the track. Still, it was a brave attempt coming this high. Naturally the air is thinner here, which is great for aerodynamics. However, it is really difficult for the rider to breathe as the lack of oxygen means less supply of red-blood cells to the muscles. All the hour records at altitude, which are endurance as opposed to sprint events, took place in Mexico City where the velodrome is at 2300ms. This would be considered the best trade-off of increased aerodynamics for decreased oxygen levels but still requires lengthy bouts of acclimatisation.

I forewent my Saturday night out in La Paz in favour or resting up for a road-race the following morning. This was to be a 100k race out-and-back to Huarini from El Alto. I had no idea what to expect as I'm not in racing shape and as I have never raced at 4000ms of altitude. While the touring-bike is a great way to travel I am ultimately still a 'roadie' at heart and have yet to lose my desire to make a race-bike go fast. Needless to say it wasn't a big bunch with only 28 riders, some of whom were on mountain-bikes with tiny cassettes and skinny tyres to make them more competitive. These guys lasted about 30k into the race before their legs spun out from being so under-geared and so the rest of us settled down to race proper. I had three problems to contend with: 1) I had no idea as to what 100k at 4000ms would feel like 2) touring kills one's leg-speed so I was never in a position to be aggressive 3) a small bunch meant that there was no chance to hide and so I would have to work.

As is usual for me my bunch-positioning was really sloppy and so I was not saving my beans into the cross-head wind on the way out. As a result I slipped to the back of the line-out to recharge for later in the race as the accelerations were difficult for me with the lack of oxygen in the air. Naturally, the three strongest riders managed to slip clear while I was at the back and by the time I got to the front of the group we had a fair gap to close. There was no way to close it on my own so we eventually managed to get a chase group going. I was contributing heavily to this but we were only holding the three leaders. Then I realised that a lot of riders were falling off the back and so we eventually ended up with a second group of five riders racing for 4th place not having the man-power to reel back the guys up the the road. At this altitude it is important to drink a lot as the blood gets thicker and so water helps to thin it out a bit. This makes it easier to pump blood around the body - kind of helpful in the middle of a race. However, whenever I took a sip of water I was left gasping as I had missed a breath. The other thing I noticed was that accelerations kill you and so can only last so long on the limit. Not having great leg-speed I took a pop with 1.5k to go. I tried to wind it pretty hard but after five pedal strokes I was out of gas and had to sit back down again. Checking through my legs I saw that everyone had stuck to me. It was a strange sensation as the feeling was not of heaviness from the previous 99k but just that there was no fuel to pump the pistons. Thus, all I could do was react to moves on the finishing straight, which were equally flat. I crossed the line 6th on the road and third in the 'elite' category ... ahem ... even at my best there is no way that I can race elite. It was great fun but I won't be rushing back to do another road-race at 4000ms. That race has suppressed my 'roadie' instincts for another while yet. As ever, two-thirds of the way into the race you realise that racing is bloody hard and that you wished you hadn't started. Many thanks to Cristian for the loan of his cyclo-cross bike and for the lift to and from the race. The ride up and down from the Alti-plano was a little comical as I had to sit behind Cristian on his motor-bike with his bike sandwiched between us. There are lots of Police-men at junctions and the thought never dawned on them that we were being a little dangerous. More proof as to how great this country is.

Once I had another big feed in the bike-cafe I made my way north to the small town of Sorata to do some downhill mountain-biking and join a boat-trip down the tributaries of the Amazon river.

It had been a really memorable few days and if it hadn't been for Cristian and his Chuquiago Cafe I would never have had such fun moments.

Keep well

Marco

ps - the cafe sponsors Ciclismo La Paz - check out the link if you are interested in cycling in La Paz

La Cumbre - 4650msthe highest I have been with my bike - 4800msCristian fixing his track-bikethe dude warming up on his bike built in 1953the race - 30 x 333m lapsat the start of the 100k road-race - El Alto 4000msshot was overexposed but still a colourful pic - the dude gulps air at the back of the bunch

The Long Dull Road to La Paz

Having spent a few days relaxing in the white-washed city of Sucre I made my way back to Oruro to dust off my bike. Sucre is a world heritage site as the architecture in the centre has been untouched since Spanish colonial times. Sucre was a really nice break from the bike as there is not a whole lot to do there. Thus, it was just a case of heading to the market every day for lunch and treats and then to the gringo restaurant at night for some really good food. The gringo restaurant had happy hour from 5-7 except unusually in this case it was two for one the cakes. Thus, I'd head there for 6.30, have two deserts and then settle in for a movie over dinner. The salad was unbelievable, I've rarely had a salad that filled me up so much. In addition the hostel I stayed in was quite a nice space and with blue skies and cool people to chat to I ended up having a really good time. However, the penny dropped that I had the Spanish as opposed to the Bolivians to thank for Sucre and so it made sense to move on to somewhere more authentic. The experience was another reminder that good travelling moments are more a function of the company you are in rather than the place you are in.

I wasn't looking forward to the ride from Oruro to La Paz for two reasons; i) it would mean two highway days just trucking with nothing but tarmac to look at, and ii) I was back on my own again having said goodbye to the Dutch lads. In the end their trip imploded once I left them, which was sad to hear. Tom 1 had a problem with his ankle and so was told to take a month off the bike to heal it. He headed to Lima to chill out with his girlfriend who is doing her masters research in Peru. Wychert, being more a soccer player than a cyclist, had always planned on heading home to Amsterdam to watch the World Cup. Tom 2 was running out of cash and doesn't much like riding on his own. Thus, he could not hang around a month for Tom 1 to heal and so the two Toms decided to park their trip and fly home shortly. I was sad to hear it as they had ridden from the continent's southern-most city of Ushuaia and would have hoped to arrive in the Colombian Riviera in a few months. Unfortunately changes of plan are all part and parcel of long-distance adventure cycling. However, they can always complete the trip at another time.

I rode the final 243k to the world's highest capital city in 26 hours having stopped half-way in a cross-roads town called Patacamaya. As expected it was two-workhorse days of pretty dull-riding trucking at an average altitude of about 3900ms. The only highlight was watching the return of Brett 'The Hitman' Hart to the wrestling ring (Raw Jan 2010) while munching on frankfurters and hamburgers on the main-road in Patacamaya. WWE is such a massive export that it is common to be able to watch re-runs of it in the street here in Bolivia. It was such a surprise to see an 80's wrestling icon back in the ring having had such a bitter relationship with the federation in the past. They killed his brother having literally slammed him into the ring from a height when a stunt went badly wrong. Then, they controversially rolled the dead body out of the ring and the show went on. But hey, that's entertainment and there is no better entertainment than the athleticism of WWE .... especially when tired at 4000ms in a nothing town in Bolivia.

The dull ride into La Paz was made a little nervy by the fact that I would have to ride through El Alto, one of Bolivia's poorer neighbourhoods. In the end I stayed on the main road with all the goddam 'micros' cutting me up all over the place that I didn't have the chance to appreciate my surroundings. As Bolivians don't have much money people rely on public transport with micros being the most popular type in and around cities. Micros are mini-vans operating set routes and they are absolutely everywhere in La Paz pulling in and out with no set-stops. Having navigated my way through El Alto I suddenly stumbled on the most spectacular views of La Paz. El Alto at 4000ms sits above the capital, which lies in the middle of a bowl of mountains. La Paz itself sits at 3600ms and so it was one helluva drop into the centre having stopped to take in the stunning views.

I have been in La Paz a few days now staying in the Wild Rover. I have not done much but for throwing out my stinky runners and buying a new pair. This was an impossible task as while my feet are a normal size back-home they are impossibly big here. Thus, I had to buy the only pair I could find that would fit me. This was almost as impossible a task as buying shower gel ... Bolivians just seem to use bars of soap it seems. I would also prepare for my interview with the US embassy in La Paz in the hope of obtaining a six month travel visa for the US. Everything was against me as when applying for a visa you are guilty of immigration before setting foot in the States and so you have to prove that you are not an intending immigrant. Not having a job, not having a house and not applying in my home country should all count seriously against me but in the end the guy saw the Irish passport and after a quick five minute chat my application was approved. Thus, the saga of the bionic dude continues apace.

Time to hatch plans so

the dude

El Mirador (view-point) above SucreEl Miradorkid running too fast for his capapricot tree in the hostel in Sucrethe bowl that is the city of La Paz

Drinking with the Devil

Potosi - The Cerro Rico - blood raw from having been skinned of silverHaving parked the bike in Oruro I back-tracked by bus to the city of Potosi. This is supposedly the world's highest city at 4000ms and was one of the most important cities in the world during the 16th century, being both the world's richest and most populated at 160,000. This is Bolivia so I can not be certain of facts as they are very few concrete answers in this country but they claim Potosi was bigger than London, Paris or Madrid, which were by all accounts the centres of the universe at this time. When the Spanish arrived in Potosi they could not believe their luck. The Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain) on whose mountainside the city sits would have looked like a mountain of pure silver glistening in the sunlight. The Spanish set about carting as much of the stuff as possible back to Spain, so much that it is said that they could have built a bridge from Potosi to Madrid with pure silver. As the Indios were so resource rich one has to realise that they did not place the same value on its worth. A good trade for an Indio back then would have been an ounce of gold for a pretty bird feather; birds being in short supply at this altitude. Still, the Spanish realised what the mountain was worth and intensively mined it with the help of African slaves. The Indios, unhappy with the degree of forced labour the Spanish were imposing on them, protested. The Spanish decided to solve the problem by inventing a God seeing as the Indios were so superstitious. They instructed the Indios that if they didn't mine the mountain that the God (Dios) would kill them. As the Quechua alphabet did not contain the letter D the God became known as El Tio and assumed devil-like qualities. Thus, for hundreds of years the miners have been worshipping the Devil in that they make offerings to him so that he may be generous to them with the minerals and spare them their lives. Inside every mine is a shrine to El Tio and if the miner suffers misfortune or dies then it is thought that he did not make enough offerings to him. Such has been the intensity of the mining that the Devil has eaten alive 8 million men inside the Cerro Rico.

I find it amazing that the mountain is still standing. It has been intensively mined for almost 500 years and must have an awful lot of veins running through it. The addition of regular explosions of dynamite inside the mountain must put its natural structure at risk, however, for a city that was built on mining what else is there? Thousands of people work the mine but the mountain is not mined exclusively by one corporation or co-operative. Instead there are many co-operatives and the miners can choose to work for a co-op or rent air and machinery from the co-op and work for themselves. The result is that there are lots of mines and the severity of the job depends on what you sign up for .. not that mining is ever easy work.

My date with the Devil started on the wrong foot. Having asked the gringo where the best hostel was I checked in at 7pm. The conversation with the guy at reception went as follows:

"Ah, you are Irish so you like to drink?"

"eh ... well, I do drink"

"Good, so you are coming out with me and some friends later"

"eh ... okay" I said, erasing any thoughts I had of going to watch the 8.30 showing of the movie Armoured.

So I headed out with four Bolivianos for Friday night to the local bar. We tucked into Limonada Caliente, which is good stuff depending on how strong they make it. We lost one guy (my tour guide) to a bunch of average looking Bolivianas (he had no luck) and the other drunkenly to the bar downstairs. Thus, we three remaining moved on to the local rock bar where the gringo doesn't go because there is no sign and so they don't know about it. I was warned that I might be made to feel unwelcome but they obviously don't know how Irish people back home can stare if you look like the wrong sort in a pub. It was in fact me doing the staring; it's hilarious seeing Bolivian guys with mascara, long hair, grizzly beards and surplus army jackets. Six hours later with Juan falling asleep on the couch to the tunes of Pink Floyd we decided to call it quits. I did my best to defend the gringo but I didn't have much of a leg to stand on. They generally have no time for them finding them to look always down their noses at Bolivians. Working with the gringo is a necessary evil. I have no idea why they invited me, a gringo, out at all but I'm always happy to go with the flow and especially if it means talking in Spanish. Thus, it was with a heavy head of Cuba Libre that I arose the next morning for my date with El Tio. Bolivians don't drink at their own pace, every glass is drunk 'seco' (dry) and together. This makes nights a process of elimination. Having Irish blood in such situations is definitely a good thing.

My tour to the mine was a hungover but pretty intimate affair, which is usually a good thing. It would only be Oli and I with our tour-guide Juan. Oli is on his year abroad from university in Nottingham where he studies Spanish and Portuguese and by all accounts has an easy time of things. He is not expected to attend university here, rather just spend a year in a Spanish and Portuguese speaking country to improve his language skills. He will have to produce some small reports but other than that he is free to roam as he pleases. It begs the question as to why one would go to university at all to study languages. Instead of wasting three of my four years in Dublin studying German I could have skipped university altogether and spent a year of my life in Germany, France, Spain and then somewhere else, thereby getting a much better grip on four languages and the culture of the countries. It certainly makes more sense to do it this way than study them remotely from home. Of course, no regrets ... I had a ridiculously good time in college with most of my closest friends coming from that period. Still, I remember little in terms of the academics, which is the fundamental flaw of modern day education.

Anyway, Juan used to work down the mines himself so is on good terms with all the miners. Such familiarity is great on tours as the gringo is included as opposed to having to look on from the outside. As I mentioned above there are two ways of mining this mountain; one to join a big mining co-operative where the risks and demands are higher but the wages more stable and there are half-wages if one was to have an accident and not be able to work the mine any longer. The other alternative is to work it yourself renting equipment and air from the co-operative. Air costs 80 bolli an hour (nine euro) so it is not cheap to work for yourself. Pugslay (33) and his brother (24) work the mine together and by all accounts have a straightforward time of things. They work four hours a day to reduce the risk of silicosis and generally come out of the mine every hour for a breath of fresh air. Silicosis is the biggest killer of miners as once the dust gets into their lungs they are more or less guaranteed to die within the next few years. The result is that a lot of miners die before they are forty leaving a widow and young children struggling to make ends meet. The result is that the eldest boy of the fallen miner may then work the mine to put bread on the table for his mother and siblings. Naturally when working for yourself you determine the level of risk you are comfortable with and Pugslay seems to do alright for himself. The miners that live longer are the ones who work for themselves just slowly chipping away at the mine and selling it on direct to the processing plant. In the bigger mines there is division of labour and so a form of brotherhood exists amongst the different labourers making them more hardcore. The guys at the end of the mine drilling are working for 8 hours or even a double-shift in the midst of a huge amount of dust as they bore through the mountain seeking rich veins. It is suicidal by all accounts. Naturally the bigger the mine the more people there are working and the more traffic there is using the tracks through dark and narrow tunnels. Wagons of minerals are virtually running-away from their drivers and if you can't get out of the way you die or are maimed. This is a third world country so while health and safety is appreciated the economic realities are appreciated more. Nobody wants to die from mining but it happens ... an awful lot.

As for Oli and I, we were having a grand time of things thinking that this mining business wasn't such a big deal after all. We went about 600ms into the mine to the end of the shaft climbing up one level to where Pugslay and his brother had been working all week. We set about preparing the mine for the next week's work. This basically involved lots of joking, getting drunk with the devil on 96% proof alcohol, planting eight sticks of dynamite, legging it and then getting even more smashed while waiting for the explosion and the dust to settle.

If you were us you would think that the reasons miners don't live too long is that they get wasted far too much and chew way too many coca leaves. The coca leaf is of course the raw material for cocaine and if chewed for over forty minutes reduces both fatigue and hunger. Useful if you spend all day down the darkness of a mine-shaft. Processing the coca leaf with chemicals to produce cocaine is illegal but the Bolivians grow lots of coca and it's a traditional and medicinal herb here by all accounts. The US take issue with coca production in their war on drugs and so there is a lot of animosity between Bolivia and the US in terms of coca. The US wishes to stop cultivation in an effort to curb production but the Bolivians supposedly grow more than their pre-agreed acreage with the international community. Being a socialist country there is always going to be animosity with the US.

Alcohol is dirt cheap in Bolivia and can be bought practically pure in tiny, small, medium and large bottles. Thus, if you can't afford beers you just buy the pure alcohol (and mix it). Miners are not rich and are not going to cart bottles of beers into mines so they drink these bottles of alcohol straight for the energy and buzz. We must have done 10 rounds of shots with the miners each time splashing some on the ground as an offering to El Tio to be generous to them with the minerals. In the world of darkness El Tio reigns, above the ground in the world of light the Pachamama (Mother Earth) receives all the worship. This is Bolivia and while the Spanish imported Christianity their beliefs are more pagan or are a diluted version of Christianity which is inclusive of their traditional Indian beliefs.

Having carted a week's mining worth of minerals from the darkness to the world of light we decided to visit the processing plant with the miners. The processing plant receives the raw mineral and crushes it. They then make lots of small samples to send off to the lab to determine the quality of the mineral. The quality determines the pay-out to the miner. This process is relatively straightforward and the miner may get his money later in the evening. Of course, during the crushing process we had to drink beer making offerings to the Pachamama that they would be fortunate in having good quality minerals. A process which should take no more than half an hour ended up being a three hour booze-up. The processing plant is stocked with beers in understanding the 'superstition' of miners.

Oli and I had nothing better to do so we had a great time hanging around drinking with these guys. It was all very macho stuff but at the end of the day Pugslay and his brother were going to clear between 3000 and 4000 bolivianos for their rocks. Split two ways that makes between 165 and 220 euros each for a weeks work. This is not bad money at all in terms of providing for a family in Bolivia. However, one must realise that in a mountain where there are not too many minerals left that it is more or less down to luck (or the generosity of el Tio) as to the quality of the minerals they mine. This week may have been good, hence the celebration, but next week may not be so rewarding.

It was a crazy experience to be sitting deep inside a mountain. It was even crazier to be drinking pure alcohol with the devil. While there is a big difference between how Pugslay and a co-op mines, being a miner is both hard and dangerous work. When walking bent over through the shafts you become uncomfortable due to the heat, the dust, the lack of air and the darkness. Naturally, sitting in a mine for a couple of hours getting smashed is a little bizarre but it's even more crazy that people do this to provide for their families. How can doing something so risky be good for one's family?

Back in the world of light I was left to wander around town hammered. It's always fun being tipsy in the middle of the day when everyone else is sober ... or in the case of Bolivia, more or less sober.

Life is great!

Marco

ps - photos from the Potosi mine are up in the gallery

drunk with the devil. Juan's cheek is stuffed with coca leaves.

Into the Wild - a Desert, a Volcano and a Meteor Crater

Uyuni is home to the biggest Salt Desert in the world extending across 10,582 sq kms. It is also the world's biggest reserve of Lithium, which in the modern world of mobile phones and laptops is quite something. The president has renounced foreign corporations the right to extract lithium from the salt flats. This means that he is sitting on his hands wondering what to do with it. One has to realise that Bolivia has truly been pillaged. There were huge deposits of silver here, which the Spanish simply stripped and in recent times there have been large land losses (natural resources) to Brazil, Chile and Paraguay because the Bolivians were too poor to win the war even if they fought. Suspicion of foreigners extends to the gringos and while Bolivians are really friendly and very humorous one does hear comments such as 'this gringo isn't so bad' etc. Thus, the more you know about the people and the culture the better your time will be here as you are a lot more sensitive to their beliefs and frustrations.

From the gringo's perspective the Salar de Uyuni is just a crazy piece of geography. The town of Uyuni is full of tourists embarking and disembarking on their 4-day jeep tours across the salt desert and coloured lagoons. It was a bit of a shock seeing all the gringos again having cycled through a lot of isolation to get there but it was great to hook up with the Dutch crew. Matt from California would end up taking a jeep tour but Wychert was already there waiting for the two Tom's to arrive. Their plan was always to cycle across the salt flats and they were very generous to invite me along for the ride. Every now and again when travelling on my own I meet great people who seem happy to take me under their wing. The Dutch were not only cool but all three spoke perfect English such that conversation with me never seemed like an effort.

There was a little apprehension in terms of undertaking a bike ride across the desert as a lot of reports suggest it to be very difficult to navigate. In addition the ride off the Salt was not going to be an easy one and while it's fun to go on an expedition one does not want to make life overly difficult for oneself. In the end it was a real bonus to have met the Dutch guys because alone I would have just accepted that the ride solo across the desert would be too dangerous. With their impetus we managed to do enough research to suggest that it wouldn't be a problem at all. Thus, we stocked up with enough provisions for three days with a reasonably good understanding of what lay ahead but still with a little apprehension as to what the salt would be like. The plan was to bike 80k west from Colchani to the Isla Incahuasi in the centre of the Salt and then bike north to the Volcano to exit the salt. During the rainy season the salt is a lake resembling a mirror. It is an amazing sight but the water would make camping on it impossible. During the dry season there is a sheer white sheen much like snow contrasted with intense blue skies. Naturally dry salt is a lot easier going on bikes and would enable us to camp. Thus, after the bumpy ride to Colchani we rode onto the salt. It is a busy enough place with all the gringos in their Jeeps. In the end it was a cinch to navigate because there are mountain-peaks all around and so you just aim between peaks using jeep tracks as confirmation. I was expecting us to have to navigate a blind horizon but this wasn't the case at all and if we ever got stuck then we just had to head north to the Volcano which is always visible. As we were four the cycling was a lot more sociable than is usual for me. In such situations the tendency is to have a lot of breaks for chats and so we failed to get to the island on the first day although we pulled up only 6k short with it well in sight. This was a blessing as it allowed us to camp in the middle of the flats without any obstruction to the views. There was a worry about drunken Jeep drivers crossing the desert at night and driving straight over our tents with us inside but there was no need for us to worry at all. It is a pretty crazy and fun thing to camp on the salt but Bolivia is just this crazy and fun country, so it was in keeping with the experience. Having said that it was bloody freezing. I'm not sure how low it dropped but minus mid-teens would be about right; the white salt reflects the sun and so only the rays of the sun itself can provide warmth. It is only when camping at altitude when the temperatures drop that one appreciates how the Incas worshipped the sun. Lying in the tent waiting for the sun to rise so as to warm us up taught me a lot about the Pachamama (mother earth) and how the Incas saw the sun as being the source of all life. It is what gives us and the land the energy and light to live and grow.

Day two to the volcano was a fun affair as we had plenty of time to make breakfast at the island and talk to the care-taker who keeps a book of memories only for cyclists who ride across the desert. Apparently only cyclists are allowed to camp at the island. We chilled out enjoying the views of crazy cacti which is obviously a bizarre sight in the middle of a salt desert. We then rode the 40k north to the Volcano stopping to practice the art of perspective (see photos). It is a really fun place to ride as there are few places in the world where you can freely steer your bike in any direction at any time without fear of incident. We stopped in a tiny farming village just off the salt for almuerzo (lunch) before getting back on the flats to take the Eastern route around the mountain so that we wouldn't have to ride up a big hill. While salt is not good for the mechanics of a bike a bigger problem in this part of the world is the sand. Anybody with a motorbike knows how annoying sand is to ride through. One doesn't have enough power on a loaded bike to churn through the sand with the weight bogging it down. Control goes out the window and so you inevitably dismount and have to push using all your strength. We did this for about an hour before calling it quits. We were still in view of the volcano and the flats and so it made for a nice camp. I havn't been one for the one-pot wonders on the camp-stove until now preferring to stop in towns and eat there but in the middle of nowhere one has no choice and with temperatures dropping as fast as the sun it makes sense to cook some warm food. It was great having the Dutch guys for company as camping on one's own is not that much fun. Still it wasn't about beers and sing-songs around the camp-fire as it was too cold to be out of a sleeping bag once the sun dropped. Twelve hours in a tent is long time but the cycling was so exhausting that it was normally nine by the time I crashed out to the world of dreams. The only affect the altitude was having on me was my dreams. They were more crazy than normal in a bad bizarre kind of way. Thus, nights were restless as I shut down one bad dream after another with semi-consciousness.

Packing up our camp we had about another hour of hard riding through sand before we got onto somewhat better terrain. However, we were delayed when witnessing some Bolivian craziness. Two cars came from behind one dovetailing right, the other left at a fork. There wasn't really a road to the left and this car was flying. We stopped to comment on how he had almost lost control of the car before Wychert noticed the cloud of dust to suggest that he had. We pedalled on to the scene to see a rolled over people-carrier facing the wrong direction. We couldn't believe it ... he had managed to roll the car. Now there was one written-off car and seven people outside of it who had somehow managed to escape through the sun-roof or back window. A quick whiff for the smell of gasoline and we set about trying to help whatever way we could. Tom tried to ring for an ambulance only for no-one to pick up the emergency line. He finally succeeded. The rest of us tried to help but in fact there wasn't much we could do. The four kids were a little bloody and were wailing from the trauma but they were all mobile. The driver was fine with only a bump on his head. The mother was okay too. It was just the father who had blood all over his face. I have some first-aid knowledge but I have never had to use it. Thankfully a lot of it is common sense and so you just work through the pieces. He was conscious and although he was trying to faint due to the sight of blood he was okay. The screaming kids were keeping him conscious and it was just his mouth and leg that were the problem. He looked worse than he was and so thankfully we just had to sit it out without too much drama until the very dodgy ambulance came. They carted the family to the local clinic and left the driver there. He made us overturn his car so that he could drive it again. We had turned our backs and suddenly we heard the car radio come on. It was a bit comical but he was trying to start the engine. He had no concept of how the ignition might spark danger. He was convinced he could drive it back home. We convinced him otherwise. Anyway, we had to leave him be promising to find his wife in the town so that he could be collected. It was only amazing that nobody was seriously injured. It was a Toyota but these cars are all altered to make them more affordable. There were no air-bags and you can be sure that they were not wearing seat-belts. What happens next I have no idea. For sure all the bottles of beer lying around suggest he was drunk at the wheel. He managed to put a whole family in hospital and had written off his car which I guess the bank owned. Coming from a tiny town I am pretty sure he will be in for a hard time.

The road from Salinas was good fun with lots of unopened sections of asphalt and a meteor crater along the way; not exactly something one sees every day. We would eventually join the main road to La Paz and with a fair amount of time-trialing we would make it to the industrial town of Oruro after a couple of days on asphalt. It had been a brilliant week of expedition riding. The biking was hard-going but the great company made it all very easy. Meeting the Dutch was definitely a blessing for me and only for the fact that they had all explored Bolivia the month before with their girlfriends did I let them go to back-track by bus to other parts of Bolivia to experience some of the touristy stuff. I have only two days more biking to La Paz and from there Cuzco lies another 700k away. It would be great to meet them up the road but I was very fortunate to bump into them at all. I met Tom in Mendoza before I had even set foot on a pedal in South America and it was by a bizarre turn events that I bumped into him again at all.

Much obliged to Pachamama for providing us with such an unbelievable week of cycling.

A comprehensive batch of pics from the week are posted in the gallery.

Chat soon

Marco

UyuniTrain CemetarySalar de Uyuniriding to the setting sunthe dudeVolcano Co. Tunupa (5400ms)meteor crater - now cultivated for quinoathe dudes (Wychert, Tom, Tom & his dudeness) on the knack in Pazna by the main road to La Paz

"Who are these guys?"

If I had of known how hard the ride from Tupiza to Uyuni was going to be I probably would not have done it at all. I do very little research preferring to ride what I see with the knowledge that I have enough equipment and provisions to see me through any mishaps safely. That for me is adventure cycling. However, if I had looked into what lay ahead of me then I would have known that the route I was about to undertake was the 'death-trail' of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. This was the route they undertook to carry out their last heist. The crime duo had fled to South America due to the chase of the Pinkerton Detective Agency (FBI). Legend has it that they heard of wages being delivered by mule to the Aramayo silver mine near Huaca Huanusca, which they believed to be worth half a million dollars. Thus, they set off from Tupiza to rob the miners' payroll before it was delivered. Having succeeded they headed to the town of San Vincente two days ride away for cover. On arrival they found lodgings for the night only for the owner to turn them in by giving up their location to the captain leading the chase. There was a shoot-out and both Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid met their end in San Vincente. That's was 1908 and how the story goes. The bodies of the two outlaws were exhumed in 1991 by a team from the US but they were unable to conclude that they were in fact the bodies of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Apparently the body of Sundance Kid was that of a German; Franz Zimmer. It is hard to know what happened next but locals believe that one of the gringos turned the gun on his friend before turning it upon himself. However, their aliases can supposedly be tracked back to Patagonia and other places after the shoot-out, which suggests they lived out a long-life.

Regardless, having watched the movie I was aware of the town of San Vincente and I knew I would be passing the turn-off for it at some point on my route. It was too far out of my way to make the trip to the town itself but having started the ride from Tupiza I very much felt like I was back on my horse again as I rode through river-beds, across ridges and through canyons. It was beautiful terrain although I was still clinging to the hope that Bolivia was on a high-plain as opposed to the rolling hills I was experiencing. There is 700ms of difference in altitude between Tupiza and Uyuni but because Bolivia has not been mapped properly the details of the route are sketchy. My Reise map seems nothing more than a suggestion as it is not too accurate at all with incorrect distances and roads in the wrong places. It looked like I would have to climb to over 4000ms but what the climb would be like I had no idea as the topography of my map was in wide 1000m bands. Unfortunately the Bolivians are not much wiser. The general practice is to ask five people and aggregate the answers ... unfortunately this only confuses matters as you now have six different answers. The only decent indication is to ask how long it takes to get there by car but the greater the distance the more varied the answers. Three hours by car can be considered a full-day on the bike. Nonetheless one never reckons on being taken to the brink as was the case for me this time around.

I started the day badly from Tupiza. I had decided to buy breakfast in town and I got them to make some sandwiches for lunch. Being Sunday everything opened a little later than usual which delayed me. I then took the wrong road out of town only advancing further because the people I asked confirmed I could cross onto the correct road a few kilos out of town. I did not realise that the cross they meant was a river crossing. All part of the fun in Bolivia I guess. I had decided to take the road to Atocha as opposed to the train tracks which some cyclists have taken before me. Once on the right road I was having a great time of things. I was on ripio but it was as good as ripio gets; bad but consistently bad. It was hard-packed and so I was confident of making it to the town of Atocha which lies 100k equidistant between Tupiza and Uyuni. Passing through the town of Salo I could see the road lifting ahead. No bother, it looked like a gentle 200ms of elevation. It was, but around the bend was another ramp and then another and then another. I have never climbed a mountain with so many false tops. If was fine for a while as I was aware that I would have to climb over 4000ms but the riding was made doubly hard by the gale in my face. The wind was robbing me of half my speed and half my balance. It was very tricky riding. Naturally the continuous false tops did not help my morale and soon I realised that I was climbing on a ridge to a mountain top that lay somewhere else. By this stage I had done a fair amount of climbing but I could still not see a top. It was getting particularly frustrating as there was very little traffic to calm the nerves and any which I flagged down for guidance did not stop. I was getting concerned as the road was now constantly dropping and climbing sharply such that I had no idea if there was a summit at all. It was unlike any mountain I had ever climbed and the wind was swallowing any curses of frustration before they had even escaped my mouth. It did not help when at last one Bolivian stopped and told me that the road was level after the next peak. It turned out that he was having a laugh. At this stage I was up over 4000ms but I had done 1750ms of vertical climbing for the day on ripio into a strong head-wind. I had to pull in with only 50 of the 200k to Uyuni covered. Being a mountain flat ground for pitching a tent was in short supply unless I descended into the valley between the ridges, which I was loathe to do. I eventually found a spot which was reasonably obscured from view of the road for safety. I hoped that the wind would calm down once the sun set but at over 4000ms the normal rules don't apply. It looked like my bags would have to stay in the tent to help anchor it from the gusts. Thankfully I still had a few episodes of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" to watch on my iPod. I treasure these moments with my iPod as they really allow me to escape from whatever precarious situation I am in. One has to remember that camping on one's own is not a whole heap of fun so I really rely on books or tv shows to while away the hours in the tent.

I did not have the best of nights sleep as the wind threatened to blow my house down on numerous occasions. Still, I was up early and ready for action. I had no idea of what was to come but like any problem all you can do is break it down into bite-size chunks and work your way through it piece by piece. Needless to say the next 62k to Atocha were equally as bad as the previous 50k from Tupiza. It was both heart-breaking and leg-breaking. I had never ridden a mountain like it. It simply did not have a summit at all and it was clear to me that Bolivians needed to learn the art of building viaducts. It was nothing but more murderous ups and downs and having to ride 5kph was simply soul-destroying. At last I could see the mountain peak that was causing me so much damage; it was the snow peak of El Cholorque a few kilometres away rising to 5614ms. So this is what the Andes are really like, Argentina was nothing but a warm-up. I eventually crested onto some sort of a plain albeit far from flat and I proceeded to ride a c-ring around this peak. Surely it would have been easier to have gone around El Cholorque in the other direction? At this stage I was getting closer to Atocha but I was having serious doubts about my ability to make it to Uyuni under my own steam. I had no idea what size town Atocha would be but if it was anything like the towns I passed then the villagers lead a subsistence life and I should not really deprive them of the only food they have. I have to say, it is very humbling to see Bolivians living in these nothing villages so high up in the sky. There is not much for them here but for llama farming and mining. There are certainly no shops so everything is taken directly from the land or else the UN or somebody else is making weekly food-drops. I have no idea why someone would persist with such a harsh life but I can only imagine that their belief system varies considerably to that of ours.

With morale at an all time low I finally dropped into the town of Atocha. It was an odd little town perched beside a dam. I stopped at the bus station which is just a concrete square with the aim of finding out how I could jump on a bus to Uyuni. However, I first made sure to consult with the locals on the road ahead. I did not have the legs to climb out of town but I was comforted by the fact that once I had finished the climb that I would be on a plain again. What this meant I had no idea but I decided to take them at their word. While I was busy receiving applause from tourists waiting for their connecting bus to Uyuni I decided to stay in Atocha for the night as I could stock up on food again and get a good night's kip. This was an unexpected bonus. If the route promised to be as hard as the ride to Tupiza then I would just have had to accept that I was a broken man. If something is not fun then it is not fun and it's not fun doing over 3250ms vertical into a gale. I graciously accepted the plaudits from the tourists who had done the same route by bus but they did not realise how close I was to joining them. As I said, one needs to break problems down and life constantly reminds me that patience is a virtue. On the run into Atocha I had started to notice bike tracks in the ripio in front of me. This had been a huge boost to morale because if cyclists up the road could do it then so could I. Of course, it is difficult to know if they were touring cyclists or locals but it was this that gave me the resolve to continue. All I wanted to know was "who are these guys?"

I had 100k+ to cover to Uyuni and I was hoping to make it one day. I was promised that the climb out of town was only 10k long but if turned out to be 20k. However, I was now certainly on the trail of what seemed like adventure cyclists. Looking at their tracks it seemed that they were riding heavy duty tyres like mine but the tracks were intermittent and not too fresh. It was a pleasant surprise to eventually crest onto the plain and for it to be an actual flat plain. The road was hard-packed and all was looking very good. Passing the turn to San Vincente I put on my Butch Cassidy cowboy hat and giddied my hos to track down these cyclists. Their tyre tracks were starting to look a bit fresher and they were making my job easier in finding the easiest part of the ripio to ride. If one track jumped over to the other side of the road to join the other track then that was the smoothest part of the road to ride. At this stage the road had turned into a construction site again. It was littered with corrugations which one has to ride very much like a horse with all your weight in the stirrups so that your ass can bounce freely off the saddle. It was bloody tough riding but at least the scenery was very cool. The pursuit was causing my adrenaline to boil and it enabled me to block out how desperate and slow-going the road was. For sure, it was on a par with the worst road I have seen on my trip so far and 50k of it on tired legs was a big ask. If it had been any other day it would have been a disaster but the thrill of the chase was keeping me going; "who are these guys?"

After another series of false flats I eventually spotted something in the distance, it was only a motor-bike but then around the next bend I could see riders moving all over the road trying to find the easier ground. At last, I had tracked them down; Tom and Tom from Amsterdam and Matt from California. I had in fact met Tom before in lingo school in Mendoza and it was due to a totally bizarre series of events that we would meet up again on the road 10k from Uyuni.

No doubt, those three days were the hardest three days of my bike-trip so far. I have never been on the brink so much before and if it hadn't have been for the ghost of Butch Cassidy and the tyre tracks I don't think I would have made it by bike at all. While Uyuni is only 700ms higher than Tupiza at 3670ms, I in fact rode 4500ms vertical to get there. That was a mammoth task in such gales and on such bad roads.

Next stop, the largest salt desert in the world.

Marco, Butch and Sundance

the river-crossing out of Tupiza

canyon-landup on the ridge nowbase-camp? At 4000ms+ here and I had no idea where this monster climb was going.signs of life ... it is hard to believe people live here but they doSo there's the summit. El Cholorque @ 5614ms - it was this snow-peak that was doing the damageAtochathings are starting to look up - good ripio on a flat plain but not for longThe turn for San Vincente ... Butch and Sundance would have regretted turning herewatering-hole"who are these guys?" ... tracking tyre-tracksyou don't need to go to the seaside for the beachfloating peaksthe thrill of the chase - "these guys"the guys- Tom & Tom from Amsterdam and Matt from California

Going Dutch

For those that are interested in the Spanish language I thought I would post a quick entry on my experience of Argentinian Spanish. As I mentioned before it is really important to have Spanish in this part of the world if you want to have an easier time of things and to understand what is going on here. I have to say it is a very worthwhile investment and while it is always possible to travel with English in the larger tourist haunts it is much nicer to be able to breach the language barrier and not have to rely on sign language off the beaten track.

I'm not a total mug when it comes to languages having had strong French in school and having studied German in university. Sadly evidence of such is lacking these days but the process of learning a language remains the same; it hurts your head, it requires effort and it is exhausting mentally when you are exposed to it for large chunks of time. Naturally, immersion is the way to go if you want to develop fluency but you really have to put yourself out there to do this.

In terms of Argentinian Spanish I really struggled. While there are some slight variations in the grammar in Argentina the real hardship is the pronunciation. They use a great deal of lip and they use a lot of tongue between and behind their teeth. This puts a lot of the phonetics in the front of the mouth whereas a lot of English comes from the back of the mouth or the throat. Thus, replicating the sounds was very difficult as they are not common with English, German or French. The further north one goes in South America the closer one gets to Spanish that is spoken in Spain and this is proving to be the case in Bolivia where the sounds seem more common with the ones I use naturally. It would often happen that I would say something in Argentina and they just could not grasp it at all. This again comes down to phonetics. Likewise they would say something and I would not understand a word of it. Thus, it was very frustrating. It did not help that they were largely unsympathetic in terms of dealing with people with novice Spanish. They made no effort at all to grasp what you were saying and would immediately revert to English worse than my Spanish. Most of the time they just gave up without trying at all. Thus, I found Argentina a very discouraging place to learn the language as the people just didn't seem too open to me trying.

Not being able to pronounce 'r' or 'rr' made life very difficult. Whenever I said I was from 'Irlanda' they thought I was from 'Aulanda'. As they couldn't grasp my 'r's at all I would have to hit it really hard by saying 'Eeerrlanda' to have any chance of not being Dutch. I don't mind being Dutch, it makes a change from being English or American. Even the hard sounds such as 't's and 'd's were difficult as they pronounce these differently. Indeed, in Argentina it is not as simple as assuming that 'v' and 'b' are the same. While they are similar in Argentina the pronunciation is different to the 'b' we would use in English. On top of all this vowels are closed and while we might use the same number of vowels, vowel sounds occur more often in Spanish due to word endings. Closing one's vowels is not a problem but for the fact that when you are trying to string a sentence together you slow down your speech. This leaves sounds, be they consonants or vowels, at the end of words open as a  quasi-interjection.

While the grammar is not difficult having learnt French, it is annoying to have to think about gender and agreement. It is just one more thing in the sentence to worry about, which is difficult when you are thinking so hard about trying to pronounce things such that they will be understood. The big problem for me was due to the fact that I was moving around so much. Not only are there regional variations in terms of pronunciation but each person has their own individual accent and so there is little opportunity to tune in and become accustomed to the single accent that makes learning so much easier.

In terms of progressing it is difficult as moving around eats up so much time and if I'm on the bike I'm too tired to make the effort. Naturally the kinds of conversations I have are the same everyday as I'm mostly dealing in terms of practicalities; not useful for advancing one's Spanish. The other thing that I found difficult is that they tend to make their sentences sing. I can't sing at all so it's very funny hearing yourself trying to sing words like an Argentinian. What's more intonation is very important in Spanish. Not only in the case of what syllable to stress but just in terms of asking questions and making statements. I handicap myself on this front as I have a very bad habit in English of raising my voice in the middle of a sentence. This is not a formal question rather I'm informally asking if the person is following what I am saying. I don't know where this bad habit comes from as it's totally unnecessary. In addition we tend to use interrogatives as opposed to intonation for questions. Thus, when I am saying something in Spanish I can sound like I'm asking a question when I'm not and when I'm asking a question it sounds like I'm making a statement. Obviously awareness of these things promotes change so hopefully I'll improve the longer I'm here.

Thus, it has become evident that the only way to progress is to stay in the one spot where you can be around the same people such that familiarity breaks down inhibitions and provides support to your learning. It is easier also due to the fact that you can gain greater fluency and comprehension by being around the same accents. A school is a good starting place but ultimately it's about having a group of friends or ideally a Colombian girlfriend.

Of course, the only other way to make progress uninhibited is to get drunk but I tried that trick during a year abroad in Germany and the problem with it is that you are only fluent when you are tipsy. Indeed, I had a great conversation with a guy from Stuttgart in Buenos Aires auf Deutsch but that was the drink talking as opposed to me. Good to know that my German is in there somewhere but not much use if I can't tap into it sober. Indeed life on the bike is a pretty sober affair so progressing in Spanish seems to hinge on chilling out in Medellin with a Colombian girlfriend.

Marco

Bienvenidos a Bolivia

In terms of border formalities South America is great for Europeans. Having crossed the bridge to Bolivia I was met by a large poster of the president Evo Morales and granted a ninety day visa. The reality is that I could have crossed back into Argentina and gotten another ninety days for Argentina the following day. All of this at no cost. American citizens however, have a harder time of things. The US is  a difficult country for people from non-developed world countries to enter. These people have to pay substantial visa fees and do a fair amount of paperwork to have a chance of getting into the States. The result is that all these poorer countries reciprocate immigration formalities for US citizens looking to enter their countries as an act of revenge. Thus, US citizens travelling through South America have to fork out visa charges of anything up to $200 per country. They will also have the headache of having to document their travel arrangements. Of course, I don't think they face too many issues at the border but Europeans don't have to jump through any hoops at all. Being allowed to travel anywhere on this continent no questions asked is truly a wonderful thing.

Bolivia is home to: the highest city in the world (La Paz), the world's largest salt desert, the world's most dangerous road (supposedly) and cocaine. Bolivia is also where iconic figures such as Che Guevara and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid met their end (although there is apparently evidence that the latter two escaped the stand-off and died in Patagonia). It is also home to Evo Morales, a good buddy of Hugo Chavez. Indeed the president recently nationalised four energy companies and stood up at an international summit claiming that the white man is bald because he eats too many genetically modified chickens. I will make no comment as I can neither prove nor disprove such claims. Bolivia is also supposed to be the poorest country in South America (although the Guyanas might rank up there too). For sure, Bolivia is dirt cheap for the traveller but one must realise that poverty and being poor are two different things. While Bolivia may not rank highly in terms of economic statistics the people do not seem poor. Certainly they do not have much but they are not short of essentials such as water, food and shelter.

Having arrived at the border much earlier than I expected thanks to a gentle tail-wind, I decided to press on and bypass the mess that was Villazon. The next town was 36k away, so  it was with great intrigue that I went to find the town of Mojo. It had to be worth a stop-over with a name like that. The ride was such a contrast to earlier in the day when I was in Argentina. While they were building a new road it was not ready and so I had to mostly travel along the old route. It is pretty frustrating having to slog one's way over rough ripio when there is perfectly sealed tarmac very close by. I did manage to ride sections of asphalt but the main problem was that there were big gaps in the road where they were installing drains or underpasses and so I would have had to ride like the Dukes of Hazzard to clear the jumps. The deviations in height and distance between old and new meant that it wasn't worth the effort trying to hop on and off at every obstacle. I arrived in Mojo late in the day and it was nothing but a scattering of around twenty houses on one side of the road. A quick chat with the locals confirmed that I could camp across the way in the school grounds and they kindly showed me the best spot out of the wind. Thankfully it was Friday so I did not have to worry about about a whole bunch of school kids waking me up in the morning going to classes. So I settled in for the night with nothing but a shy dog and a donkey for company. I was surprised at how big the school was for such a small town, indeed they were building two extensions. I quickly realised that their must be lots of families in the middle of nowhere whose kids must tramp across fields to go to this school. Indeed, Bolivia is odd in that not everybody lives by the roadside. It is funny to see that the way the traffic goes is not the way the locals walk. They walk along river-beds and through fields as opposed to taking the road to get somewhere. This was my first introduction to what Bolivians consider the 'way'.

The town of Tupiza was only 60k away from Mojo and I arrived there early in the day having been surprised at the amount of rolling hills I had to navigate. I was under the impression that this part of the world was on a plain but it is anything but flat. The terrain was mostly ridges and canyons. Rolling hills really knock the stuffing out of the cyclist and so I pulled up in Tupiza due to the fact that it was the only bit of real civilisation I would see for a few days. It made sense to stock up on supplies before hitting the road to Uyuni, where the world's biggest salt flat is located. Tupiza was a pleasant surprise; Spanish conversation was so much easier here than in Argentina and the food was such a treat. There is a strong hint of tourism here but the town is not dominated by it. It was such a shock to see the menu, which had great variety in that it catered to tourists tastes. It was great to see vegetables and real salads on the menu as Argentina was really lacking on the fruit and veg front unless you were in cities.

My first impressions of Bolivia are really positive; the people seem really easy-going and the food is much more to my liking. It is also great that the altitude is not affecting me at all and while the roads are shocking it seems like it is going to be a very interesting country to cycle through.

Hasta Luego

Marco

local bus wash ... havn't seen this since Nepal so Bolivia must be poorback to schoolthe new road ... work in progressharvest timeI wasn't expecting to see canyonstunnelling my way through to TupizaTupiza 

Space Oddity

Ground Control to Major Mark
Ground Control to Major Mark
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

Ground Control to Major Mark
Commencing countdown, engines on
Check transmission and may God’s love be with you

Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Lift-off

This is Ground Control to Major Mark
You’ve really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it’s time to leave the ground if you dare

This is Major Mark to Ground Control
I’m climbing to the sky
And I’m floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today

For here
am I floating on my steel bike
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do

Though I’m past four thousand miles
I’m feeling very still
And I think my bicycle knows which way to go
Tell my mom I love her very much (she knows!)
Ground Control to Major Mark
Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Mark?
Can you hear me, Major Mark?
Can you hear me, Major Mark?
Can you hear....

am I sitting on my steel bike
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do?

What I am trying to say is that I am currently on the Alti-plano in Bolivia where the average altitude is 4000ms. The www connects here are poor, wifi is scarce and cibercafes mostly only load Internet Explorer 6, which is useless as my site is not compatible with old IE versions. Thus, my 'circuit is dead' and 'there is nothing I can do' in terms of updates etc. I will post where I can and if I can find a good place I may schedule entries to keep the site ticking over.

May the Bolivian sky not fall on my head

Marco

Don´t cry for me Argentina

The chest infection cost me 8 days. There was not much I could do about it as the last place one wants to be unwell cardiovascular-wise is at altitude where your heart beats quicker and your lungs heave more. While I wasn't 100% by any means I took a gamble that I was over the worst. If I was patient I could climb to 3000ms where I could take another day off to recover and acclimatise at the same time. The north-west of Argentina is regarded as one of its most beautiful parts and it didn't disappoint. It took me four days of riding to get to the border and although the first two days were awful due to jammy legs and dehydration from having been sick, I did manage to recover during my day off in Humahuaca, where I happily discovered both the cheapest and best empanadas (mini-pasties) of my time in Argentina.

The towns of Purmamarca, Tilcara and Humahuaca are quaint Andean towns full of adobe buildings but also full of tourists. The vibe of these places is altered very much due to the amount of tourists passing through. I'm never sure what to make of places where the local enterprise has rotated to capitalise on tourist traffic. The town becomes more segregated as you have restaurants, tour operators and market stalls thriving on the tourist trade and then there are the people who are more traditional and have nothing to do with the tourist whatsoever. On the one hand one realises that the tourists brings benefits to these small towns by virtue of their spend, on the other hand by becoming more geared up to tourists these towns lose the essence of their more traditional way of life ... which is what the visitor came to see in the first place. In towns such as these you notice how anaesthetised the local is to the tourist, they don't even notice them because the tourist is from a parallel dimension and is just one more tourist in town. One can notice that there is some regret by locals at how over-run their small town is with tourists. Naturally people whose business benefits from the tourist don't complain but where hospitality is commercial as opposed to genuine then the true feeling of a town is lost.

Abra Pampa, where I spent my last night was a different thing altogether. This was a dust-bowl of a town at 3500ms, the kind of town that makes you wonder why it exists at all but it does, alongside all the other even smaller towns on the way to the border. In towns like this you become slightly uncomfortable because you are such an oddity and you become aware of the locals trying to suss you out. It is in towns such as these that travellers get a kick as they are getting the more honest cultural and traditional experience.

The ride to the border was a pretty affair made all the more photogenic by the fact that the leaves were changing colour and the crops were being harvested. The high-point on the way to the border is 3780ms and I surprisingly had no difficulty at all with the altitude. The asphalt roads made for a gentle ride and gave less cause for distraction from the scenery. Oddly, the most spectacular section was when I was riding across the plain to the border where there is not much to see at all. Desolation is always interesting as it is such a contrast to the hustle of towns and cities. Blessed with a rare but welcome tail-wind I managed to blitz the last 75k to the border in two and a half hours. This gave me less time to process the fact that I was leaving a country that had harboured me safely for the best part of three months. Leaving countries is always an emotional time, mostly because you have enjoyed becoming familiar with how the people do things and visiting a new country means that you have to start from scratch all over again. But then that's all part of the fun.

My trip from Mendoza to the Bolivian border added another 2230k to my tally, making a total of 6645k. Considering how long I have been away this just shows you how much faffing I have been doing ... but then this trip was never just about the bike.

Talk soon

Marco

the wall of mountain that has to be climbedall asphalt to the borderPurmamarcaselling wooly jumpers to the touristsbackpackers taking in the views and drinking matePurmamarca´s "Seven Colours"lots of rock faces during the ride

nothing special but cool to cross this magical linelocal worker popping into the shop for some fantaHumahuacaHumahuaca - familiar hand symbols maybe?at this altitude all one sees is lots of skyonly the barest of peaks now as I ride the plaindesolate but still people about