The hostel in South Beach was perhaps the least friendly,the dirtiest and without a doubt the most expensive of my entire trip.I couldn't believe how aloof all the staff were considering they were supposed to be in the tourist industry.I guess the fact that the hostel doubled as cheap housing for a bunch of locals made it lose any kind of travellers feel.Those backpackers who were there reminded me of the backpacking community back in Australia.They were all young party-hard types who seemed interested in only the bright lights and cold beers of Miami.The only wildlife that drew their interest were of the bikini clad kind who paraded around the hallways displaying thier wares at every opportunity.It would seem that a pasty-white,fourty-something guy with a scabby lip and sores on his body didn't quite make it on the cool guy list and so, for the most part,I was ignored.
I passed the next few days just walking along the beach and soaking up the sun.I did try to so some swim training in the warm blue water and was stopped by a couple of lifeguards who wanted to know who I was and what I was doing.I had been swimming from one lifegaurd tower to the next and then running back down the beach about four hundred meters or so round the first tower and back into the water to repeat the swim.I was at it for about fourty minutes when I stopped for a break.The lifeguards asked what I was training for and when they heard my accent they assumed I was a surf-lifsaver from Oz visiting Miami.When I explained that I was a triathlete and then contined to tell them about my trip they were amazed and asked all kinds of questions about my trip,my sport and my country.At least someone here was interested in what I was doing!
I met up with many other lifeguards in the next day or two as the Starbucks store I loved so much was in the park behind the beach where the lifguards stood post.They would all stop to chat as they made coffee runs and after meeting some of the girlie lifeguards I wished I had planned my stay here a bit better.After hanging out for months with a bunch of females whose idea of multi-sport endurance sports is power drinking while jumping up and down on a dance floor it was a pleasure to meet some healthy, fit women for a change.
Healthy and fit is not what you would describe the good folk who were parading around the bars along Ocean Drive at the time.Walking along the sidewalks on my way to the cool shopping areas on Lincoln Road and Collins Ave I passed all bars that were just setting up for the afternoon rush.I was thinking that surely they couldn't expect to be busy as the long weekend was over and there wouldn't be enough people to fill the thousands of seats(that's right -thousands).Sure all around me were groups of very hungover and very large black guys chatting quietly over thier late breakfasts.Thier women seemed more interested in protecting the stacks of luggage on the sidewalks as they made ready to go to the airport and off home,wherever home might be.They didn't look quite as ill as the boys but then again a big hat and equally large sunglasses can hide even the most ferocious of hangovers.
I figured that the weekends chaos was over and made my way north toward the trendy cafes of Lincoln Road.Once there I wished that I had a few more zeros tagged onto the maximum limit of my credit card.It didn't take me long to figure out that I wouldn't be buying to much in this district and resigned myself to buying some cheap boardshorts and a couple of t-shirts from one of the many tacky-tourist shops dotted about.I did have one bit of luck though as I found a store selling t-shirts for every country that was competing in the World Cup Soccer.With my Green and Gold Australia shirt now proudly covering my torso I made my way back to the beach and into a world far different from the one I had laeft a few hours before.
As I turned back onto Ocean Drive and made for the refuge of my coffee shop I could feel the dull thumping of nightclub music reverberating through the tables on the sunny Starbucks patio.One by one the low-rider cars passed by each pulling over and depositing a group of party people onto the sidewalk.Looked like I was wrong about the weekend being over.After a while I just couldn't resist and wandered off down Ocean Drive toward my hostel.A block or so later I was in the thick of it.I have never,in all my time working in bars and clubs seen a metel detector on the street during the day.This club not only had everyone pass through the detector they also had the scariest group of bouncers that I have ever seen.Add to that the cops in flack jackets wandering around the place and I was beginning to wonder if I had stepped on to the set of some hollywood gangster movie.
The further down Ocean Drive I went the crazier it got.The sidewalk was full,and I mean full of absolutely huge,scary looking, immaculately dressed groups of black guys standing at the entrance of every bar and restuarant.It occurred to me that not only was I about half the size of everybody around me(including the girls)I was one of the very few white guys on the street.The funny thing was that as I passed each bar entrance all the dudes would politely nod at me and step out of my way.A few of them would point at my shirt and call out all kinds of funny remarks about Australia and Steve Irwin and "Shrimps on the Barbie".It was really pretty funny and I had a laugh chatting to a few of them as I made my way down the street.I figured that in the grand scheme of things I was far too small and far too white for any of these guys to find threatening and so we joked around until they would pat me on my shoulder and send me on my way.The only way I can describe the scene is that it fullfilled every single stereotype of "Gangsta" U.S.A that the rest of the world is fed.I really felt like I was in the middle of some chaotic rap video. It was nuts!
The rest of my time in Miami was very quiet.Some more beach time and a bit of time hanging with the "locals" at the hostel finding out about life in the southern U.S.I fund the mix of U.S and Latino culture in South beach really cool and was surprised to find that English was almost the second language amoung the shopkeepers in the nieghbourhood.I enjoyed that surprised looks on thier faces when I would ask for things in Spanish as it seems white guys don't do that very often.I am very impressed how the latinos are so pround of thier heritage and that they do differentiate between the countries of their ancestors.Most black Americans seem to just want to be known as "African" which is a huge generalization.Latinos are Cuban or Dominican or Chilean.They make the distinction and you can see the subtle differences everywhere.It's really very cool.
My time on the road was rapidly drawing to a close and I had to turn my attention to the next few months ahead.I nad no doubt that the experiences of the last few months would play over in my mind for a long time to come.Sadly it was all coming to an end.I had debts to pay and a life to find and I was hoping, as I boarded my flight to Penticton,that Canada might be the place for me.Could I be happy with not fulfilling my dream of riding through the whole of Sth America?Would I find a home in Canada?I didn't know and I guess only time will tell.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Nick's epic ride part eighteen
That last day in La Paz was frantic to say the least.I raced back to the hostel and told them that I had to leave the next morning.While paying for my stay I tried to call Alastair at Gravity Tours so I could see if we could hook up for a drink to say goodbye.Sadly he was out of town on a private bike tour and I would miss him.I was bummed as he had done so much to welcome me and make my stay in La Paz an awesome experience.The next thing was to try and track down the small group that I'd been hanging with.Most of them were on tour and as I had to leave for the airport very early I wouldn't be able to see them either.
MY next task was to start packing up all my gear.I hate packing for trips and I really hate boxing up my bike for flights so it felt like a real chore to go upstairs and start the long packing process.One by one the Bolivian house-maids found out that I was leaving and they all came to say goobye and wish me luck.They had been really wonderful to me during my stay.They had helped me with my Spanish,kept an eye on bike for me while the the hostel was full of workers renovating the place.Most of all they had been so patient and kind while I was sick.I would miss thier bright smiles and kind hearts and wished that everyone who likes to believe that Bolivia is an evil place could meet the wonderful people that I had met here.My last night was uneventful and after a few drinks at Ollie's to say goobye I was in bed early with thoughts of what lay in store for me in the next few months.
Knowing just how bad the traffic is in La Paz I called a cab at around 6am to take me the short 10 kilometers to the airport in El Alto.Thankfully the hostel is at the base of the climb out of town to and I wouldn't have to negotiate the jammed downtown core.The long, winding climb out of the bowl in which La Paz sits was absolutely beautiful and with the sun yet to rise the city below shimmered with a million lights of the city a waking to face the new day.I had ridden down this hill three weeks before and marvelled at the beauty of this grand old city.I knew that one day I would be back to renew old friendships and face new adventures.Then without any fanfare, we crested the summit and La Paz was gone from view. I was soon unloading all my gear on to the scales at the check-in counter of Llyod Aero Boliviano.
One thing that always worries me when I face the check-in counter of any airline is just how much they are going to charge me for my bike and any assorted other bits of baggage that seems odd,unusual or overwieght.Suprisingly though I found someone who was actually quite impressed with the fact that I was biking around Sth America.She didn't blink as the digital readout on the scales kept climbing as first on went my bike, then my trailer followed by my backpack full of all my camping gear and clothes.I was glad that I was wearing long sleeves though 'cause I could easily explain away the huge scabs that covered my top lip as the result of a bike crash.I'm not sure I could have explained the rash which covered most of my torso and arms with as much credibility.
With all my gear now safely on it's way to the belly of the aircraft it was off to complete my airport ritual.I have a perculiar thing that I only do at airports and that is to eat at either MacDonalds' or Burger King.It's strange I know and I'm not sure when or why I began this odd practice.I'm guessing that the main reason is that there is some sort of price control over food served there.I mean when you pay at MacDonalds at an airport it's pretty safe to sat that you are paying five or six dollars for the five or six dollar meal that you would pay in the city, not twenty dollars for the sandwich costing four dollars on the street.Maybe I'm thinking that as I'm in an airport then I'm not really anywhere in particular and so the normal rules don't apply, thus it's okay to load up the arteries with junk.Who knows?I was just hoping that the pride of Bolivian aviation was going to be able to lift this fat bastard off the tarmac and put him down where he wanted to go.
The first of my flight's was quite uneventful.We had to change planes in Santa Cruz and then fly onto Panama in Central America before heading over to Miami.The transit in Santa Cruz was a bit scary as this was our last port before leaving Bolivia and as such we were subject to intense scrutiny by Bolivian customs.Santa Cruz is in the heart of cocain country and as I was the solitary gringo arriving on this flight in Miami from Bolivia I figured I would get the full treatment from customs and immigration.Once passed through customs with all my gear dismissed as being too much trouble to look at I was on my new plane headed for Panama
.The second leg of my round-about journey north proved a quiet affair as well and upon landing in a rainy Panama City we were told that we would not be changing planes but we would be changing crew.From my isle seat,two rows back from business class I could quite clearly see most of what was going on in the sharp end of the aircraft and it was obvious that 9/11 meant very little to all those involved with flying this aircraft.
I figured when they said we would be changing crew,what they meant was that the old crew would get off here in Panama and a new crew would continue on to Miami.What actually happened was that once the new crew were on board some sort of impromtu cocktail party started.One things for sure, they know how to treat thier flight crews on Lloyd Aero Boliviano as the beer and wine flowed freely even before the pland had hit the runway.The whole of business class was occupied by the old flight crew,the old cabin crew,some ground crew and thier families.It was bizzar.What topped it off for me was that at no time during take off or during the flight was the door to the cockpit closed.At most house parties around the world the kitchen is the spot to chat.Here at thirty-odd thousand feet the door to the cockpit was the choice location to be seen.Little kids ran in and out of the cockpit through the legs of those clutching a beverage in on hand and the interior of the aircraft with the other.I lost track of who was working and who wasn't.In the end, it would seem that whoever was flying the bloody plane,had it pointed in the right direction and the party was shut down as we began our descent into Miami International Airport.It wasn't the scariest flight I've ever been on but it was no doubt one of the most interesting.
Once I had walked off the plane I was really expecting the worst from immigration and then customs.I had no doubt that they would be very interested in a lone male traveller arriving from Bolivia and so with resignation I approached the immigration booth.The first thing the immigration officer did after checking out my passport was look at the scabs on my lip and try to compare my distorted face with that of the guy in the photo.I was then iris scanned and finger print checked and yes I was in the system,having entered the U.S many times before."How long will you be in the U.S?" She asked "Just four days at the beach until I head off to Canada" I replied waiting for the barrage of questions to start."Have a nice stay in the United States" she said smiling and with that she handed me my passport and I was on my way to the baggage claim.One down and one to go.I was sure that customs wouldn' be so accomodating and crossed my fingers that all my stuff had arrived in one piece.
After an eternity waiting for my gear,which thankfully did arrive intact,I pushed my fully laden trolley toward the cutsoms hall.Once at the front of the line I was waved forward and approached my designated official.He scanned my load and pointed at the big box on my trolley."Is that a bicycle?" he inquired "A mountain bike and some equipment."I answered."And that"he said pointing at the silver bag under my bike."My trailer"I told him."Where have you come from today?"It was the question I had been waiting for."Bolivia" I cringed.With that he turned to another official and asked"Do you want to check this bike out?""I don't want to check no bike?"She replied lazily."Well I don't want to check no bike either he muttered" and with that he told me to have a nice trip and sent me on my merry way.Unbelievable!So much for homeland security.
So there I was back in the first world again.Now what?I knew that I ddn't want to drag my bike around with me so I checked it at the baggage storage area and then caught a cab to my hostel in South Beach.On the way I was overwhealmed by just how clean Miami was.After being in La Paz I guess anywhere would have seemed clean but I was also very impressed at how little traffic there was and how efficient the freeway system was.I commented to the driver about that and he just lauged.He then told me that the reason it was so quiet on the roads was that it was a public holiday .I guess without realising it I had arrived on Memorial Day Monday so I thought great there must be stuff to do today then.My cabbie told me flat."This is the weekend the black people come to Miami to shoot each other!"I couldn't believe it.He then went on to tell me that South Beach was the worst place possible to be this weekend .He did say though that most people would be on thier way home today so I would have more than likely missed the worst of it. "This should be interesting",I thoght
I checked into my hostel and the girl on the reception desk was no more enthusiastic than the cabbie.She looked so worm out and I asked her if it had been a busy weekend."All I can say is thank God it's over"was her reply.I guess my cab driver must have been right.Looked like I missed a hellish weekend. All I wanted to do was get out of my jeans,put on a pair of shorts and head off to the beach and soak up some of the suns' heat.
The hostel was only three blocks from South Beach and once I hit the sand it was an express trip into the warm waters of the Atlantic.Bliss!After so long in the cold of the Andes it was great to feel the suns warmth on my body even if the salt water was stinging the sores on my lip.I then went for a stroll along the sandy beach toward the huge resort hotels that lined the beachfront about a mile away. It was great to see so many people out and about either running or cycling along the hard packed sand path at the top of the beachead.I decided that I could get used to hanging out here and my joy increased when,on walking through a beachside park,I spied a sight I hadn't realised I missed so much in my time in Latin America.Starbucks!I am a dedicated coffee addict and the sight of a Starbuck's store sitting in the park by the beach was like an oasis to me.I ordered myself a huge coffee,ingoring the funny looks the staff gave my scabby lip and settled down on the garden patio for the next couple of hours.
It was during those hours sitting in the sun watching the bikini's walk by when the culture shock set in.Here I was sitting in Miami,Florida surrounded by manicured lawns,boutique hotels and custom low-ride cars while just a short day ago I was in the grip of third world poverty.I looked at the coffee in my hand and realised that the money I had spent on that drink would have bought lunch for half a dozen Bolivians' just yesterday.Jewellery sparkeled on the manicured hands of several women sunning themselves on the patio surrounding me.Their designer bathing suits oozed sexuality and what little material there was showed off flawless skin, bronzed by the Florida sun.A far cry from the squat Bolivian women covered from head to toe in layers of old fabric, colours dulled by the dust and pollution of the city around them.I pictured their happy wrinkled faces, dirty and dry,cracked by the harsh elements of a tough life in a poor land.I wondered how long the painted princesses around me would last in a hard place like Bolivia.
It wasn't just the trappings of a wealthy nation that put my senses into overdrive.The colours of South Beach jumped out at me everywhere I turned.The emerald green parks were full of towering trees and trimmed with manicured flower beds full of reds,yellows and orange.Looking to my left,past the whiter than white beach was the brilliant blue Atlantic topped with the flourscent sails of a dozen boats at play.To my right was Ocean Drive, home to that famous row of 50's inspired, pastel coloured hotels and bars seen in countless movies and television shows.They form a rainbow of pink,blue,green and lavender buildings dressed with upmarket outdoor restaurants and bars,their streetfronts lined with luxury cars.This was a very far cry from the last five weeks I had spent in the bleak,barren,brown alti-plano of Bolivia surrounded by the cruel realities of poverty.I had enjoyed even the worst of my experiences there but that was behind me now and it was time to play in the Florida sun.
I left my little perch in Starbucks and began the walk back to the hostel.This time I decided to walk along Ocean drive and check out the street I had seen highlighted so many times on the television show C.S.I. Miami.The nieghborhood didn't dissapoint and and realising that I hadn't eaten for some time I sat at a nice cafe and ordered lunch.From my vantage point I could watch the passing parade and be entertained by the antics of a group of testosterone fuelled African American studly types who verbally assaulted each female that passed thier way.It was all meant in good fun and everyone seemed cool with it but I have to say if any girl in Australia had that much suggestive language directed at them they wouldn't be impressed.These bubble-butt babes seemed to relish the attention.Must be a cultural thing.One particular guy,who stood about five foot five and was equally wide tried so hard to lure each passing bikini clad beauty to his table for a drink.He was very scary to look at and could have easily passed as an extra in any prison movie but he was also very funny to watch as time after time he got shot down by a potential mate.His show ended when a super hot convertible sports car pulled up to the curb and the driver waved him over.With his drink still in his hand and his pride in tatters he hopped into his "homies" car and took off for greener pastures.After eating I continued my trip to my hostel and marvelled at the endless row of cool bars and restaurants on Ocean Drive.All was fairly quiet and for me it was time to get back to my hostel,unpack my stuff and have a nap.
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Nick's epic ride part seventeen
Things' in general were going along great living in La Paz. The Adventure Brew Hostel,La Paz's newest,was a great base and a haven away from the crazy streets of the city.Apart from biking and the odd run I started doing a bunch of stuff around the hostel for the owners and even became Gravity Assisted Tours super secret shopper.My job was to go around to all the other adventure bike companies and pretend that I was looking at booking a tour.I was given a list of the top five or so companies and a few tourist offices to check up on the cut-throat market of adventure tourism in La Paz.I would then email my report back to Alastair at Gravity so he could review the competition.My reward for my underhanded task was free trips back from Coroico to La Paz and burgers and beer at the hostels b.b.q's every Wednesday and Saturday.It was great to be able to get the ride to La Paz as I would ride from town,up to La Cumbre and down 68k to Coroico descending from 4600m to 1300m.The ride back up wasn't something that I wanted to do.I had told Alastair straight, that although I really respected his company and the trip down the worlds most dangerous road,after my ride up the Andes I wasn't about to pay anyone anything to ride my own bike anywhere.He could see my point and was cool with that.I was however happy to promote is company and sent many a backpacker down to his office to book that world famous bike tour.
The secret shopper gig almost came undone when during my first stop the sales girl,who ended up being the owner,saw me riding my mountain bike in the street a couple of days before.I guess they notice gringos' on bikes in La Paz.Come to think of it,I was the only one that I ever saw!She started grilling me about my bike and then the company mechanic came out and chipped in a few questions of his own.They wanted to know why I needed to book a tour when I had my own bike and why,if I had my own bike did I need to know all about thiers?Holy shit,what to do!Luckily for me,I was a very naughty boy when I was at boarding school and was quite used to being brought before my housemaster or headmaster and grilled mercilessly about one bad thing or another that I had done.I had developed quite the ability to make up very plausible stories that would account for why it was I seemed drunk at dinner(or in class)or deny any knowledge of how half of the two liter bottle of communion wine was missing from the Chapel.My poor brother, a year above me, suffered my misdeeds as he was one of the school prefects and had to bail me out lots.Thanks' for that mate!!
My creative mind went into overdrive and before they could say "Gringo, you got some s'plainin to do!"I was well into my cover story.You see,Mr scary mechanic guy,I have ridden my bike from Buenos Aries to La Paz(truth so far) and now my sister has come to Bolivia from Montreal(I have one and she does live there)to spend some time touring around with me.She is the one who needs the bike and I want to make sure the bikes are safe( god I'm good!).Great, no problems all around and they set about telling me all about the awesome day we would have and quoted prices and all that good stuff.No worries until they wanted me to book our places on the tour."Why can't you book your tour now"?.Oh shit again."Come on,we are very busy and we can't hold places for you"!Now they were not happy as they saw I had written everything down on a little pad that I carried with me."You see,my poor sister is at the hostel suffering from a bad case of altitude sickness and has been in bed for a couple of days.We had want to use the tour as a way of getting her down to Coroico to low altitude so she could feel better and enjoy the rest of her time visiting me".I explained that I couldn't book it as I didn't know when she would get better.Well not only was I a lying bastard,I soon became a really guilty lying bastard when everyone in the store started giving me all kinds of advice on how to make my little sister feel better.They all felt so bad that she was sick during her stay in La Paz and promised to make her tour a very special one.Talk about feeling like a prick.I felt so guilty after lying to those lovely people that I canned the rest of the days detective work and went to Olivers travels for a pint. I told them all about what had happened and they agreed that I was indeed a big lying prick!!
I spent the rest of the day hanging out at Olivers bullshitting to all the other travellers there.As it is a world cup year the most popular topic was,of course,football.I was pround that the Aussie team had qualified for only the second time but was the butt of many a joke about the probability of us winning any games at all.Usually I could rebutt those snide remarks by reminding the English of just how crap their national cricket team was.Unfortunately for me the bloody English had beaten us that year in the battle for the holy grail of cricket "The Ases".I would just have to stare into my pint and put up with the ribbing.
The next day I continued detective work and managed to find out all I needed in order to post my report to Alastair.That was until I hit the last of my intended targets for the day.This tour company was one of two the Alastair was especially interested in.They had a good reputaion and had taken delivery of a fleet of new Trek mountain bikes that were almost on par with Gravity's super cool Kona fleet.After finishing my little act and getting all the info I needed I was on my way out the door when I noticed that the bikes they had were using the same Shimano gear that I had on my tired little Scott.I actually had stopped riding as the brake pads for my disc brakes had worn out almost completely and it was now near suicidal to ride at all as I just couldn't be sure of stopping at all.The spare brake pads I had bought in Buenos Aries were in fact the wrong ones and after about 3500 kilometers of riding through the Andes I really needed new ones.There in front of me,mounted on that Trek bike, were a brand new pair of brake pads.I turned and asked if they had any spare brakes at thier workshop.The blank looks on the faces of the two people in the office showed total confusion.Nobody had ever asked to buy part of one of thier bikes before.I explained my plight and with that they called for a mechanic.He assured me that he could sell me a pair and that if I brought my bike in he would change them over for me.
Off I raced to the hostel ,grabbed my bike and after negotiating the horrendous traffic, was soon climbing the stairs to the tour office with Scott in hand.What happened next was something I never expected in a country a poor as Bolivia.With one look at my bike the lady owner of the tour company asked if she could buy my bike.Right there,right now,U.S dollars cash!!The guide that was in the store started peppering me with questions about my trip and he too wanted me to leave my bike behind.I must admit it was tempting but with all the fake U.S currency around I just couldn't trust them.Anyway I just love my little bike(there I said it!).The mechanic,true to his word changed my brake pads over for me and then asked if he could keep my old ones.No worries mate,just remind me never to ride one of your bikes if you are going to put those things into service.They were really lovely people and again I felt bad for lying to them but what can you do?
I started making plans for some new rides that I wanted to do around La Paz and with my bike working properly now I was very keen to hop back on board and do some more exploring.I had decided to see if it was at all possible to ride up to Chacaltaya on which was the worlds highest ski hill.My plan was to ride to from La Paz at 3600meters to La Cumbre at 4600meter then ride down to Coroico at 1300 meters.I would spend a couple of days there before making the huge climb back up to La Cumbre but continue on to the refuge(hut) that doubles as the lodge for the worlds highest ski hill at a staggering 5300meters.From there I would join up with a trekking company and climb the remaining 150 meters or so to the summit of Chacaltaya that's 18,000 feet folks for those who like to compare the big mountains of the world.I met with a guide that Alastair recommended and spoke to a guy in my room who had just come back from trekking with that trek.His group had summited without problem and he told me that the guide was very good.Now,could I actually connect the two adventures,Alastair said no worries in that silly Kiwi accent and informed me that a Kiwi bike race had in fact set the record for that ride.From 1300meters to 5300 meters on dirt roads,riding a mountain bike uphill for about 90 kilometers in just over eight hours.Trust a bloody New Zealander to do something so rediculously wonderful.
Things were to take a turn for the worst for me as my health started to slip and I was soon under the influence of a high temperature with a grand headache to match.I suffered through that for a couple of days before I woke up to find that I was now developing a small rash on my chest.I figured it was just from sleeping in sweat drenched clothing and didn't think much of it,until it started to spread.My throat started to hurt and speech became more and more painfull.The general feeling amoung the bachpacker clan was that I either had partied too hard (which I hadn't)or that it was altitude sickness(which it wasn't,I was sure).My nights became hell as I couldn't lie flat without coughing and my body went from hot to cold in hourly cycles.At one stretch I lay in bed for the best part of 36 hours without eating.I had to try and sleep sitting upright,propped up by pillows covered in towels to soak up the sweat that wouldn't quit and because my lungs were filling with fluid I couldn't lie down. All I could do was to try and warm up in the shower while at the same time blowing the dried blood that caked my sinuses all over the shower-stall wall.Every morning was a battle to not throw up as I gagged on the bloody phlegm that was now coating my throat.Lovely!
One morning I managed to actually get up,find some dry clothes and wander down throught he frigid hostel down to the lobby for breakfast.While I was there a group of four nurses from Australia who had given me some medication for my headache a few days previous arrived back at the hostel after being away for a five days at Coroico and the Bolivian Amazon.One look at me was all it took for the girls to fall back into thier professional nursing mode.The four of them grilled me about the what had happened since they saw me last and when I mentioned my spreading blistered rash they freaked.I was taken back upstairs and told to remove my jacket,sweater and t-shirt revealing an torso covered in small cirular scabs.I was asked if I had ever had chicken pox as a kid and I couldn't remember so off we went to one of the mamy telephone exchanges over the road from the hostel.I called my folks back in Oz and woke them up with the sort of questions that no parent wants to hear from a son who is in Bolivia.I had spent a week in Thai hosital once and I didn't want repeat the experience here.
Apparently I had suffered from chicken pox as a kid so I thought I was in the clear.One of the nurses however was in the phone booth next to me calling her hospital in Melbourne, Australia.She passed on all my symptoms to a doctor friend of hers who was on the night shift and without being able to examine me he did think that I may be suffering from the pox and not shingles as I was beginning to think.His advice,let the girls take you to a pharmacy,buy the drugs he prescribed and get the hell out of Bolivia.They then took me off to a pharmacy as told and went to town shopping.In Bolivia you can buy anything you like over the counter and as long as you know what you want there is no problem.Well with four chicks whose job it is to dish out this stuff I figured they knew what they were doing and left my fate thier hands.
It took a couple of days ingesting enough meds to bring down an rhino before I began to feel better and began to plan my escape from Bolivia.With the raw flesh from my sinuses now spreading down my nostrils and out over my top lip I really looked a sight and decided that I needed to go somewhere sunny and lie in the ocean by a beach and let the salt water do it's trick.I searched the internet for the cheapest flights north and decided to head off to South Beach Miami for a few days in the sun before continuing on to Canada for the summer.
I had a week to kill before my flight and spent the start of it wandering around the markets or sitting quietly soaking up the winter sun in the plaza in front of the San Francisco Cathedral.One of my many wanderings led me luckily,as I would soon find out,to the Lloyd Aero Boliviano offices in town .I thought that as I was there I may as well go in and confirm my flight and maybe actually pick up a real ticket as I didn't really trust the whole e-ticket thing here in Bolivia.Once I was called up to an agent and gave her my e-mail confimation she proceeded to tell me that there was no such fight as the one that had been confirmed for me.Upon checking she told me that the airline had decided to change it's schedule and that they were waiting for me to come in to find another flight.I asked her how I was supposed to come and re-book a fight when I didn't know that mine had been cancelled in the first place!I would have gone to catch my flight and it wouldn't have been there great!She wasn't interested and asked if i still wanted to fly out.I said of course and asked her when I could possibly confirm a seat.She then told me that the only fight they cold get me on in the next couple of weeks was leaving the next morning at 9am.What!I had no choice.If I waited,I would miss my non-refundable connection to Vancouver in six days time.The next day it was then.My god so much to do.My whole life to pack up in just a few hours.I didn't want to leave this wonderful place like this but what can you do.Sometimes life just sucks.
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Nick's epic ride part sixteen
There are so many opportunities to meet amazing people when you travel the world via the backpacker route.Five star hotels and package tours tend to give a distorted view of each city that you visit.Everything is safe and easy to find,courtesy of your friendly consierge or overly eager tour gude.Most times the tour guides themselves know little more of the city they are showcasing than what is printed in any Lonely Planet guidebook.I know this from dealing with twenty odd years of tour guides in my work in the hotel game in Australia.This is especially so when the destination falls into the "Dangerous holiday destination" category.Bolivia,it would seem,fall into this category.
If everyone in the world heeded the warnings about travel in Bolivia then there just wouldn't be a tourist industry there at all.Thankfully there are enough free thinking,open minded and brave travellers who are putting the myth of death and destruction awaiting those that dare cross the border right where that myth belongs.In fantasy land!I would venture that I've seem more danger on the street in my home town of Cairns than I ever saw in La Paz,or anywhere in Bolivia for that matter.
Don't get me wrong,bad things do happen here and sadly a young European couple met their maker at the hands of some very scary locals just before I arrived in town.They didn't heed the warnings that are given to all backpackers in La Paz.Do not use any taxi but those radio cabs that are licensed by the city.You see,this city is just full of cabs and buses but only a few are actually licensed radio cabs.The rest,even though they look like cabs, aren't.Sure they will take you to your destination and yes they are very,very cheap but why bother when any cab fare is just chump change to we westerners.The rules for these cabs are different as well.When you get into one of these cabs it is operated more like a mini bus and they will continue to pick up other passengers until it is full.You have no say at all!
This brings me to the dangers involved in trying to save about two cents per mile.As these cabs pick up locals,they naturally have to take them to local suburbs most of which are not on the tourist path and all of which are not patrolled by large groups of heavily armed police.This is what happend to the unfortunate Euros.Their cab was flagged down by some local lads and they were now trapped inside a strange cab driving through a very strange area.Long story short,they were robbed and murdered.End of story!I never stopped shaking my head at the stupidity of the backpacker youth as they tried to save a few pennies by flagging down these cabs.Drunk backpackers are the favourite targets as the driver will just drive in the opposite direction and then demand way more money than was agreed upon to get then back home.Then,to add insult to injury,the change given will usually be counterfeit notes.In La Paz there is a huge trade in fake currency and believe it or not,more fake U.S. dollars are made there than anywhere apart from Eastern Europe.The fake Bolivianos are funny(yes I got stung too) because the quality of the notes is bad,the size is just a little different and the colours aren't perfect.If those little signs aren't enough to warm you then just look a little harder.It is actually in printed quite clearly on the notes that they "are not legal tender".Bloody brilliant!!Seems they can't get arrested for passing fake note if they print on them that they are fake.Not thier fault that the stupid gringos can't read Spanish.The main way of passing these dodgy notes is as change to drunken tourists(me)or as part of a stack of real bills making change at the markets around town.
One cool scam I heard of involved a licenced money changer.As I said,the fake U.S. dollar trade is huge here and the money changers are very careful at checking all the notes that we gringo's hand over.One enterprising money changer started taking random bills from tourists and declaring that they were fake.She would then tell the tourist in question that not only was exchanging forgeries a very serious crime but that she was duty bound by law to confiscate the money and turn it into the police.She had an accomplice dressed in military style uniform who would then start to question the,by now,shit-scared tourist.Every time the tourist would prefer to lose a hundred or so dollars than face the prospect of facing Bolivian justice.Very nice little business really,until they got caught.
I found out about about most of these scams thanks to a guy I met at one of the local gringo watering holes,"Oliver Travells",a nice English style pub located in the heart of downtown La Paz and only a short stagger home from my hostel.I had heard about this place and was keen to see just how authentic an English pub it could possibly be.One afternoon,after another day of wandering the streets I stumbled upon "Olivers"(not the only stumbling that would take place here)and climbed the stairs from it's laneway entrance to check it out.Once entering the smallish one room pub I felt as if I had gone back to my days in Asia where every major city has it's cheap and tacky version of mother England.As it was the afternoon the place wasn't that busy and the staff were all happily standing en-masse behind the bar making short work of a large plate of french fries.As all good bartenders know,if you want to find out about a city,ask another bartender so I found a seat at the bar and ordered myself a pint of "Saya",the local boutique beer brewed in the basement of my hostel(I love this town).Over lunch at the bar I soon fell into conversation with the staff and customers and after the usual backpacker question time(Where are you from?Where have you been?Where are you going?Do you have any hot chicks at your hostel?) I was accepted into the fold.
Most people I met on my trip thought that the cycle trip I was doing was nuts and the crew at Olivers' were no different.They did though,unike most people in my other life in Oz and Canada,take a great interest in it and asked question after question,fascinated in the experiences of my life on the road.Matt,the English bartender,soon tried to recruit me to play on the pub soccer squad against a team of locals and was very dissapointed at my refusal.I explained that the last time I played social soccer I blew my knee out and I wasn't keen to have another knee reconstruction,especially here in Bolivia.Poor guy was crushed as I guess he was thinking that a fit and sober addition to the team would have been a great asset.No doubt that the sqaud survived though as there was an endless pool of talent assembled at the pub each day watching Premier League soccer on the pubs' t.v screens.
Life in that pub was,at times, quite bizzare.Not only was it a pub,it also doubled as a second hand bookstore and booking agent for Gravity Assisted Tours,the mountain bike company that my new Kiwi mate owned.The bookstore side of the business was run out of thier own huge library of books set up in a room off the main pub area and could be used as a book swap as well.The thing is,these books must have been the most expensive books in Sth America.The prices that they charged was off the charts by Bolivian standards and I saw many a argument start between book buyers and the staff.It was during one of these confrontations that I had the misfortune to meet the ownner of the pub,Oliver himself.
Oliver is a tall,skinny, blonde 20-something English bloke who was,by some miracle,granted permission to set up this pub in La Paz.I would like to be nice in his description but the only way I can describe him is that he is perhaps the biggest English football hooligan that I have ever seen.He seemed to spend the first half of the day recovering from the night before and from the permanently glazed look in his eyes it came to no surprise to me when I was told that he liked imbibing in Bolivias' most famous export,cocain.His mood swings were something of legend and I witnessed first-hand many forms of the cruel mistreatment of his long-suffering staff.I could understand why the local staff put up with it but why on earth a backpacker would deal with that for only $5US a day I'll never know.
He tried it on me once when he overheard me refusing the sales pitch for the bike tour down the "Worlds' Most Dangerous Road" with Gravity Assisted Tours.As one of the few agents for that company in town they tried to sell to everyone that came in the door so he wasn't happy when I didn't seem interested in booking a trip.His mood was swinging toward the dark side when Matt saved the day by explaining to him about my bike trip and that the owner of both "Gravity Assisted Tours" and the "Saya" brewery were friends of mine and that I'd been doing some work for Gravity tours and the hostel they own during my stay.He brightened up a bit after that and never bothered me or anyone I was sitting with again.You see,La Paz is a town like many in the third world where who you know means everything.If you are connected then there is not much you can't get away with,legally or not.
I had a great reminder of that kind of power when some mates and I left Olivers Travells to go to another bar diagonally opposite after Ollies had closed.The Sol Y Luna is another cool bar that caters to the backpacker crowd.It too is owned by a 20-something Brit and yes,you guessed it,he is a mate of Olivers.Once we were settled and had dealt with the sight of six or so Bolivian transvestites partying hard by the mens washrooms,we sat back and were treated to an example of justice, Bolivian style.The five of us sat at a table by the front door a couple of steps away from the bar on one side with a view of the street through a huge window on the other.We were happily downing "Saya" pints and trying to get rid of the eight year old boy trying to sell us cigarettes and coca leaves(he works in Ollie's as well) when a group of guys came bursting through the crowd toward the door.One guy didn't quite make the turn and instead of exiting through the door he half exited through the large window next to our table before being pulled back in and thrown out the door into the street.Now it's winter here in La Paz and THE WINDOW WAS CLOSED!!
Waiting in the street were a couple of well armed police types who quickly had the poor,shitscared British bloke up against the wall outside of the bar.More cops arrived and in a jeep and we thought for sure he was in for a quick trip to the local prison.I had to stop an American guy who,full of foolish notions of freedom for all,was about to lend assistance to the guy being interrogated in the street.The poor bugger outside was pleading his case and was eventually let go when Olliver and his mate, whose pub had just ejected the prisoner, wandered over and had a quick chat to the most senior cop.After much headshaking and pointing toward the broken window the Brit was shown his way down the street and Ollie,his mate the pub owner AND all the the cops involved wandered into the pub and sat at the bar for a pint.
Later in the evening Matts' Bolvian girlfriend who worked with Matt at Oliies,introduced me to all the bar staff at Sol y Luna.They were all nice and even the cop in charge,who was still downing pints,seemed likeable.They filled me in on why the young Brit had been thrown out,seems that it's bad form to let your bar tab run too high without any payment for a week or so.The penalty,pay your bar tab by end of business tomorrow,pay your "fine" of 200 Bolivianos, to the cop at the bar tomorrow night and pay for the friggin window we pushed you through.Done!I only found out about the details of the punishment when I ran into the poor offender the next day at my favourite little coffee shop.He protested his innocence to me while emailing his parents at home for more money.Another stupid young backpacker having fun in Bolivia!!!
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Nick's epic ride part fifteen
After my long cold climb to La Cumbre I figured that I would be able to tackle most of the roads around La Paz without too much problem.I would,however have to do some further altitude training before riding over 4500meters again.I even began to think that running might even be possible and boldly stode out of the hostel the next morning to begin my run training.Now those who know me are well aware of my lack of enthusiasm toward all things pedestrian(in the athletic sense that is)and that my usual yearly run training totals about ten hours.So to try to run in downtown La Paz was quite the heroic thing for me to do.It took about ten minutes to go from hero to zero!Seems I forgot to mention to the one million or so inhabitants of Bolivias capital that I would be needing the sidewalks for my athletic pleasure that morning.Either that or they all decided that it would be fun to watch a stupid, lycra-clad gringo try to manage more than a shuffle during the busy pre-work rush.I haven't done that much side-stepping since my rugby days at boarding school and it seems my intimidation factor hasn't changed since then.My next brilliant move was to step off the curb out of harms way and try to run in the gutter against the traffic.Fantastic!Now it was like a scene from a Jackie Chan movie,doing my own stunts and everything.I do think that running headlong into a La Paz rush hour might actually be easier than driving with the traffic.At least I could jump the curb any time I liked to negotiate the chaos.I needed to get away from the automotive stampede and upon spying a patch of greenery up a side street turned off the main drag and found myself trotting around a very nice park with a network of walking trails heading off in all directions.I remembered seeing this park on my trusty city map and ran up a small hill toward one of the many lookouts I'd marked as "must do" spots to visit.Now I was cooking,I'd get a morning run in as well as some sightseeing.Brilliant!What a grand way to start the day-or not!My first new worry was that of all the paths I could have chosen,mine ran right by the local homeless persons hangout.If Bolivia is one of Sth America's poorest countries then imagine just how bad life must be for the homeless people here.I had no intention of finding out how much they disliked gringos' and did the first of my two speed sessions of the day,right through their lovely outdoor,sidewalk toilet.Having managed dodge the assorted "personal deposits" left for all to appreciate I ran up toward the lookout only to be stopped by two very grumpy,sleepy-eyed security gaurds who told me that the path was closed for rapairs and that I would have to leave the way I came.Back down the hill I went and prepared myself for my second speed session of the day and my final one in La Paz.Having negotiated the park I turned toward home and began the long,steady climb back to my hostel.By now the traffic had increased to epic proportions and was happily filling the atmosphere with the kind of thick fumes that only third rate petroleum can provide.I will state though that I did run all the way back and managed to make it a solid run and vowed to rethink the timing of any future running adventure.I did have the forethought to time my runs end with the lovely pancake breakfast that the hostel provides each day.All the pancake and coffee I could take with a not so warm (but cosy)bed for only $5U.S a night.Awesome!!The looks I got from the assembled backpackers made appreciate my little adventure even more as most of them could barely focus through the haze of an Andean hangover.I decided to really rub it in and be one of those really annoying "morning people" that every self respecting nightclub-crawler hates.Too much fun for me!Those mornings over pancakes were really cool for the most part as it was really the only time that you could meet all the new people checking in as well as farewelling those who were heading off in search of new adventures.I generally was the first to arrive at around 7am and was the last to leave at around 9.This gave me the chance to not only find out all there was to know about travlelling in Sth America from all the backpackers but to get to know the locals who staffed the hostel.More often than not,as the days went on, I was called into service to help translate for the more linguistically challenged of those checking in.It is quite funny thinking back that I,a guy who can't really speak Spanish fluently,was translating for a guy who could hardly speak English.Buy the time I told him what the guest wanted in what I thought comprehensible Spanish he would then confirm it with me in his very incomprehensible English.It's a wonder that anyone got a bed for the night.It was over breakfast that the days plans would be made.Generally,those that hadn't gone on some sort of tour for the day would hook up make a day of it touring the city on foot.I had some favourite places to go and had the pleasure of showing more than a few people the sights of downtown La Paz.If I felt like going off and hiding,I would wander down to my favourite coffee-shop next to the huge San Francisco Cathedral that dominates the market section of the city.There I would eat really nice western style food at super cheap prices and read or write as the world passed by.There is something very special about being on the road in a place like Bolivia.There is an unspoken comraderie that permeates the backpacker culture like no other.If I were to sit in a coffee-shop in most western cities my presence would go largely unnoticed and my life of little interest to those around.Here though,everyone is bound by the grand experiences of life and is so willing to share a part of themselves with anyone who happens to glance thier way .I think it is a beautiful thing to witness but sadly is witnessed by so few.I soon fell into the daily routine of getting up in the cold hours of the morning and trying to get in as much training as possible before the city woke up and riding became a nightmare.One easy option was to do a series of long 5k(3mile) hill repeats on the highway heading up and out of town towards El Alto.I would start climbing as soon as I stepped out of the hostel and had to use the first of my half dozen repeats as a warm up.The first few would generally go quite well from a traffic standpiont but the as each climb took me another 500meters skyward none of them were easy.I would try to hang on and complete my half dozen trips up the hill but more often than not the increasing fumes,not to mention the stench from the heavily polluted river by the side of the road,would make me retreat to the comfort of the hostel and my morning pancake session.My favourite ride became the trip down to the Zona Sur or southern zone of La Paz.Here is where the elite of La Paz live and also where the streets are a little less chaotic(a little).The trick with this ride is to leave early thus beating the traffic and spend an easy 35minutes gliding through the cobbled streets ever downward toward, 500 vertical meters to the southern exit of the city.There was that damn river to follow but I will admit the smell bothered me less and less each time.Passing through Zona Sur it is easy to see how to some,living in La Paz would be like being in an oasis.There are shopping malls with all the western conveniences,social and sporting clubs to rival any found in L.A and very nice,clean suburbs to live in.The fact that most of this wealth came from the cocain trade wasn't lost on me as I noticed that propotionately,the number of heavily armed troops had grown substantially since entering this area.They were a friendly bunch though and were very helpful in showing this eternally lost gringo his way.Continuing through the last of La Paz' suburbs the scenery went from densely populated to barren and it was a joy to ride the undulating road through the badlands of La Paz.The weekends were the best time to make the trip south as it gave me the opportunity to hook up with the many local cyclists that used this route for training.There was always a really funny look on the faces of every cyclist I passed as they tried to figure out just who this speedy gringo on the dirty mountain bike was.I liked this trip as it gave me the opportunity to check out a few sights that the other backpackers had to join a tour to see.Firstly there was the La Paz Zoo,surely the highest zoo in the world,full of very bored looking animals from all over the world.Secondly there was the La Paz Golf Club,definately the highest golf course in the world and then there was the "Valley of the Moon" which begins at the golf course and descends dramatically toward the great,snowcapped Mt Illimani.The soil that makes up the whole of the La Paz area is mostly a red or grey clay and due to the extreme weather here is eroded at every wet season that strikes each summer.I would hate to see just how dangerous it must be to live around here when the rain comes but I'm told that due to the steep nature of the La Paz basin that landslides are commonplace and the streets run like wild rivers at times.The funny thing about that is that above La Paz at 5400meters is the worlds highest ski hill.This ski hill only operates in summer ,of all times, as thats the only time it rains, or should I say snows , in the region.The wintertime, which I was experiencing, was too dry to snow and so the ski hill shuts down and all the summer sports like golf and mountain bikeing start.Pretty wierd I thought!The Valley of the Moon gets it's name from the bleak clay formations caused by the summer rains.There is no greenery to speak of and the soft grey soil is molded into strange and wonderful shapes that change with each wet season.Deep caverns are adorned with towering spires of fragile clay perched on the edges of crumbling cliffs.As the clay dries over the dry season the wind then carves sharp edges to each spire creating a spooky lunar feel.One could imagine pre-historic mammals roaming through the valley on thier way to the fertile plains beyond.Then again maybe I've just lost my mind due to oxygen debt.I spent many an hour riding through these bad-lands and loved every minute of it.Getting back home,however was a different story.From the Valley of the Moon back to Zona Sur was about a 90 minute uphill,undulating ride.From there,once the traffic started,the easy 35min descent turned into another 90 minute or so uphill grind with the worst part being the dreaded switchbacks that took me back to the center of town.This climb was one of those character building experiences were all you want to do was slow down or stop so the pain would end.The problem was once you were in your smallest gear you can't slow down otherwise you fall over and to stop means not starting again!Thrown in the increased pollution and you get a really big bang for your athletic buck.Not to worry though as the weekend markets in the city center almost made the whole thing worth it.The city shuts down about four city blocks in central La Paz every Sunday and half the population turns up to check out the markets and dance to the bands playing on the central stage.It was always way too much fun to see the expression on the faces of the children as I rode through the crowded streets.Generally I was absolutely filthy by this stage of my ride,covered in clay dust dried hard to my clothes by the sweat of my efforts.I wore black,full length tights and arm warmers,a dirty bike jersey of unrecognizeable colour,black gloves,my helmet and really funky aviator style goggles that I'd bought for $3 at the local markets.In short the only exposed part of my body was my nose and lips so i must have looked a scary sight to most of the kids in town.I never once got hassled on my trip and I don't know if it was bacause of my look or the fact that the bike jersey I wore had had printed on it "Trinity Cycles"(from my mates bike shop in Cairns).You see, in a very strict Roman Catholic continent like Sth America the holy trinity means a lot so I figure they all thought I might be some strange travelling holy man and thought it best to leave me alone.I didn't work that out 'til I took my bike off the train in Ororu three weeks before and some guy pointed at my shirt and started calling out "Trinity,Trinity,Christos"That was really wierd!!!There were many strange things like that happenning regularly and I made every effort not to make light of the wonderful experience that I was having in this remarkable part of our planet.It tended to overwhelm me every now and then,not because the adventure was too rich for me but the fact that even though I had lots of people at the hostel to talk to about my days,I had nobody to share them with.It is very easy to become lonley in a crowd and so I began to dream,as my health started to fade,of friends in another part of the world.
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Nick's epic ride part fourteen
That night's sleep was one of the best I had experienced on the road.Thankfully there was no repetition of the icy early morning wake up but still it was chilly enough for me to urge the sun on as it rose directly over Mt Illimani.I took the fly off my tent and let the suns rays warm me as I sat inside drinking huge amounts of hot chocolate.There was no rush to get going as I had only 40k(25miles) to ride into La Paz and so I took my time packing up and hit the road mid morning for the downhill run into Bolivias largest city.
For the fist time in weeks I had the pleasure of spending the majority of my time sitting up and coasting as I decsended into El Alto.This is quite a depressing place as it is growing so fast that the infrastructure can't keep up with the amount of homes being built.The country folk of Bolivia are flocking to this area in great numbers,all hoping to be able to have a better life in La Paz, away from the poverty stricken farmlands of this poor country.The end result is a characterless shamble of dwellings just bursting at the seams with no real sense of planning at all.The sheer scale of people living here stuck me as I rode through El Alto proper just before the massive descent into La Paz.There was chaos everywhere.Thousands of people were all in a mad rush to go somewhere and the huge fleet of mini busses charged with delivering them there made my life hell as I tried to negotiate the main highway into town.I thought that there must have been some huge demonstration going on but soon found that this was just the normal Sunday morning market crowd heading off to do some shopping.
The city of La Paz is situated in a huge bowl some 500 vertical meters below El Alto and I can't begin to describe the truly incredible sight that was before me as I crested the final rise and started the long scary downhill into town.The city center of La Paz is at the very bottom of the valley which is in turn filled from bottom to top with old clay brick nieghbourhoods ranging from wealthy to poor as you rise toward the sky.The collection of skyscrapers that are collected in a group on the valley floor told me that I was indeed entering a major city. Once the 10k(6mile)descent was negotiated the western food outlets and chain stores confimed to me that there was indeed two Bolivias, the poor country Bolivia that I had seen during the last week or so and the capitalist mecca that is the nations commercial capital.
It took some time to find my hostel and after unpacking and showering I was taken hostage by a couple of market frenzied girls who dragged me back up to El Alto and into the throng that I had ridden through a couple of hours earlier.This market is only open a couple of days a week and it is about the biggest one I have ever seen.There was everything imaginable for sale.The usual clothes,jewelery,fake colognes,food and drink were on offer as were some more unusual items.I've never before seen a broken fan belt store or one that sells car doors before but they were just two of the weird market store we saw.I hung around one stall for a while as there were cheerleading outfits for sale and I REALLY wanted to see the customers who wanted to shop there.No joy for me though,all the potential Bolivian cheerleaders must have been out of town that day.My main interest was looking at the view of La Paz way below us and as the markets are perched on the lip of the bowl above the city the sight was amazing.The bright blue sky and snow covered Mt Illimani dominating the far end of the valley just added to the days spectacle.
With about all the marketing I could handle I convinced the girls that it was coffee time and we headed down to the city center and into a really cool western style coffee house.This place would fit in anywhere in the world and my short time there was just the beginning of my exposure to the expat life that abounds in La Paz.Like many far-flung cities of the world La Paz has it´s share of foriegn nationals living amoung the local chaos that only a third world capital can provide.I have found this place very similar in that respect to the Hong Kong of my childhood.To those of you who don´t know me so well I was born and raised in that wonderful British colony during a time when Brittannia did indeed still rule the waves and the Union Jack flew proudly over the last bastion of English imperialism.In those heady days during the sixties and seventies obscene displays of wealth and social staus were on display throughout the colony in the form of private golf,tennis,equestrian,cricket,social and country clubs.Expat corporate executives mingled with the wealthy local elite while thier guilded offspring ran amok in the countless English pubs,restaurants and discos that happily welcomed the mostly underage throng with open arms and bulging cash registers.
La Paz is no different and I have already seen many private sports and social clubs not so discreetly hidden behind high walls designed to keep the unwashed masses at bay.The only locals allowed are the elite Bolivian upper class,rich expats and the staff whose primary function is to make the club members feel very special about themselves.The countless western style eateries and pubs dotted around the city have the same function.While catering to a slightly less affluent section of the foriegn presence they too have to suffer the same idignity of watching even the poorest of westerners(the dreaded backpacker)spend more money on one meal than the average Bolivian earns in a week.
I found myself guilty of frequenting one such coffee shop and really felt like I could have been back in Hong Kong as the only people who ate there were the foriegn backpackers searching for some western food and a few select locals,most of whom seemed to be friends of the cafes' owners.I'm not sure if it was the excellent food(super cheap too) or the endless '70s disco music that played in the background but I ended up going there for lunch nearly every day.One cool thing was that as I sat at my favourite table I ended up meeting up with so many people that I had seen in Argentina and southern Bolivia earlier during my trip.The backpacker trail in Sth America is now well and truly established and the winter months mean it's time to go to Bolivia and Peru.It's only a matter of time before paths cross again.
The main reason I had decided to spend so much time in La Paz was to settle for a while in one place and do some serious riding.I had done some research on the mountain bike community in La Paz before I left Australia and found that there was a huge amount of mountain bike tours available.The adventure tour industry is growing rapidly and there are several tour operators conducting all kinds of M.T.B experiences around La Paz.Without a doubt the pick of the bunch is a company called Gravity Assisted Tours,a company owned and operated by a mad keen Kiwi mountain biker who came to Bolivia eight years ago looking for adventure and ended up creating what is, without a doubt, one of the finest mountain bike adventure companys' in the world.
I had contacted the owner(Alistair)from Australia earlier in the year and told him of my planned trip and that I was looking at helping organise a tour for a friend in Oz back who was planning a two week trip with some friends in October.I was to be on a mission to find out all I could about his company and what La Paz had to offer in order to make my frinds arrival in Bolivia as easy as possible.Alistair could not have been more welcoming.Upon settling into La Paz (he is a part owner of my hostel)I was invited over to "Gravity House" and met up with him and a few of his giudes.He seemed more interested in making sure that I was comfortable in his hostel and planning stuff for me to do than anything to do with selling his tours.I liked him immediately and felt sure we would become firends.A tour of his office and bike workshop more than settled any doubts I might have had about the professionalism of his company.The huge fleet of high end Kona bikes being worked on by a team of dedicated moutainbike-mad mechanics only supported the image portrayed in the "Gravity"office I had seen downtown earlier in the day.
With my contacts sorted I set about making La Paz my home for the next few weeks.The hostel I was staying was the nicest and newest in town .It is a renovated hotel and is a partnership between Alistair and the owner of the Saya Brewery which produces it's boutique beers in the basement of the building.Although it is still undergoing major renovations and is really,really cold all the time it was very comfortable and the staff made me feel very welcome.Over the next couple of weeks I met loads of really cool travellers and even bumped into many backpackers that I had seen during the first couple of months of my trip.For me,it was nice to be hanging around mainly English speaking people after spending time on the road in contact with only the local Bolivians.I missed being able to have easy conversations with people who were from the same culture as myself.Maybe I was beginning to find life in Sth America wearing but I was determined to make the most of my time in La Paz.
For the first few days I spent most of my time between wandering the insanely busy streets and relaxing in various coffee shops around town.It seems like the whole city is one big market place and is just alive with the locals trying to eek out a living selling everything imaginable in thier little street stalls.Each area seems to have its own theme.The is the Black Market where you can pick up al d.v.ds' and electronics,the Witches Market where all kinds of local potions,herbs and assorted voodoo items are found.This place was weird and although I'm not one to be surprised by much,the Llama feotus' that were for sale did kind of put me off.Seems they place these little treasures in the foundations of thier new homes as a guarantee of good fortune.There are flower markets,fruit markets,clothes markets,book markets,toiletries markets but my favourite one to avoid walking through was the meat markets(I'm not talking night clubs here folks).The various cuts of meat on display in the most unsanitary conditions made my stomach turn and I was thankful the altitude had dulled my appetite.
My nights were usually quiet affairs,watching movies at the hostel.I'm not one to hang out in bars anymore and I'm getting far too old to be spending time trying to join in on the other meat market in town.Give me a nice warm blanket and a movie and I'm a happy camper.I did manage to spend four straight nights watching five seasons of Sex and the City on d.v.d with five Irish girls.While all the studly young lads were busy confirming thier manliness by watching Top Gun and other assorted testosterone filled movies togther, I was snuggled up under a rug with the girls and an endless supply of snack food.Don't know about those macho boys but I know where I'd prefer to be.
After a few days of hanging out I tought it was time to get back on the bike and check out the local roads.My god what a steep learning curve that was!After spending the best part of a month above 3000meters(10,000 feet) I thought that I was used to the altitude.How wrong I was!My first ride was from the center of the city at about 3600meters to a place called Le Cumbre which is the starting piont for the most popular bike tour in South America,the "Worlds Most Dangerous Road!!"Now, the tourists get to catch a nice mini-bus to Le Cumbre with thier bikes on top and a coffee in thier hot little hands.I on the other hand thought it would be cool to ride up thier just to check it out.Little did I know what riding up to 4700meters would do to me.It's not a long ride by any means(about 25-30k)but once you leave the main street downtown the next downhill is when you turn around at the top.Off I went(stupidly on a Sunday)weaving my way through the first of two markets that I would have to negotiate that day,trying not to run over any litttle kids while avoiding becoming a hood ornament on one of the hundreds of taxis and mini buses ferrying the population around town.
An hour into the ride and I was still in the outer suburbs of La Paz and climbing steadily.I stopped every now and then to check out the view behind me and was amazed at just how high above La Paz I was climbing and marvelled at how the people in the streets around me could live at this altitude and still function.Every time I stopped it was like a huge weight was on my chest and starting again sent flashes of pain down to my legs.I figured this was caused by the fact that every time I stopped riding I also stopped my hyperventilation and so my muscles ran out of oxygen.Very strange to think that it was actually easier to keep riding slowly than it was to stand there doing nothing.
Another fourty minutes or so later and I was finally out of the city and riding alone on a deserted ,winding road that rose ever upward to the snow coverd peaks in the distance.The temperature was dropping dramatically and I knew I was going to be in trouble on the decsent when I passed the first frozen waterfall of the day.Dogs became my next issue and while the little buggers that chased me from time to time are used to charging up a hill at 4000 meters,I am not!The pain in my chest that I got from trying to out-sprint those dogs was unbelievable and I began to think of what it must be like for those mountaineers on Everest.Poor bastards!
After climbing 1100meters in two hours and twenty two minutes I reached Le Cumbre and was treated to the beatiful sight of Le Cumbre Lake and the glacier of a nearby mountain.I could see in the distance the road ahead that I knew lead down the Worlds Most Dangerous Road and eventually into the Bolivian Amazon.Believe me the thought of descending the 70 odd kilometers down to the warm town of Coroico in the jungle at 1100meters was very tempting but that ride would have to wait.I needed to get back to La Paz before the cold overwhelmed me.
The ride back to La Paz was a dangerous and painful affair.I had left it too late in the day for my ride and now the sun was setting and shadows were covering the road before me.With no direct sunlight to warm me I began to freeze.My co-ordination was rapidly diminishing and even though I had two pairs of gloves on my hand began to ache with the cold and it became hard to control my bike.The black ice that was now starting to cover parts of the road meant that I had to be on the brakes for most of the descent in order to prevent my sliding off the edge around any one of the blind corners that I had to negotiate.This just added to the pain and by the time I hit the traffic of the outer subrubs I was miserable.Luckily the valley turned into the sun and I bagan to warm up and the final part of the ride was actually pretty cool fun if not quite hair raising at times.There was no way I could do this ride during the week with the traffic at full flow.
I made it back to the hostel without incident and set about warming myself with a nice hot shower.It felt great to be warm again but the first of the side affects of my ride became evident when my nose bagan to bleed.I haven't had a bleeding nose for as long as I can remember and I figured it was from the effort at altitude earlier in the day and that it would settle down soon enough.Well the blood flow did stop but my sinuses would be coated in dried blood for the remainder of my stay in Bolivia.Not much fun and as it turned out the nose bleed was a sign of things to come in the next two weeks.Training at this altitude would soon take it's toll on my body I was just too stubborn to heed the warning signs.
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For the fist time in weeks I had the pleasure of spending the majority of my time sitting up and coasting as I decsended into El Alto.This is quite a depressing place as it is growing so fast that the infrastructure can't keep up with the amount of homes being built.The country folk of Bolivia are flocking to this area in great numbers,all hoping to be able to have a better life in La Paz, away from the poverty stricken farmlands of this poor country.The end result is a characterless shamble of dwellings just bursting at the seams with no real sense of planning at all.The sheer scale of people living here stuck me as I rode through El Alto proper just before the massive descent into La Paz.There was chaos everywhere.Thousands of people were all in a mad rush to go somewhere and the huge fleet of mini busses charged with delivering them there made my life hell as I tried to negotiate the main highway into town.I thought that there must have been some huge demonstration going on but soon found that this was just the normal Sunday morning market crowd heading off to do some shopping.
The city of La Paz is situated in a huge bowl some 500 vertical meters below El Alto and I can't begin to describe the truly incredible sight that was before me as I crested the final rise and started the long scary downhill into town.The city center of La Paz is at the very bottom of the valley which is in turn filled from bottom to top with old clay brick nieghbourhoods ranging from wealthy to poor as you rise toward the sky.The collection of skyscrapers that are collected in a group on the valley floor told me that I was indeed entering a major city. Once the 10k(6mile)descent was negotiated the western food outlets and chain stores confimed to me that there was indeed two Bolivias, the poor country Bolivia that I had seen during the last week or so and the capitalist mecca that is the nations commercial capital.
It took some time to find my hostel and after unpacking and showering I was taken hostage by a couple of market frenzied girls who dragged me back up to El Alto and into the throng that I had ridden through a couple of hours earlier.This market is only open a couple of days a week and it is about the biggest one I have ever seen.There was everything imaginable for sale.The usual clothes,jewelery,fake colognes,food and drink were on offer as were some more unusual items.I've never before seen a broken fan belt store or one that sells car doors before but they were just two of the weird market store we saw.I hung around one stall for a while as there were cheerleading outfits for sale and I REALLY wanted to see the customers who wanted to shop there.No joy for me though,all the potential Bolivian cheerleaders must have been out of town that day.My main interest was looking at the view of La Paz way below us and as the markets are perched on the lip of the bowl above the city the sight was amazing.The bright blue sky and snow covered Mt Illimani dominating the far end of the valley just added to the days spectacle.
With about all the marketing I could handle I convinced the girls that it was coffee time and we headed down to the city center and into a really cool western style coffee house.This place would fit in anywhere in the world and my short time there was just the beginning of my exposure to the expat life that abounds in La Paz.Like many far-flung cities of the world La Paz has it´s share of foriegn nationals living amoung the local chaos that only a third world capital can provide.I have found this place very similar in that respect to the Hong Kong of my childhood.To those of you who don´t know me so well I was born and raised in that wonderful British colony during a time when Brittannia did indeed still rule the waves and the Union Jack flew proudly over the last bastion of English imperialism.In those heady days during the sixties and seventies obscene displays of wealth and social staus were on display throughout the colony in the form of private golf,tennis,equestrian,cricket,social and country clubs.Expat corporate executives mingled with the wealthy local elite while thier guilded offspring ran amok in the countless English pubs,restaurants and discos that happily welcomed the mostly underage throng with open arms and bulging cash registers.
La Paz is no different and I have already seen many private sports and social clubs not so discreetly hidden behind high walls designed to keep the unwashed masses at bay.The only locals allowed are the elite Bolivian upper class,rich expats and the staff whose primary function is to make the club members feel very special about themselves.The countless western style eateries and pubs dotted around the city have the same function.While catering to a slightly less affluent section of the foriegn presence they too have to suffer the same idignity of watching even the poorest of westerners(the dreaded backpacker)spend more money on one meal than the average Bolivian earns in a week.
I found myself guilty of frequenting one such coffee shop and really felt like I could have been back in Hong Kong as the only people who ate there were the foriegn backpackers searching for some western food and a few select locals,most of whom seemed to be friends of the cafes' owners.I'm not sure if it was the excellent food(super cheap too) or the endless '70s disco music that played in the background but I ended up going there for lunch nearly every day.One cool thing was that as I sat at my favourite table I ended up meeting up with so many people that I had seen in Argentina and southern Bolivia earlier during my trip.The backpacker trail in Sth America is now well and truly established and the winter months mean it's time to go to Bolivia and Peru.It's only a matter of time before paths cross again.
The main reason I had decided to spend so much time in La Paz was to settle for a while in one place and do some serious riding.I had done some research on the mountain bike community in La Paz before I left Australia and found that there was a huge amount of mountain bike tours available.The adventure tour industry is growing rapidly and there are several tour operators conducting all kinds of M.T.B experiences around La Paz.Without a doubt the pick of the bunch is a company called Gravity Assisted Tours,a company owned and operated by a mad keen Kiwi mountain biker who came to Bolivia eight years ago looking for adventure and ended up creating what is, without a doubt, one of the finest mountain bike adventure companys' in the world.
I had contacted the owner(Alistair)from Australia earlier in the year and told him of my planned trip and that I was looking at helping organise a tour for a friend in Oz back who was planning a two week trip with some friends in October.I was to be on a mission to find out all I could about his company and what La Paz had to offer in order to make my frinds arrival in Bolivia as easy as possible.Alistair could not have been more welcoming.Upon settling into La Paz (he is a part owner of my hostel)I was invited over to "Gravity House" and met up with him and a few of his giudes.He seemed more interested in making sure that I was comfortable in his hostel and planning stuff for me to do than anything to do with selling his tours.I liked him immediately and felt sure we would become firends.A tour of his office and bike workshop more than settled any doubts I might have had about the professionalism of his company.The huge fleet of high end Kona bikes being worked on by a team of dedicated moutainbike-mad mechanics only supported the image portrayed in the "Gravity"office I had seen downtown earlier in the day.
With my contacts sorted I set about making La Paz my home for the next few weeks.The hostel I was staying was the nicest and newest in town .It is a renovated hotel and is a partnership between Alistair and the owner of the Saya Brewery which produces it's boutique beers in the basement of the building.Although it is still undergoing major renovations and is really,really cold all the time it was very comfortable and the staff made me feel very welcome.Over the next couple of weeks I met loads of really cool travellers and even bumped into many backpackers that I had seen during the first couple of months of my trip.For me,it was nice to be hanging around mainly English speaking people after spending time on the road in contact with only the local Bolivians.I missed being able to have easy conversations with people who were from the same culture as myself.Maybe I was beginning to find life in Sth America wearing but I was determined to make the most of my time in La Paz.
For the first few days I spent most of my time between wandering the insanely busy streets and relaxing in various coffee shops around town.It seems like the whole city is one big market place and is just alive with the locals trying to eek out a living selling everything imaginable in thier little street stalls.Each area seems to have its own theme.The is the Black Market where you can pick up al d.v.ds' and electronics,the Witches Market where all kinds of local potions,herbs and assorted voodoo items are found.This place was weird and although I'm not one to be surprised by much,the Llama feotus' that were for sale did kind of put me off.Seems they place these little treasures in the foundations of thier new homes as a guarantee of good fortune.There are flower markets,fruit markets,clothes markets,book markets,toiletries markets but my favourite one to avoid walking through was the meat markets(I'm not talking night clubs here folks).The various cuts of meat on display in the most unsanitary conditions made my stomach turn and I was thankful the altitude had dulled my appetite.
My nights were usually quiet affairs,watching movies at the hostel.I'm not one to hang out in bars anymore and I'm getting far too old to be spending time trying to join in on the other meat market in town.Give me a nice warm blanket and a movie and I'm a happy camper.I did manage to spend four straight nights watching five seasons of Sex and the City on d.v.d with five Irish girls.While all the studly young lads were busy confirming thier manliness by watching Top Gun and other assorted testosterone filled movies togther, I was snuggled up under a rug with the girls and an endless supply of snack food.Don't know about those macho boys but I know where I'd prefer to be.
After a few days of hanging out I tought it was time to get back on the bike and check out the local roads.My god what a steep learning curve that was!After spending the best part of a month above 3000meters(10,000 feet) I thought that I was used to the altitude.How wrong I was!My first ride was from the center of the city at about 3600meters to a place called Le Cumbre which is the starting piont for the most popular bike tour in South America,the "Worlds Most Dangerous Road!!"Now, the tourists get to catch a nice mini-bus to Le Cumbre with thier bikes on top and a coffee in thier hot little hands.I on the other hand thought it would be cool to ride up thier just to check it out.Little did I know what riding up to 4700meters would do to me.It's not a long ride by any means(about 25-30k)but once you leave the main street downtown the next downhill is when you turn around at the top.Off I went(stupidly on a Sunday)weaving my way through the first of two markets that I would have to negotiate that day,trying not to run over any litttle kids while avoiding becoming a hood ornament on one of the hundreds of taxis and mini buses ferrying the population around town.
An hour into the ride and I was still in the outer suburbs of La Paz and climbing steadily.I stopped every now and then to check out the view behind me and was amazed at just how high above La Paz I was climbing and marvelled at how the people in the streets around me could live at this altitude and still function.Every time I stopped it was like a huge weight was on my chest and starting again sent flashes of pain down to my legs.I figured this was caused by the fact that every time I stopped riding I also stopped my hyperventilation and so my muscles ran out of oxygen.Very strange to think that it was actually easier to keep riding slowly than it was to stand there doing nothing.
Another fourty minutes or so later and I was finally out of the city and riding alone on a deserted ,winding road that rose ever upward to the snow coverd peaks in the distance.The temperature was dropping dramatically and I knew I was going to be in trouble on the decsent when I passed the first frozen waterfall of the day.Dogs became my next issue and while the little buggers that chased me from time to time are used to charging up a hill at 4000 meters,I am not!The pain in my chest that I got from trying to out-sprint those dogs was unbelievable and I began to think of what it must be like for those mountaineers on Everest.Poor bastards!
After climbing 1100meters in two hours and twenty two minutes I reached Le Cumbre and was treated to the beatiful sight of Le Cumbre Lake and the glacier of a nearby mountain.I could see in the distance the road ahead that I knew lead down the Worlds Most Dangerous Road and eventually into the Bolivian Amazon.Believe me the thought of descending the 70 odd kilometers down to the warm town of Coroico in the jungle at 1100meters was very tempting but that ride would have to wait.I needed to get back to La Paz before the cold overwhelmed me.
The ride back to La Paz was a dangerous and painful affair.I had left it too late in the day for my ride and now the sun was setting and shadows were covering the road before me.With no direct sunlight to warm me I began to freeze.My co-ordination was rapidly diminishing and even though I had two pairs of gloves on my hand began to ache with the cold and it became hard to control my bike.The black ice that was now starting to cover parts of the road meant that I had to be on the brakes for most of the descent in order to prevent my sliding off the edge around any one of the blind corners that I had to negotiate.This just added to the pain and by the time I hit the traffic of the outer subrubs I was miserable.Luckily the valley turned into the sun and I bagan to warm up and the final part of the ride was actually pretty cool fun if not quite hair raising at times.There was no way I could do this ride during the week with the traffic at full flow.
I made it back to the hostel without incident and set about warming myself with a nice hot shower.It felt great to be warm again but the first of the side affects of my ride became evident when my nose bagan to bleed.I haven't had a bleeding nose for as long as I can remember and I figured it was from the effort at altitude earlier in the day and that it would settle down soon enough.Well the blood flow did stop but my sinuses would be coated in dried blood for the remainder of my stay in Bolivia.Not much fun and as it turned out the nose bleed was a sign of things to come in the next two weeks.Training at this altitude would soon take it's toll on my body I was just too stubborn to heed the warning signs.
Nick's epic ride part thirteen
Sleep was something that evaded me for the rest of the night as I waited, patiently shiverring,for the first rays of sunlight to warm my tent.The increase in traffic on the highway gave me some idea that daybreak was not far off and it was a relief to see the sky lighten in the early stages of sunrise.I knew that my little tent would take some time to warm up so I set about lighting my small stove and cooked myself some porridge, laced with hot chocolate.Just the thing to warm my insides and give me energy required to face the cold morning.
Once outside my tent I found all my equipment covered in a thin layer of ice and the ground brittle under a heavy frost.I decided to take my time and wait out those first cold hours and made a mental departure time of around nine o´clock.I took the opportunity to get the hot chocolate out again and warmed my hands around an nice hot brew.Sitting there in the strenghtening sunlight I soon forgot about the chilly ordeal of the night before and began to look forward to what lay ahead for me as I made my way ever closer to La Paz.First things first though, I still had to break camp and actually get my lazy butt back on the road.
I figured that as I had climbed so much the day before from 3700meters that today must surely be an easy one.The road ahead seemed to confirm that as I rolled happily down to the next town about 10k(6miles) away.It was a beautliful day without a cloud in the sky and no sign of the winds that so cruelly toyed with me the day before.I should have known though that what goes up in Bolivia,just keeps going up and as I rounded the bend to leave my first town of the day I saw the road tilt skyward,up and over the the hills in the distance.I did see a couple of cyclists quite some distance ahead and my competitive insticts kicked in and they became the focus of my pain.I did feel pretty foolish when,on approaching my prey,I realised that one of the "cyclists" was not a cyclist at all but a young mother pushing her two kids up the hill in a cart.We were about half way up the 10k(6mile) climb and I wondered how many times this poor woman had made the journey from the village at the bottom to the village at the top of the hill.I gave her and her family a nod of resect as I passed them and with their cheers of encouragement spurring me on I forgot my petty worries and made for the summit.
As I crested the climb,passing through yet another featureless village I saw the vast expance of the high plains stretching for miles before me.The long descent out of that village should have brightened my mood but the wind that had not yet reached the valley out of which I had climbed, made it´s presence felt here and I was forced to peddle downhill to gain any kind of speed.It was on this painfully slow descent that the Andes began to reveal thier beauty.Looking toward the west at my left were three enormous,snow-capped volcanos standing tall,towering over the plains below.They looked spectacular in the bright morning light and I wished I was able to ride toward them.My road unfortunately,headed ever upward,to the featureless highlands that I knew would lead me to my final destination.I felt a bit like good old Frodo heading towards Mordor.Could have done with Sam being there as well.I would have liked the company and his cooking is better than mine.
The rest of the day was spent in survival mode and I braced myself against the wind and rode on and on ever upward,the miles slowly passing under my wheels.I was very surprised at how many villages that I passed through as I thought that Bolivia was supposed to be more sparsely populated than I was witnessing.You would have to really try hard to run out of food and water here and it was nothing like I´d expected.I cursed the extra wieght that I carried with food that I now knew I didn´t need.
I had a couple of funny chance meetings along the way that day.The first was a group of schoolkids riding along the highway on thier way home from who knows where.There were five of them peddalling haphazardly all over the highway pushing and shoving each other in a way that the boys in Le Tour would be proud.No sponsors outfits with this little peleton though.Theses kids were immaculately dressed in full school uniforms.Grey dress pants,maroon sweaters overtop bright white shirts and polished black shoes made them look decidedly out of place in those bleak surrounds.All formality was thrown away when they saw me rapidy closing in.In a move that Team Telecom could have learnt from, they waited until I was just about to pass and the little buggers,in one swift move boxed me in.I was stuck and rolling along the highway at their mercy.For about a kilometer they teased me in a way that only kids can and for the first time I actually prayed for a hill so I could drop this juvenile pack.The inevitable hill came and in a play straight out of the German cycling handbook,my tourmentors lost the plot and I rode upward and away from them with ease.You know your competitive carreer is over when you start claiming victory over a bunch of ten year olds.The shame of it all!!
I rode on and on and by late afternoon was beginning to turn my thoughts to weather or not I could actaully make La Paz that day.I was riding well and even with the headwind figured I could cover the 140k(87miles) to the big city.I must have been riding at well over 4000m as I knew La Paz was in a bowl well below the city of El Alto that gaurds it´s western edge.I slowed down to fill my waterbottles at a disused gas station and even though it isn´t reccommended that you drink the water here in Bolivia my dehydrated state left me no option.As I slowed to find somewhere to put my rig I greeted by a little boy who waved me in with the flair of a seasoned pit crew member.He excidedly showed me where I could put my bike and then after watching me hopelessly looking somewhere to fill my bottles directed me to the tap that he had been standing next to the whole time.He asked me lots of questions about myself and just fell in love with my bike.Here was this little kid who couldn´t be more than eight or nine standing there in bare feet,his body dirty ,blackened by the curse of poverty, happily chatting away as if life couldn´t be better.I dug into my food stash and gave him all the cereal bars that I had left,said goobye and rode off with him running behind waving madly at his new gringo friend.Very humbling really.
On and on I rode knowing that I was very close to La Paz when unpon cresting yet another hill I was greeted by the sight of the mighty snow covered giants that make up the Andes.They are truly a magnificent sight and a real novelty for a guy from the tropics.As I rode further,the imposing Mount Illimani came into view on my right to the east.At over 6400 meters it is by far the highest mountain I had seen on my trip and I stopped on the highway to admire it´s majesty.By now the sun was on it´s way down and I thought it would be special to make camp and watch the sun set over the range before me.I found a perfect spot hiden from the highway behind a couple of small hills and set about organizing my last camp before La Paz.
My chosen resting place also overlooked a small hamlet and just as I was firing up my stove an old man pushing a bike strolled up the dirt road from his home below me and came to investigate.I asked him if it was okay if I camped there for the night but he thought I was mad and suggested that I come down to his village where it was out of the wind and make camp.I explained that I wanted to see the sun set on Mt Illimani and assured him that although it would be cold,I would be just fine.He shook his head and went about his business.About an hour later after my camp was set and dinner was had, the old man came back from whatever errand he had been on and checked out all my gear.He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he checked out firstly my bike,which he thought amazing(the disc brakes get them every time)then my tent.He fussed over it for ages before declaring that in his opinion I would be fine for the night.What really floored him was my trailer.He couldn´t get enough of it and I had to show him how it attached to my bike,how the bag attached to the trailer and just to show off I gave a quick demonstration of how it folds down on itself to the size of hand luggage.Well you would think I´d just reinvented the wheel he was so excited.I asked him to please keep my location for the night a secret and with that he wished me luck and strolled back to his little world at the bottom of the hill.
With the sun setting and the light dwindling I put on all my warm clothes and braced myelf for the impending chill of night.I wanted to be able to see both the sun setting over the hills to the west and the last rays of light playing on the snow-covered Illimani to the east.I figured if I went to the top of the tiny hill above my camp I would be able to see both.What I didn´t expect was the sight before me as I reached the hiiltop.There to the north were the lights of El Alto,22k(13miles) away.El Alto is Sth Americas fastest growing city and is now the gateway to La Paz.The lights from the homes of its half million inhabitants shimmered like a golden lake in the in the fading light .I sat on that hiltop until the last rays of the sun had bathed Illimani in a warm purple glow and the lights of El Alto had brightened to a huge beacon that showed where I would end my journey the next morning.Turning to walk back to camp I was reminded of just where my adventure had started as there,high in the night sky was the southern cross, the celestial symbol of the land down under where my adventure had begun eight weeks before.
Once outside my tent I found all my equipment covered in a thin layer of ice and the ground brittle under a heavy frost.I decided to take my time and wait out those first cold hours and made a mental departure time of around nine o´clock.I took the opportunity to get the hot chocolate out again and warmed my hands around an nice hot brew.Sitting there in the strenghtening sunlight I soon forgot about the chilly ordeal of the night before and began to look forward to what lay ahead for me as I made my way ever closer to La Paz.First things first though, I still had to break camp and actually get my lazy butt back on the road.
I figured that as I had climbed so much the day before from 3700meters that today must surely be an easy one.The road ahead seemed to confirm that as I rolled happily down to the next town about 10k(6miles) away.It was a beautliful day without a cloud in the sky and no sign of the winds that so cruelly toyed with me the day before.I should have known though that what goes up in Bolivia,just keeps going up and as I rounded the bend to leave my first town of the day I saw the road tilt skyward,up and over the the hills in the distance.I did see a couple of cyclists quite some distance ahead and my competitive insticts kicked in and they became the focus of my pain.I did feel pretty foolish when,on approaching my prey,I realised that one of the "cyclists" was not a cyclist at all but a young mother pushing her two kids up the hill in a cart.We were about half way up the 10k(6mile) climb and I wondered how many times this poor woman had made the journey from the village at the bottom to the village at the top of the hill.I gave her and her family a nod of resect as I passed them and with their cheers of encouragement spurring me on I forgot my petty worries and made for the summit.
As I crested the climb,passing through yet another featureless village I saw the vast expance of the high plains stretching for miles before me.The long descent out of that village should have brightened my mood but the wind that had not yet reached the valley out of which I had climbed, made it´s presence felt here and I was forced to peddle downhill to gain any kind of speed.It was on this painfully slow descent that the Andes began to reveal thier beauty.Looking toward the west at my left were three enormous,snow-capped volcanos standing tall,towering over the plains below.They looked spectacular in the bright morning light and I wished I was able to ride toward them.My road unfortunately,headed ever upward,to the featureless highlands that I knew would lead me to my final destination.I felt a bit like good old Frodo heading towards Mordor.Could have done with Sam being there as well.I would have liked the company and his cooking is better than mine.
The rest of the day was spent in survival mode and I braced myself against the wind and rode on and on ever upward,the miles slowly passing under my wheels.I was very surprised at how many villages that I passed through as I thought that Bolivia was supposed to be more sparsely populated than I was witnessing.You would have to really try hard to run out of food and water here and it was nothing like I´d expected.I cursed the extra wieght that I carried with food that I now knew I didn´t need.
I had a couple of funny chance meetings along the way that day.The first was a group of schoolkids riding along the highway on thier way home from who knows where.There were five of them peddalling haphazardly all over the highway pushing and shoving each other in a way that the boys in Le Tour would be proud.No sponsors outfits with this little peleton though.Theses kids were immaculately dressed in full school uniforms.Grey dress pants,maroon sweaters overtop bright white shirts and polished black shoes made them look decidedly out of place in those bleak surrounds.All formality was thrown away when they saw me rapidy closing in.In a move that Team Telecom could have learnt from, they waited until I was just about to pass and the little buggers,in one swift move boxed me in.I was stuck and rolling along the highway at their mercy.For about a kilometer they teased me in a way that only kids can and for the first time I actually prayed for a hill so I could drop this juvenile pack.The inevitable hill came and in a play straight out of the German cycling handbook,my tourmentors lost the plot and I rode upward and away from them with ease.You know your competitive carreer is over when you start claiming victory over a bunch of ten year olds.The shame of it all!!
I rode on and on and by late afternoon was beginning to turn my thoughts to weather or not I could actaully make La Paz that day.I was riding well and even with the headwind figured I could cover the 140k(87miles) to the big city.I must have been riding at well over 4000m as I knew La Paz was in a bowl well below the city of El Alto that gaurds it´s western edge.I slowed down to fill my waterbottles at a disused gas station and even though it isn´t reccommended that you drink the water here in Bolivia my dehydrated state left me no option.As I slowed to find somewhere to put my rig I greeted by a little boy who waved me in with the flair of a seasoned pit crew member.He excidedly showed me where I could put my bike and then after watching me hopelessly looking somewhere to fill my bottles directed me to the tap that he had been standing next to the whole time.He asked me lots of questions about myself and just fell in love with my bike.Here was this little kid who couldn´t be more than eight or nine standing there in bare feet,his body dirty ,blackened by the curse of poverty, happily chatting away as if life couldn´t be better.I dug into my food stash and gave him all the cereal bars that I had left,said goobye and rode off with him running behind waving madly at his new gringo friend.Very humbling really.
On and on I rode knowing that I was very close to La Paz when unpon cresting yet another hill I was greeted by the sight of the mighty snow covered giants that make up the Andes.They are truly a magnificent sight and a real novelty for a guy from the tropics.As I rode further,the imposing Mount Illimani came into view on my right to the east.At over 6400 meters it is by far the highest mountain I had seen on my trip and I stopped on the highway to admire it´s majesty.By now the sun was on it´s way down and I thought it would be special to make camp and watch the sun set over the range before me.I found a perfect spot hiden from the highway behind a couple of small hills and set about organizing my last camp before La Paz.
My chosen resting place also overlooked a small hamlet and just as I was firing up my stove an old man pushing a bike strolled up the dirt road from his home below me and came to investigate.I asked him if it was okay if I camped there for the night but he thought I was mad and suggested that I come down to his village where it was out of the wind and make camp.I explained that I wanted to see the sun set on Mt Illimani and assured him that although it would be cold,I would be just fine.He shook his head and went about his business.About an hour later after my camp was set and dinner was had, the old man came back from whatever errand he had been on and checked out all my gear.He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he checked out firstly my bike,which he thought amazing(the disc brakes get them every time)then my tent.He fussed over it for ages before declaring that in his opinion I would be fine for the night.What really floored him was my trailer.He couldn´t get enough of it and I had to show him how it attached to my bike,how the bag attached to the trailer and just to show off I gave a quick demonstration of how it folds down on itself to the size of hand luggage.Well you would think I´d just reinvented the wheel he was so excited.I asked him to please keep my location for the night a secret and with that he wished me luck and strolled back to his little world at the bottom of the hill.
With the sun setting and the light dwindling I put on all my warm clothes and braced myelf for the impending chill of night.I wanted to be able to see both the sun setting over the hills to the west and the last rays of light playing on the snow-covered Illimani to the east.I figured if I went to the top of the tiny hill above my camp I would be able to see both.What I didn´t expect was the sight before me as I reached the hiiltop.There to the north were the lights of El Alto,22k(13miles) away.El Alto is Sth Americas fastest growing city and is now the gateway to La Paz.The lights from the homes of its half million inhabitants shimmered like a golden lake in the in the fading light .I sat on that hiltop until the last rays of the sun had bathed Illimani in a warm purple glow and the lights of El Alto had brightened to a huge beacon that showed where I would end my journey the next morning.Turning to walk back to camp I was reminded of just where my adventure had started as there,high in the night sky was the southern cross, the celestial symbol of the land down under where my adventure had begun eight weeks before.
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Tough job! South Beach.
La Paz from El Alto
The Icelandic Viking Princess (left)with one of her subjects
On my way to check out the road from Salta to Humuahaca with my new friends Anna and Boaz
On top of the hills around Salta.I rode from hilltop to hilltop following 4x4 trails
Surprisingly green Buenos Aires
Must be Sunday morning on Av 9 de Julio,Buenos Aires
Another beautiful park in Buenos Aires
