Bolivia |
On rejoining the main road, I came upon one of the most memorable sights of the whole trip. A vista taking in the glaciated cone of Sajama (Bolivia's highest peak) across an immense Llama specked swamp (pictured). The villagers of Lagunas are Llama herders and their herds and shepherds stretched away as far as the mountain. |
There was two and a half days riding on the lovely new road before the La Paz - Oruro highway was joined. In that time the route took in some fantastic scenery. Giant eroded escarpment valleys with Llamas and mixed herds (Llamas, sheep and cattle) everywhere. I saw adobe burial towers (pictured) by the roadside, though at the time I thought they were grain stores. Sajama remained in view for days. Farmers on one speed Chinese bikes were always game for a "race". Man, can they move! And you want to see them power along on dirt tracks. California loses any claim to "birthplace of the mountain bike" in my view. All credit must go to Bolivian Lama farmers. Watch out if you're near a village when school's out. I had a lot of fun sprinting in packs with the school boys. Can't say the altitude was a killer for consistent effort like cycling, but it realy hurt when sudden effort like banging in tent pegs was required. |
The La Paz - Oruro road is easily Bolivias busiest and least pleasant. The last 20 or so km into Alto La Paz are pretty rude. Overcrowded mini buses with their special swerve-o-matic steering are kings of this stretch. Fortunately once through Alto La Paz an "Autopista" drops you straight into the middle of La Paz proper. A "No Bicycles" sign at the toll booth is totally ignored and the traffic cop I asked for alternate directions just pointed me straight down the Autopista. Of course it was just crawling with local cyclists. On arrival in La Paz a huge protest march was blocking the road - sinister looking balaclavad men skipped excitedly through the crowd. I escaped onto a pedestrian mall where riot police were milling around and was bailed up by Scottish cycle tourist wanting a leisurely chat. I suggested to him that now was not a good time for a chat and just maybe we shouldn't be standing between the protesters and the riot police. He just laughed. Turns out there's always a protest of some sort going on and the "riot police" are always in this location because there are parliamentary building in the adjoining square. The sinister men in balaclavas are shoe shine boys, who for whatever reason all wear balaclavas as a kind of uniform and they were mixing it with the crowd because where there's a crowd there's bound to be shoes! La Paz was easily the most interesting city of my trip. The population is predominantly Indian and the place has a real buzz. There's always something happening. Indian ladies in their traditional multi layered skirts and top hats throng the markets and sell stuff on every street corner. Indian men in their traditional fake Nike caps throng everywhere else. |
From La Paz I headed west via Tiahuanaco and around Lake Titicaca into Peru. Tiahuanaco was at the centre of a pre-inca civilisation. I toyed with pushing on to Cuzco (had heard from other cyclists that the road is 'mostly' paved) but ended up going no further than Puno at the North end of the lake. I was surprised at the population density around the lake. It had been a population centre and intensively cultivated for a long, long time. The riding was OK, but the traffic on the narrow road too busy for my liking. Ever seen a bus 4 wheel drifting around corners? I have. An hour or so later I was passed by a string of ambulances. Related? Maybe. |
I backtracked to a different border crossing, this one near Copacabana (picture taken on a hilltop above Copacabana - that's Lake Titicaca in the background) before heading off to Sorata for a rest at lower altitude. |
The ride down to Sorata was a stunner. I took more pictures on this one day than any other - unfortunately on a dodgy roll of film, so lost half of them. The last 30km into Sorata involves dropping 1500 metres in altitude from a 4300m pass to Sorata at 2760m. Just beyond the pass you feel suspended mid way between the glaciated Sierra Real (pictured) and the way distant valley floor. The soft looking mossy grass by the roadside is evil. DO NOT SIT HERE. You'll be picking microscopic spines from your butt for days if you do. 'Fortunately' I put a hand down first. The consequences of a bumpy downhill (the road is dirt) with a billion spiked butt is just too awful to think about. |
I stayed at the ramshackle Hotel Sorata. Very backpacker, very gringo, but a great place to rest. It was once a German Rubber Baron's mansion. The family walked out on it sometime in the seventies I think and it has this fantastic air of once-great splendour about it - as though they just abandoned it, furnishing, personal belongings, family pictures, wall mounted Anaconda skins and all. Unfortunately all my pics of Hotel Sorata fell victim to the dodgy film - but here's a pic of a Sorata back street anyway. |
I spent a week trying unsuccessfully to shake my flu in Coroico before catching a bus back up to La Paz. From La Paz I bused again, this time to Oruro - couldn't see the point in cycling the highway again. After a few more days rest in Oruro, made enjoyable by a gaggle of other touring cyclists and a bizarre night that ended in a Chinese Karioke restaurant, I started off towards Sucre on the high road. This was by far the hardest riding of the trip. Every day seemed to include at least one mountain pass. The road went across the grain of the Andes and was never level. The gradients were steep, though fortunately the surface was usually firm and rarely sandy. The road yo-yoed between about 3500 and 4500 metres, so the steep climbs were all at altitude. It took 6 days of exhausting riding to cover the 350km to Sucre, camping wild for 5 nights straight. There was some indoor accommodation in villages en-route, but never when I needed it. I had finally shaken my flu. Some days only 3 vehicles passed me all day. Food and bottled water could be picked up in the small towns and I supplemented the water by using a filter to take water from running streams.The scenery was interesting and variable, though not as striking as I had become used too. Eucalyptus plantations took some of the exotic edge off the scenery for me. Sucre is a pristine colonial town and the nominal capital of Bolvia (the seat of the High Court). the town is whitewashed, affluent and a nice place to rest for a day or two. Though somehow, I managed to take no pictures. |
Beyond Potosi, en route to Uyuni, the landscape once again becomes fascinating, the dirt road and many climbs make the going slow but there is almost no traffic to worry about. Villages are tiny and provisions limited, but as everywhere in Bolivia I'm treated kindly and with much good humour. Camping wild is never a problem. The semi arid valleys and plains deserted by sunset, which is when I chose to put up my tent. I was hoping to once again be on undulating altiplano roads (it looked flatish on my landsat map of Bolivia. The grinding climbs though, limited me to about 50km this day - about the average for the 4 days riding to Uyuni. Day two included a great 15km descent into a striking red walled, cactus studded badlands canyon (pictured)...and a lot of climbing out of said canyon. |
Salt scarred river flats (pictured) indicated my nearing the Salar de Uyuni. In the late afternoon a quartet of Germans driving Unimog troop carriers passed me. They stopped for a chat and were immediately experts in cycletouring - I'm clearly on the wrong sort of bike I'm told, and how can I ride on this atrocious road? (I was just thinking it was pretty damned good!). before I can answer I'm handed a cool drink from the icebox and a salami ("very good, imported from Germany you know") and the troop carriers are off - blissfully isolated from everything around them. |
Day four and I'm back in the hills - only 35km to Uyuni, but the wind screams at me and makes the downhills as slow as the steep climbs. The first 15kms are the worst road surface of the stretch from Potosi. I pass a run down mining town. The river downhill from it runs weird colours and I'm not even game to filter it. I find a single little shop. No water, so sticky Inca-Cola wins the day. The final two ridges at last expose views of the huge expanse of the Salar (pictured). |
Uyuni itself is no great shakes, though I quite liked the broad dusty streets, heroic soviet style statues (pictured) and end-of-the-earth inertia. The salar was something else again. On this trip I had only one regret about a thing I didn't do. I didn't set off to cross the salar. I had already met Ramon, a Basque cyclist who crossed it in two days. I spent only one day tooling around on the salar. And it was the most absurd fun. Twice Landcruisers full of daytrippers veered from their distant courses to make sure I was OK. "Fine", I assured them, there just didn't seem much point in following a straight line. |
I headed South East from Uyuni towards the Argentine border. The first 60 km are easy going Altiplano (with a fair helping of tailwind), though sandy stretches in the road keep the going slow. Frequently on my ride other cyclists talked of the bike tracks between villages, beside railway lines and beside roads. Every time I tried them, I found them even slower going and less comfortable than the roads. The next few days underlined the point. Despite the sandy patches, I only encountered about three vehicles a day, so could pick and choose my line. When I did decide to follow the cycle tracks I found them to be every bit as sandy, but being much narrower they allowed even less chance to avoid the sand. First days scenery was open plains, Lama herds, and tiny villages stretching along the rail line that roughly paralleled the road. |
Day two saw me attack a stretch of road near Atocha that I had been assured was impassable (pictured). Ramon and his biking buddies has shown me photographic evidence - a picture from the railway line that they'd followed for days (mostly walking by the sounds of it) looking down at the river bed that formed the "road". So true, and it took about 3 hours in granny gear to cycle the 15 sandy kilometres from when the road entered the riverbed 'til Atocha was reached - and it was all enjoyable. The valley twisting and turning, narrowing then opening out, the railway line sometimes accessible, should an 'out' be required. I have since read an account of this stretch that refers to a new road, so maybe it's a lot more accessible today. In Atocha I had the only flat tyre of my trip - a broken valve stem, not a puncture. Quite a crowd gathered to comment on my tube changing technique, and in true Bolivian style it was all pretty hilarious. Most of them then decided to follow me around as I went to do the shopping. One cycled with me out of town for about 10km to put me on the right road. The day ends after a mere 47km, but it was a good one. I camp (picture) near a mesa on an open plain - very wild west - and also on the fringe of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid territory. They ended their lives about a days ride from here - murder suicide according to the police reports of the time - not quite the hollywood ending. |
Day three and the going is still tough. The road surface firm and smoothish but constantly up and down around the 4000m mark. The road is always winding and revealing surprises. One of them a Llama train of about 40 Llamas and 3 shepherds. Each Llama carried two surprisingly small woven saddlebags. The shepherds spoke little Spanish and were anxious to keep moving. I spoke no Quechua or Aymara, so I never found out what they were carrying. Late in the day a dramatic red cliffed mountain marked the start of a 12km descent into the Tupiza valley. Giant Cacti lined the roadside and I camped on a dry riverbed. |
Early in the morning I reached Salo, near the site of Butch and Sundances final heist. The valley south of Salo towards Tupiza is quite striking. A sometimes broad and flat valley floor with dramatically sculpted cliff faces defining the valley (pictured). Colours are intense reds and yellows. The sun shines and it's warm. Life is good. In Tupiza I kick up my heels for a day and a half, enjoy the market day and marvel at the Mormons and their amazing ability to not blend in, anywhere. Argentina is only 90kms away. The first 20 kms South of Tupiza are down a very beautiful valley, then the road climbs to a grassy plain. The road carries a lot more traffic the closer I get to the border. Corrugations appear and dust is whipped up by an increasingly persistent headwind. I stop for the day in a winding dry creek bed, sheltered from the wind and the road by its walls - doesn't look like rain tonight. It's about 30km to the border now and in the morning I'll be in modern Argentina. |
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