Shiny, pretty, civilised Lima...

Travelling is certainly a journey of self-discovery as well as discovering about the world, and one of the things that I recently learnt about myself was that I am a bit of a fraud… For all my talk of staying off the beaten track, and the road less travelled, I have managed to stay pretty much on the standard gringo trail (the name given to the journey taken by most of the tourists in South America) for the entire trip. I realised this when I was in the camp on day three of the Inca Trail, in the middle of nowhere, and I ran into two different sets of people that I had met at hostels along that way, who both happened to be travelling along the same path through South America as me, all the way from Buenos Aires onward, and just happened to start the Inca Trail the same day as me!

But that wasn’t the biggest shock! Yesterday I made another discovery about myself. While Bolivia is possibly my favourite country so far, as well as the least developed, I have also come to realise how much I love development too…. Arriving into Lima yesterday, I found myself unbelievably excited by the prospect of supermarkets, shopping malls and yes, even McDonalds… It’s official. I’m a traitor to myself!

After nearly ten weeks travelling, the last major city I was in was Buenos Aires, about 8 weeks ago. In Santiago and Buenos Aires I was quite blasé about the shops and malls, as I had come fairly directly from Melbourne, so all I really wanted to see in those cities was churches, parks, museums, culture, culture, culture…

But after two months away from civilization, arriving into Lima was both intoxicating and exhilarating… I went for a short walk from my hotel with the idea of being gone an hour, and ended up walking for the entire day. It apparently has some of the best cathedrals and historical sites in Peru, but the first thing that caught my eye was a supermarket… huge, sparkling clean and full of food! I can’t remember the last time I was in a supermarket and so had forgotten how much I love them. So many different types of food in the one place! There were people giving free samples of different products, and I reckon if stayed there long enough I could probably have skipped lunch! And they even sold Havana Alfajores, which I haven’t seen since Argentina… I had a huge grin on my face as I wandered every aisle, and the attendants all looked at me very strangely like I was from outer space or on drugs or something to be so pleased by a supermarket.

I got a bit distracted there by all the yummy goodies in the nice clean supermarket, but after I found my way out again I kept walking and found… a department store! Multi-storey, and BEAUTIFUL. Full of CLOTHES! And shoes! And bags! And all kinds of beautiful, colourful things that distracted me a bit more… And after the department store I kept walking and realised that there was something definitely wrong with me when I found a McDonalds and felt like I just HAD to go in! Admittedly it was to use the bathroom, but I couldn’t go past without using it… It was so pretty.

But along the same street I found a Burger King, and found myself tempted by a burger for the first time in years, so I stopped and had my lunch there. It was so clean, but the whopper burger didn’t taste as good as I remember… I was even excited by Payless Shoes, God help me! Oh, and almost every second shop was a spa or a beauty salon… I wish I had known that before getting my legs waxed at a beauty salon in Arequipa on boxing day. It was seriously one of the most torturous moments in my life. The lady had clearly NEVER used wax before… It was that type of doesn’t use wax strips, but you put it on really thick and it is like the wax is the strip as well, if that makes sense. Anyway, she put it on way too hot, so it burned going on, but then it was applied too thinly in the wrong direction, and she kind of tugged at it to get it to come off. Then when it didn’t all come off she would scrape at the bits that didn’t come off with her fingernails to try and get the wax to come off. I suffered through as much as I could before it becoming so painful that I just left, hairy legs and all!

Back in Lima, I had a map full of historic sites and other locations to visit, but the only things that really interested me were the supermarkets and shiny, modern things that I hadn’t seen in months! So I walked aimlessly, occasionally spying what looked like a shopping centre in the distance and walking towards it like it was a mirage in the desert. At one point I was certain that I saw a big red ‘W’ sign that signifies a Westfield Shopping Mall… I couldn't believe there might be a Westfield in Peru, but I was surprised by Payless Shoes so decided that I would check it out. Well, it wasn't a decision, exactly. It was like I was attached to a magnet and the big W sign was a fridge…

When I finally reached the big W sign I was a little disappointed to find that it wasn’t a mall, but a hypermarket called ‘Wong’. It was beautiful though, and I bought myself a shiny packet of wax strips so I could do it myself and never need to set foot in a Peruvian salon again!

And after exploring every supermarket in walking distance of the hotel, I set off today in a bus to explore central Lima. But after making a token effort of checking out the main cathedral and a museum or two, I went back to what I really wanted to do. I sat in Starbucks, read the paper and had a cappuccino, then looked at books in bookshops that had trashy novels in English. And while I am a little ashamed to admit this, I’m being truthful, so I will write it anyway. Tomorrow I fully intend to go to McDonalds for breakfast in the morning. After spending YEARS without choosing to go into Maccas of my own accord I suddenly find myself craving a meal of hotcakes and syrup! Maybe that will be the cure for my sudden unexplained onset of civilisation-itis...

Learning about Fujimori...

I haven’t yet decided how I feel about Peru. In many ways it is quite spectacular, with Machu Picchu and the Inca Trail and some of the 'must-see' sights in South America, but perhaps because of this the places that I have been have been so touristy that it is hard to get an idea of what the “real” Peru is like… but that could also be because I’ve had to speed through the entire country in a couple of weeks, in order to make my next plane trip from Quito to Miami that is in two weeks time.


But I think what stands out the most from my time here is the extraordinary contrasts and juxtaposition of dramatic opposites in the same country, often in the same city and even the same street. From wealth to poverty, luxury to hovels, indigenous to Hispanics… This has been particularly the case in Lima. In many ways it reminds me of the large cities in China, the incredible levels of development side by side along basic manual labour, the clean, sparkling, modern shopping malls with the world’s most expensive brands in one street, in the next a market with people selling things from the street… Multi-national companies positioned alongside boys that shine shoes… I find the contrast interesting and confronting at the same time.

Ever since I picked up my first local newspaper a few weeks ago, whenever I have the time it has become part of my daily ritual to buy a paper and sit over a cup of coffee and try to make sense of the world through the local news in Spanish. While the Bolivian papers were full of the Constitution and evil Evo Morales, here in Peru the papers have been dominated by ex-president Fujimori and his trial. Admittedly I didn’t know a lot about the situation before arriving here, and despite following the articles in the paper I still hadn’t been able to work out what exactly he did that was bad.

Today while wandering the main street Lima I happened to run into a guy that I knew… His name is Daniel, and he was on a tour that I took in Cusco. He is Peruvian, and lives here in Lima, but we both never imagined that we would run into each other here accidentally, especially because he hardly ever comes into central Lima! So Daniel and I grabbed a drink in the main square, and he took me on a short walking tour of the central area, seemingly proud to talk about his city as we walked. Through Daniel I got to see parts of the city I wouldn’t have dared to go to on my own. We walked from the clean, sparkling streets of the Plaza Mayor into Chinatown through the central market. While interesting in itself, the most interesting thing that he pointed out was the multitude of effigies of Fujimori that were on sale to be burned on New Year’s Eve! Apparently it is something of a custom here to burn effigies for the new year, and in years past the unlucky victim might have been, for example, the coach of an unsuccessful football team…

This gave me a fantastic opportunity to find out from a local source, firstly, what Fujimori did that was so bad, and secondly, how the Peruvian people feel about it. In terms of what Fujimori did, well, that’s a little complicated. He got himself elected in 1990, then through a number of almost dictatorial moves created dramatic improvement in the economy. In 1995 he changed the constitution in order to allow himself to run for a second term, and he was re-elected, and then again in 2000. However, sometime into his third term there were thousands of videos released of Fujimori’s head of intelligence, a guy called Montesinos, bribing officials, congressmen and other influential figures, and implicating them all in widespread corruption and money-laundering. Initially Fujimori proclaimed his innocence, saying it was done without his knowledge, but then after about a year, during a trip to Japan, he resigned and stayed there for a few years while Japan refused extradition requests...

Additionally it appears that throughout Fujimori’s reign there had been a number of problems with terrorism, culminating with the most famous, an attack on the residence of the Japanese Ambassador that inspired the famous book Bel Canto (which is a wonderful book if you have never read it!) Anyway, the government ordered an extremely strong response in dealing with the terrorist groups (into this read ‘they killed them all’). The military went into areas where terrorists were thought to be hiding, and many dodgy things happened, like torture and mass murder of entire villages, those who happened to be guilty and those who happened to be innocent alike, without a trial. So Fujimori is being held responsible for that too, and at the moment the survivors of massacres that happened in certain villages are giving evidence.

According to Daniel the public is divided in their opinion about Fujimori’s guilt. There were a lot of people who benefited under Fujimori, and who still support him to this day. But Daniel says that people with education and intelligence realise that he was a dictator, and that he did bad things, and should be held accountable. He was pretty strong on the matter and left me in no doubt which group he fell into... But I was too shy to ask whether he and his family will be buying an effigy to burn!

Tracy learns about the Incas, walks a lot, and gets a bit mad...

Today I arrived back in civilization after four days hiking the Inca Trail, an ancient road that leads to the lost Inca city of Machu Picchu. The walk is around 35 kilometres, weaving through the mountains from the outskirts of the Incan town of Ollantaytambo, and traversing passes as high as 4200 metres above sea level. It was an exhilarating, inspiring, exhausting, emotional four days, filled with breathtaking scenery, Incan ruins, and physical challenges that would test even the fittest in the group.

The trek is considered by many as one of the highlights of their South American trip, and it is almost a compulsory part of any itinerary that encompasses Peru. In the high season, it is necessary to book a place in the trek as much as two months in advance, and prices for the four day trek soar to as much as US$750. Considering that you are sleeping in tents and walking the entire way, that price seems excessive to me, but the reason that companies can charge such prices is thanks to regulations governing entrance to the trail. Up to a few years ago there was no regulation, and anyone that wanted to do the trail could, meaning that at any one time there would be thousands of tourists hiking the 35km track. People camped inside Incan ruins, and the sheer numbers of people on the track meant that it was difficult to maintain.

So the government introduced a permit system, and for any one day it allows only 500 people onto the trail, including porters and guides, which means that about 200 tourists can obtain one of the coveted permits to hike the trail. So, according to the principle of supply and demand, the price goes up. Most people sign onto alternative treks, which also take in spectacular scenery, ancient roads, and Incan ruins, but for a fraction of the price of the traditional Inca trail.

Initially I was planning to hike one of the alternative routes, mostly to save money, and also because I didn’t want to book months in advance, having no firm idea exactly when I would be arriving in Peru. And it was a good thing that I didn’t book in advance, as I became quite ill on the border of Bolivia and Peru, and had to change my plans in order to turn around and go back to La Paz to see a doctor. I had been feeling unwell for days, but kept soldiering on, expecting to get better with rest, but kept getting worse and worse until I had a fever of nearly 40 and I could hardly walk let alone carry my backpack. The doctor in La Paz determined that I had not one, not two, but a combination of three different bacterial infections, and prescribed a frightening array of medication and four days in bed to recuperate.

When I finally arrived in Cusco, Peru, I was mostly recovered from the initial infections, but was still quite weak. I discovered that most of the alternative Inca treks were a fair bit longer, from 5 to 7 days, and in my weakened state, the idea of walking for a week, and being away from medical help in case of an emergency was quite daunting. That being the case, I was happy to discover that I had arrived in Cusco in the middle of rainy season, and there were permits available almost every day to join the original 4-day Inca trek, and for much less than the high season price.

I signed onto the cheapest tour I could find, $240 for the four days, compared to as much as $400 for some of the other companies around town, and was incredibly pleased with myself for finding such a wonderful deal. We left early in the morning on December 20^th. We had a group of 15 people, with about half South Americans, and half from the rest of the world. There were 2 Brazilians, 3 Colombians, 2 Chileans, 1 Argentine, as well as 2 from the US, 2 Germans, 1 from France, 1 Israeli and myself. We were accompanied by 14 porters, 1 cook, and 2 guides, so we numbered 32 in total.

The first thing that really struck me was the strength of the porters. I found every step a challenge, and I was carrying only my personal items, a sleeping bag and sleeping mat, which was precious little in comparison to what most of the porters had strapped to their backs. Yet these men, who had as much as 35kg on their backs, and who were wearing primitive sandals made of old tyres on their feet, were running past us like it was a jog in the park! Apparently there was a race a few years ago, an tourist event of sorts, in which the porters had to carry a set load and compete. The fastest porter ran the entire Inca trail that took us 3 and a bit days in less than 4 hours! They are incredibly fit men.

According to our guide, a portly Peruvian gentlemen with the oddly Russian name of Vladimir, the porters are generally farmers, who do the Inca trail 4 times a month or so to get extra money to buy fertiliser or other things that they need for the farm. Before doing the trek I had assumed that the porters would have worked with the company, or be permanent employees or something like that, but certainly with our trek, they were all freelance. After the bus had collected all the tourists in the morning, we drove through the streets of Cusco on the way out of the city, and then stopped at a corner where there seemed to be hundreds of young men waiting. The cook got off the bus, and surveyed the crowd of men, before pointing at a few of them, presumably those who looked strong and healthy. It reminded me of choosing teams in P.E. back in primary school, but here, if you got picked, you got a job for the next four days.

With the introduction of regulations on the Inca Trail, they also introduced a range of protections for the porters. There is a limit to the amount any porter is allowed to carry, and they have to pass through daily check points where their loads are weighed and recorded. There is also supposedly a minimal wage of 43.2 soles per day (about $18 Australian) but Vladimir told us that in reality they tend to get about 30 per day or less. Which is a lot more than the wage in Bolivia, but the reality is that the cost of living is more expensive here in Peru, which means that it is still pittance for these people, especially considering the tough nature of the job. Every time I felt like giving up, like it was impossible to go another step, I would think of the porters, running with loads that looked as big as houses on their backs, and I would feel a renewed sense of motivation and purpose. They were truly inspirational, and without them the entire trek would not have been possible.

Different companies definitely treat their porters differently, and with the companies that were the most expensive, the porters seemed to have a much stronger sense of purpose and identity. Some of the teams had shiny uniforms for their porters, complete with nametags and special backpacks to protect their backs. These companies had special ceremonies on the first day to introduce the porters to the tourists, and vice versa. The extra money you pay seems to buy an increased sense of dignity for the porters, which is something that I strongly believe would be worth the extra money. Our company had none of these things, and our porters were nameless, practically anonymous, and seemed scruffy and unhappy much of the time, and I realised that there was a reason why our tour was so much cheaper than the many of the others.

I was also surprised by how much stuff is carried. This was not simply camping. At each lunchbreak they set up a dining tent and a cooking tent, and we sat on fold up chairs at fold up tables, with tablecloths, knives and forks, even serviettes! Even on our budget tour! I expected to be sitting on rocks and eating on my lap, but as far as camping goes, this was 4 star. And the food, while it wouldn’t have won any prizes in a restaurant, was quite amazing given that all the food, and the gas bottles, and the hotplate, everything had to be carted up the mountain. We were served three courses at lunch, with a soup, main course and desert.

The weather over the four days could not have been better. Given that it was in the middle of the rainy season, we were incredibly lucky to have only short showers on the first day, then nothing but sunshine after that. I was determined to be prepared for the rain, so I hired waterproof shoes and pants to hike in, which I didn’t take out once. But with Murphy’s Law, if I hadn’t hired them, it would have rained the entire time, so I don’t regret the money or the extra weight. The track was steep, and would have been incredibly slippery with rain. I also bought a hiking stick, to help with the slippery path. I didn’t need it, but it was a great fashion accessory, and had a pretty indigenous design on the top, so it was 5 soles ($2) well spent.

The path itself was steep and tough, especially because of the altitude. The second day was by far the hardest for me. The entire day was one uphill battle until we reached the highest pass of the trip, over 4km above sea level. I was one of the slowest in the group, along with the girl from Germany who had also been sick. We took frequent breaks, and when we finally made it to the top of the pass, to find the entire group waiting for us, we found that we had been nicknamed ‘the grandmothers’. I felt incredibly unfit, but couldn’t have gone any faster if I had tried! Just making it to the top gave me such a feeling of satisfaction, I found I didn’t care about the nickname… Day three was much easier for me, and I lost the title of grandmother as I walked amongst the first in the group. Of course, it was mostly downhill, which helped. But by day four, both downhill and uphill were painful, as every muscle in my calves ached after days of climbing!

I remember when I was debating whether or not to book the trek, I wondered what could be so beautiful that would make it worth the money. As I am travelling on a rather limited budget, I had to go a fair bit over my budget, even to pay for the cheap tour that I did. As I walked along the Inca trail on the first couple of days, I still couldn’t work out what would make it worth it. Sure, there was lovely scenery and natural beauty, but I have seen a lot of natural wonders in my travels. The scenery, while spectacular, was not what made the trip. I guess what made the road so special was the journey itself. The fact that you were walking on a road that the Incan people built over 500 years ago, that still exists today. Every day we encountered new ruins, and each day they got grander, more amazing, more complex. As we wandered around each set of ruins that we found, we learnt more about the Incan civilisation, and I found it fascinating. Before the arrival of the Spanish, they had an empire that spanned six countries in South America today: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina. They had knowledge about astronomy and the seasons that was more advanced than anyone else in the world of the time, and they built incredibly complex cities. For their most important buildings they used interlocking rocks that fit so perfectly there was no need for mortar or cement. Their construction took into account various anti-seismic methods that would protect their cities in case of earthquakes.

By the time we arrived at Macchu Picchu, it wasn’t just one historical site, but it had a context based on everything else that we had seen. We walked there the same way that the Incans would have in the past. That journey, and everything that I learnt along the way was the reason why I found the Inca Trail so amazing. And Machu Picchu itself was definitely one of the most impressive man-made things that I have seen. I can see why it is now classed as one of the new seven wonders of the world. It is enormous, and beautifully preserved, and worth every groan of agony as I stepped down each step to finally reach the site. But I have to say that now, after a week of ruins, and having seen Machu Picchu, I really have seen enough ruins to las

The only downside about the trek would have to be some of the people in the group. It is a definitely a truth of travelling that the people you meet can make the trip for you. In my case, it was the opposite. There were a few of the group that spent the entire time complaining. "The food was horrible, the guide didn’t speak English well enough, the path was too steep, the porters don't talk much…" The negativity was horrible and overwhelming, so I found that I had to manoeuvre myself to walk away from the complainers. I didn't feel 'infected' by the complaints in the sense that they made me agree with them, but their complaining made me so annoyed that I couldn’t enjoy the trip. A couple of times I actually said, ‘you paid rock-bottom prices, what did you expect?’ but it didn’t change anything, so I gave up trying to make them see reason and just tried to avoid them. Then, there was one American girl that had an incredibly loud voice that just grated on my nerves. Actually, she was quite well-travelled and well-educated, and definitely not the typical American that you meet, but she was also one of the most self-absorbed personalities that I have ever met. In three days she hardly asked any questions of anyone else, but I could have told you her life story. So I also had to manoeuvre myself to walk where I couldn’t hear the voice of the American princess. Between avoiding the princess and the complainers, I found that I didn’t have much of an option but to steam ahead of the entire group to walk in solitude and in nature, which gave me the sorest muscles I think I have ever felt in my life!

Then on the final night something happened that just ruined my patience with almost everyone with the group. It is customary on final night of the trek to collect money to tip the porters, to supplement their income, and to thank them on behalf of the group. The discussion over how much to tip nearly turned into world war 3. I had asked the guide how much is appropriate to tip, and he said usually groups collect between US$10-$15 per porter. I had such admiration for the porters, and I was happy to give whatever I could, so this was fine with me. It was a little more than I expected, but I figured that they deserved it, so decided to go without beer or cocktails over our final night dinner so I could afford the tip. Some of the group said that they couldn’t pay that amount, that they didn’t have that much money, they were students. The rest of the group was determined that we were going to put in US$15 each, without compromises. I felt really bad for the students, and especially the guys from Argentina and Chile, who said that they really didn’t have the money. So I suggested that everyone just put in whatever they can, and between the group it would be enough. I kind of figured that it was a bit like the idea of progressive taxation, where people give according to what they earn, so those with more give more, and those with less give less. Some agreed with me, but most people wanted that everyone put in the same, because they said this was the only fair way. In the end, the only way that they would agree to everyone contributing whatever they could to the tip was if each person gave the money was individually to the cook, rather than pooling all the money together. This would basically mean that it would be public who gave what.

I couldn’t believe it! Instead of being concerned about giving to the porters, they were more worried about looking good by how much they were giving. Or making other people look bad by how little they were giving. I’m not sure. When the guide found out, he was shocked and he tried to tell people it didn’t matter how much individuals gave. He put out a hat onto the table and just told people to put into that however much they wanted to, but the group that wanted to give individually STILL didn’t want to put into the hat. It was just a total fiasco, and it all seemed to be centred around appearances. But whatever. After a while I decided it didn’t matter, as long as the money all went to the porters in the end.

But what really made me annoyed was what happened next. After thanking the porters we all went to bed. The students and the Chilean and Argentian, who all said they didn’t have a lot of money left so they couldn’t tip much, all stayed later after playing cards. I found out the next day that they were drinking beer and cocktails together... Clearly they had the money to buy alcohol, but not to give to the porters. The cost of two beers would have more than doubled their donations, but they couldn’t go without a drink. The sheer selfishness of it astounded and infuriated me, but most especially because I had felt for them, and stuck up for them to the others who were trying to pressure them to pay more. And also because I chose to go without a drink, even though I would have liked one, in order to be able to afford the tip.

The whole incident just left a bad taste in my mouth, and made me feel let down by my fellow humankind. I always knew that paying rock bottom for things gets you a lower standard of service. You get what you pay for, so that was never a problem for me. But through this trip I guess I learnt that when you pay rock bottom, you also end up with poorly paid and poorly treated employees, and a group of fellow tourists that are so tight and selfish with money that they refuse to subsidise the poorly paid employees from their own pocket. I think next time I’ll pay a little more, not for the standard of the tour, but so hopefully I will have a higher standard of tourist that I happen to be grouped with. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it more!

Tracy mountain biking down the 'death road' in La Paz

Okay, so after my history with mountain bikes so far in this trip, I didn’t imagine that I would be going to ride down ‘the world’s most dangerous road’… For anyone who has been following my trip from the beginning, you’ll know what I’m talking about. I still have the memory imprinted in my brain of watching poor Kerry, the Auckland ambulance officer mountain biking in the Redwoods Forrest, sailing through the air after missing the landing of a jump. I firmly believe in signs, and so decided then and there that I was going to avoid mountain biking throughout the trip...

But the thing is, I love to ride… It’s one of my favourite forms of exercise. So it didn’t take me long before I got onto to bike, in Puerto Madryn. It was technically a mountain bike, but there were no mountains so it couldn’t really be classed as mountain biking. But when I arrived in La Paz and heard about this exciting bike ride down the mountains into the tropics, I couldn’t help but get a little excited. It had everything that I was looking for in a day’s adventure, fantastic scenery, a little bit of exercise, and best of the all, the prospect of warm tropical weather and a swimming pool at the end.

There was only a small problem… Colloquially known as ‘the death road’ it has been responsible for more fatalities than any other road in the world. The route goes from ‘La Cumbre’ (the peak) a short drive out of La Paz, which is 4800m above sea level, and over 64 kilometres plunges a dramatic 3600 metres to the town of Coroico. The road is gravel, incredibly rocky, and narrow. At about 3.2 metres in width, there is barely enough space for a car to pass a bike, let alone two cars or heaven forbid, two trucks! Added to this is the fact that the road is flanked on one side by towering mountains, and on the other by spectacular cliffs, with vertical drops of up to 600m. In 2005 an average of one bus plummeted over the cliffs every two weeks on the ‘world’s most dangerous road’. According to the Lonely Planet, 8 tourists have also died cycling down the road. It also happened to be rainy season, which would mean mud, waterfalls, and at times a very slippery road.

I debated within myself for a few days while wandering around La Paz, and eventually decided it was too exciting to resist, but with Kerry’s accident still in my mind, I compromised by committing to go with the safest possible organisation. So I shopped around a little before deciding on ‘B-side adventures’. At US$55 for the day, it wasn’t the cheapest option, but it was the cheapest of the companies that had the safest bikes, and I was assured that they had a good reputation, so that was going to have to be good enough for me.

Our group was made up of about 18 tourists, and 4 guides, who gave us a number of briefings along the way to make sure we would be as safe as possible. The initial road was paved, with long stretches between turns, and all downhill, so we were able to get a fair amount of speed, and in almost no time we had covered 20km. Here began what I would have to say was the hardest part of the entire day. 8km of uphill road… Ascending is hard in a bike at the best of times, but we were at 3800metres above sea level, and I seriously thought that my heart was going to jump out of my chest it was pumping so fast. While slogging it out and lamenting how unfit I felt, several younger riders overtook me… But I made it up in the end, and managed to resist the temptation to ask the minivan to stop and let me put the bike on the top.

After the uphill section, we entered the ‘death road’. I quickly found that going too slow was worse than going to fast, as the combination of braking with rocky, muddy terrain just made you skid and lose control of the bike every time you tried to turn. So I used the trick that my dad taught me when learning to drive, break into the corner, then accelerate out of it, and found that I felt much more secure on the road. I found myself overtaking all those youngsters who had passed me on the uphill with a little feeling of satisfaction! After the first ten minutes or so, the group was incredibly spread out, so we separated into three groups, the fastest ‘speed demons’ the middle group who rode more cautiously, and the slower group who might have been faster walking their bikes down the hill!

I somehow found myself grouped with the speed demons, as one of only two women amongst the rest of the men in the tour. Numbering 9 in total, we sped down the road at a pace that was sometimes alarming, but I kept to the rear of the pack so I could slow down a little if I was insecure. We passed many other groups on the way down, our superior bikes giving us the ability to go a little faster than the other groups (who only had $35 bikes!). I was generally able to keep up as long as we didn't have to peddle! As soon as the road turned flat or uphill I again fell behind, a victim of the altitude, and it felt like the bike was made of lead! Thankfully the flat and uphill sections were relatively few. The road was incredibly unpredictable, though, with twists and turns, and lots of rocks that could cause havoc if you weren’t paying attention. Along the two hour downward journey two of the speed demons went head over heels. Thankfully, though, they fell onto the road, and not into the cliffs below and ended up with only minor injuries. I am pleased to announce that I completed the ride with no injuries, with the exception of my incredibly tender bottom!

At the end of our journey, we were presented with a t-shirt that proclaimed us ‘death road’ survivors, and we were offered complimentary beer to celebrate. The one thing that had surprised me throughout the entire ride was the lack of other traffic. We had seen one other car, and one motorbike, but apart from that, everyone else on the road was a tourist on a mountain bike! From everything that I had read, the road itself wasn't dangerous as such, it was supposed to be the sheer amount of traffic on it, and the way people drive, coupled with the conditions that made it the world's most dangerous road.

So I asked about it and found out that in 2006 the government had completed a new road to Coroico, fully paved the entire way and much safer, so the road we rode on is hardly even used any more. Which actually meant that technically, the path that we road down is no longer the world's most dangerous road... As we enjoyed a sumptuous buffet lunch, I sat watching the extraordinary scenery below, feeling a sense of satisfaction, contentment and exhaustion, and I decided that I was unperturbed by the news that the road was no longer the most dangerous in the the world. In fact, I was grateful, firstly because it meant that we survived relatively unscathed, but also because I don't think my altitude-weakened heart could have taken any more adventure! In all, it was a thrilling, exciting day that I would highly recommend, but definitely not for the feint of heart.

Child workers in Bolivia

Nothing tugs at my heartstrings more than the sight of children in poverty, and I have found this issue quite confronting here in Bolivia… One thing that struck me as different from other places that I have been is the prevalence of children that I have seen working… Even during the day, when you would imagine that most children would be at school, children aged from as young as 5 or 6 will roam the streets selling newspapers, or selling candy or chewing gum from little boxes that they carry around with them. Some older children work by polishing shoes in the main thoroughfares or in the busy city squares, while I found others working in shops, markets or even in the family business. Even in the hotel where I was staying, an absolutely delightful family-owned establishment, the youngest employee was only 11 years old.

It was a Tuesday morning, on one of my first days in Sucre, I was sitting reading the newspaper in the main square, when a young grubby child of perhaps 8 years old approached me, with his shoe-shine box in hand. Hearing him begging, not for money, but to be able to clean my shoes for what amounts to a couple of cents in Australia, really made my heart twist, and the difference between my own upbringing and his couldn’t have been more great. In Australia there are laws that prevent them from working, whereas in Bolivia it seemed to be the norm. But as I was wearing thongs (flip flops) at the time, there wasn’t much I could do for him. He still seemed hopeful, though, and he sat down next to me, commenting on how much he liked my shoes, mentioning that he needed a new pair himself. That drew my attention to his shoes. They were several sizes too small, and falling to bits. As we sat talking, he quizzed me about what was in the newspaper and seemed really curious to find out what had happened in the world. His name was Jorge, and I liked him immensely. I asked him why he wasn’t in school. He told me that he generally does go to school during the day, and usually just works in the afternoons and evening cleaning shoes, but sometimes if his family needs money he has to work instead. He told me he earns between 1 and 5 Bolivianos a day ($0.20-$1.00 Australian) but he gives it all to his mum. He said that on some days, he makes a little more, and he can keep it for himself.

I wanted to give Jorge something, but really didn’t need my thongs shining, and I didn’t want to just offer him money for nothing, so instead I asked if he wanted something to eat. His eyes lit up like I’d offered to buy him a brand new toy car… So I took him over where a lady was selling hamburgers. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, so I bought him a burger. Before I had even finished the transaction, we were surrounded by several of his friends, all of whom wanted hamburgers. I didn’t have a lot of money at the time… Probably I had enough small change to buy the burgers, which were not expensive, but I started to panic, and imagined more and more children arriving wanting to be fed, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to feed them all. I felt overwhelmed by the situation, and so left hastily, apologising to Jorge, explaining that I couldn’t feed them all. It was an eye-opening and emotional experience, in which I gained an insight into the tragic lives of these Bolivian children living in poverty.

While walking to my Spanish classes on the very last day I was in Sucre, I took a somewhat circuitous route, and happened to walk past the office of an NGO called ‘Nanta’ whose focus is exactly this issue: child labourers in Bolivia. I went inside and spoke with one of the volunteers, a lovely indigenous man, with an indigenous name that I forget now. We talked about the issue of poverty, and the problems associated with it. He told me that over 65% of people in Bolivia live below the poverty line, which was a statistic that completely shocked me… I also learned that a recent study had been completed in Sucre and found that 8% of the child workers did not attend school at all… I took a moment to wonder about those children, the ones that will never go to school. What hope do they have for the future, if they don’t even have a primary school education?

Nanta works with these child workers, both the ones that attend school and the ones that don’t. They get by mostly on donations from Europe, from tourists, as well as occasional grants from international aid agencies. They do so much wonderful work, treating the children not just as charity cases, but they have a real focus on holistic education as well. Each day they provide meals for between 80-100 child workers in a communal kitchen. The children pay a small token amount, whatever they can afford. Normally they pay around 20-50 Bolivian cents (4 cents – 10 cents Australian). There is also a homework club during which volunteers help children keep up with their schoolwork, incredibly important for those children that miss days of school. There are classes teaching art, music, sport, and also a medical service. They teach basic literacy to the children that have never been to school and encourage them to learn to read, and eventually to go to school. They have volunteers from several countries, nurses, teachers, anyone with a desire to help, really.

I was so moved by the my encounter with Jorge, and a number of other children that I met and chatted with over the couple of weeks that I was in Sucre, that it felt like fate that I was able to find the Nanta office. I wish that I could have found it earlier, as I would have loved to have taught some English classes, or helped out with some of the group activities that they organise…. But when I left Sucre that evening, I left feeling glad to know that Jorge and the other children have people that are looking out for them, that they have a place that they can go. And I felt a strange premonition that I wasn’t leaving for the last time. I pictured myself back there, teaching children like Jorge, and I felt such a sense of purpose and belonging… I don’t know when, but I imagine that I’ll be back.

Riots in Sucre

Bolivians are passionate and emotional people and they care greatly about what happens in their country. There seem to be protests every other day about something or other, and mild disturbances in the streets are not uncommon. Since I’ve been here I’ve seen a number of protests, ranging from issues such as the abuse of animals, the rights of disabled people, to political protests against the current Bolivian government and their decisions.

So when I saw on the television that there were protests in Sucre, I paid scant attention, and planned to arrive the next day. But as I was preparing to get on the bus the next morning, I was eavesdropping on some Australian travellers’ conversations when I discovered that things were a little more serious than I had anticipated. Not only were there protests in Sucre, but apparently the city had been blockaded and no traffic was allowed in or out… Clearly this was news that I should have been paying more attention to.

But the travellers didn’t seem to know much more than that, and weren’t much help to me when I tried to find out more, so I went to the local people in search of information… But this was easier said than done, especially with my limited Spanish vocabulary. I couldn’t get any kind of agreement as to what the conflict was about, let alone what was the situation regarding the blockades. Some people told me it was a conflict between students and police and another person told me it was a dispute about indigenous issues, and the Aussies seemed to think it was about industrial relations…

Although I couldn’t quite work out what was going on, the one thing everyone did agree on was that something bad was happening in Sucre and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be going there. I didn’t fancy being turned away at the city outskirts if there was a blockade, or walking into town with my heavy backpack, nor did I fancy arriving into a war zone, so I decided to get off the bus about halfway to Sucre, at a smaller city called Potosi.

Potosi itself was a charming city with an interesting past, and well worth a visit. Most people that go to Potosi do an interactive mine tour. Although there is little silver left in the mine, there are plenty of other mineral deposits, and it is still a working mine. A number of companies offer tours, where you go down into the mine with a miner. The conditions down the mine are truly horrendous. Temperatures are between below zero to over 45 degrees C, and the hours are long. The gases are poisonous, and many miners have a lifespan of 10 years after they enter the mines, thanks to a condition called silicosis pneumonia.

Now, I’ve been in caves before and I’m not claustrophobic, so the fact that you need to crawl on all fours through some of the spaces in the mine didn’t really bother me, but I was more than a little perturbed by the fact that they take you down to 3 out of the 4 working levels, to over 100 metres below the surface. All of these facts combined literally scared the stuffing out of me, especially having seen the footage of the miners trapped in the cave-in in Tasmania which dominated the Australian media for a few weeks last year. ‘If such a thing can happen in a mine in a developed country with modern safety standards, what could happen to me in this one?’ I thought to myself. And in addition to all this, a day earlier I had heard a second-hand story of an Irish guy travelling who was left behind in the mine by his tour group, with no idea how to get out….

So needless to say, I chickened out of the mine tour… I wasn’t so keen to see the mine to make the risk worth it in my mind… If it had been scuba diving in a cave for example, I could have justified putting myself at risk for a little adventure, but for a dirty, smelly, old mine? Actually, I don’t think you could have paid me to go down there!

So I wandered around Potosi, went to a few museums, sat in the park, drank some coffee… Mostly though, I was just hanging out and biding my time till I could get to Sucre, so I spent the bulk of my time trying to find out what was going on there. You could feel the tension in the air, even in Potosi… Everyone knew that something big was happening in their country. There was an incredible number of police in the streets, and everywhere I went I saw people with radios at their ears, listening to updates, and televisions showing footage of civilians clashing with police. I often overheard snippets of conversations about Sucre, enough to know that most people seemed to strongly support the civilians in their struggle… Occasionally there were marches in the streets of Potosi, with people supporting the protesters in Sucre, and each time I witnessed a gathering of people I held my breath, wondering if the same thing was going to happen there as well, but thankfully all these were peaceful… But I still couldn’t work out what the whole struggle was about. I figured if I was planning on launching myself into the middle of a civil war I should at least try and figure out what the whole thing was about.

So I spent hours on the internet trying to find more information about the situation, but found the English language media had very little coverage of the situation… And by very little coverage I mean none. Zip. Not even the oh-so-global BBC. I was alternatively disgusted by our Anglo-centric view of the world and frustrated that I couldn’t get any information, and relieved that at least no one at home would have heard about the riots and be worried about me. In the end, I gave up on the internet idea altogether in favour of a more classic form of news reporting. I bought my first newspaper in Spanish, and attacked the seven-page lift-out with my dictionary to try and find out what on earth was going on…

From the newspaper I worked out that during the previous week there had been a big government meeting in Sucre about the constitution, and there were large anti-government protests in the streets, which disintegrated into violence, with police firing on unarmed civilians and using tear gas to disperse the crowds. Three people had died in the clashes between police and students, and more than 100 people had been injured, some seriously. Most of the protesters were students.

And what was so important that they were willing to give their lives for, you might ask?

Well, that is an incredibly complicated question, one that I have spent the last two weeks trying to work out the answer to. The short answer is the constitution. From the newspaper I could work that much out, but with my little Australian brain and Western way of looking at the world I really, really could not understand what on earth was so important about the constitution that made it worth dying for. So I have been begging any local person that would talk to me to explain it, but I have been trying to piece it all together in a second language, and although I understand a bit more about what caused the riots in Sucre, I feel like I have little more understanding about why the new constitution is proving to be so unpopular than I did in the first place.

The constitution specifies that Sucre is the capital of the country. But a few decades ago, the government up and moved the three of the four compartments of government to La Paz. The parliament, the treasury, and the military are based in La Paz, only the judiciary remains in Sucre. Nevertheless it is still the constitutional capital. That is, the constitution defines Sucre as the capital. But the new constitution aims to change this. The people in Sucre, however, want Sucre to stay the capital and they are incredibly passionate in their defence of their city.

One day when I was chatting over Skype with my family in Australia, they asked me where I was at the moment. I told them, ‘Sucre, it’s kind of the capital of Bolivia. La Paz is kind of the other capital, but I’m in Sucre at the moment.’ A local man overheard me, and must have understood English very well, because he interrupted and assured me ‘No, Sucre IS the capital of Bolivia, not La Paz...’ He clearly wanted to say more, but I stopped him, as I was chatting with home. But in short, this is the first of the reasons for the conflict and one that is concrete and easy to pinpoint. A lot of the graffiti that remains in the city is related to Sucre as the capital city.

Learning this didn’t help me much to understand the conflict, however, because to an Australian, fighting over which city is the capital is plainly absurd. But to a developing nation like Bolivia, this is a significant issue. Firstly, there is a lot of corruption in Bolivia, and much of this is centred around La Paz. Of the highest positions in all sectors of government, there are no representatives from any other province other than La Paz. All the government officials, all the people in power in Bolivia are from La Paz, and nepotism is rife, meaning that if you are born elsewhere, you have little chance of getting into a position where you can make a difference. Also, decisions are made for what is best for the people of La Paz, not what is best for those in other provinces.

Also, Sucre, despite being the capital city, is located in the poorest region in all Bolivia. There are no jobs, especially for young men. The military is a very good career here in Bolivia, but it is almost impossible to get into the army, navy (it makes me laugh a little that land-locked Bolivia has a navy) or air force unless you hail from La Paz. So for young men in Sucre, in particular, there is a sense of hopelessness that comes with limited employment prospects, and the unfairness of knowing that where you are born limits your prospects even more.

Also the new constitution seems to allow for greater powers for the government over the people. Many people assert that the constitution is like a communist manifesto for Bolivia, and that Evo Morales is trying to turn Bolivia into a socialist state, one in which his control is strong and absolute, not dissimilar to Chavez in Venezuela. I have heard talk of a range of human rights violations that have happened since the conception of the Evo Morales government. The newspapers described those that were killed or injured in the fighting as ‘defenders of democracy’, and there has been a lot of discussion in the media over the country being at a crossroads between socialism and democracy. The country seems split into two groups, and those protesters from Sucre fervently believe they were fighting for the survival of democracy in their country.

But one of the things that really brought the issue to a head was the constitutional assembly itself. The special assembly to draft a new constitution has representatives of the people. However, initially, the governing party appointed more than half the seats on the committee to its own party, thereby making whatever changes they want to pass automatic. The process would be somewhat a rubber stamp. This was strongly opposed and protested about in itself. Then, a couple of weeks ago, when the assembly was convened, it held meetings without the presence of the opposition. I don’t know why the opposition weren’t at the meetings, I don’t understand why it would matter if they were there, given that the governing party has more than half the representatives anyway, but for whatever reason, they weren’t there and this infuriated many people of Bolivia even more. The process was described as illegal, immoral, and unconstitutional. There have been huge protests and public discontent with this issue in particular.

Therefore, listening to his constituents, the governor of Sucre went to the constitutional assembly, and from what I understand he announced that his people did not want the proposed changes, that convening the meeting without the opposition was just bad, and that the whole thing was bad. He announced he would refuse to agree to it, or something like that… The head of the committee, Silvia Lazarte, a middle-aged indigenous lady who wears traditional Bolivian dress and her hair in plaits, ordered a gun to his head, and insisted that he leave the meeting or he would be executed then and there. This really riled up the people of Sucre, who felt quite defensive of their governor, who essentially had gone there on their behalf. Anyway, the governor was escorted from the constitutional meeting, but this wasn’t the end of the issue.

Added to this, police from La Paz, fiercely supportive of Morales, had arrived en masse to be ‘security’ for the city throughout the constitutional assembly. The rumour is that some of these police, dressed in civilian clothes, ransacked the residence of the governor and his family, trashing his computer, setting fire to his belongings. Meanwhile, actual civilians had tried to stop the destruction… Students, passionate in their support of their city, their governor, and of freedom, stood up to the plain clothes police and threw rocks to try and pry them away from the house. Other students ran for the Sucre police to try and get them to intervene, but the local police refused to get involved. The police then tried to blame the students for the violence against the governor’s house, supposedly to show that not everyone supported the anti-government protesters… Only what they didn’t know was that the whole thing had been captured on camera by local newspaper and television reporters. Basically, the result was a huge amount of anti-police sentiment amongst the people of Sucre.

When I learnt this I started to understand how the situation could have gotten so out of control… It sounded like something that could only happen in a Hollywood production. But it got worse. The government was determined it was going to pass the new constitution, so police were given the order to disperse the protesters using whatever means necessary. So they used tear gas, and other chemicals to try and attain control, and when that didn’t work, they fired their weapons into the crowd. As well as the three young students that died, the cost of the violence also included several hundred injured, with a number of amputations, one student in a coma with head wounds, and one student who lost his eyesight. Also, I read that there was a police officer that died in the confrontation as well. He was captured by a group of civilians and lynched, by an angry mob demanding justice for the murders of the cities ‘children’.

By Sunday afternoon it became apparent that the people of the city could not be oppressed. Despite the tear gas and gunfire, they continued their resistance against the police, with increased fervour thanks to the anger they felt at the deaths of the students and the grossly immoral acts of the police in setting up the conflict. Without declaring martial law and sending it the army nothing could be done. So the government ordered the withdrawal of the police, and late on Sunday afternoon they left the city.

But with their departure, the Police also opened the doors to the cities jail, setting free all of the prisoners, including many of the protesters. However, hundreds of other prisoners serving sentences for a variety of crimes were also able to escape, into a city without a police force to protect them! It was announced that the students had broken free on their own and let the other prisoners out, but this was once again contradicted by video evidence collected by the media.

So when I arrived on Monday morning, I arrived into a city that was almost like a ghost town. Hardly any shops were open, and the streets were bare. Banks refused to open their doors without a police force, and without money, many of the business in the city could not operate. There were signs of the conflict everywhere, from people with injuries, to graffiti, to a multitude of camera crews hanging around willing to interview anyone with an opinion.

Without police, volunteers organised impromptu community security measures and a ‘volunteer community police force’. None would carry arms, however, so they used measures such as whistles to try and prevent crime. Interestingly, over the three days the city was without its police force, there were fewer crimes reported than average. It was almost like even the criminals were in mourning for the lost and wounded and out of respect chose not to make trouble. The police returned late Wednesday night, but I was told that these police were all from Sucre. The people would not stand for La Paz police being back in their city, Patricia, my language teacher assured me.

In the couple of weeks since the conflicts, Sucre itself has been almost deadly silent. With the exception of the two public funerals for the students and the thousands that marched with their coffins to the cemetery there have been no public demonstrations and no clashes since. But other parts of the country have rallied in support of Sucre in opposition to the centralisation of power in La Paz and the corruption of the current Bolivian administration. Seven of the nations ‘departments’ (Bolivian states or provinces) held a general strike to support the anti-government protests, and in certain other cities clashes between police and protesters also occurred.

There is now a DVD that is being sold on the streets with a compilation of news reports and coverage of the Sucre riots… Crowds of people gather to watch snippets around DVD shops. It is illegal, however, and as soon police appear in the street, the television is turned off and the people disperse again. I tried to get a hold of the DVD, but didn’t have much luck, and now that I am in La Paz I doubt I’ll hear much more about it. Still, it was a fascinating couple of weeks for a number of reasons. I think it was an historical confrontation, that will be recorded in the history books as the beginning of the end for the new constitution, and I was there for it. If I hadn’t chosen to go to Sucre, despite the disturbances and the blockades, I would never have learnt about the issue. And while I am still very confused about many things about the constitution, I think I have been able to learn more about the mentality of the Bolivian people. They are passionate, strong-willed, idealistic, loyal, and fierce.

Despite the conflicts, I had a wonderful time in Sucre, and I loved the people that I met there. It was the perfect place to learn Spanish and hang out for a couple of weeks. It is such a laid back place, beautiful buildings, parks, views, nature, and history. I have no idea what is going to happen over the next couple of months, with the proposed constitution going to a vote mid-December, and it will be presented to the public early January. Without a more moderate approach the proposed constitution will likely not be approved by the people, but what Evo Morales and the government choose to do then is anyone’s guess. We can only hope than whatever the result, it is without violence and bloodshed, and the will of the people, whatever it may be, will be respected and honoured.

Adventuring in a 4x4 in the Salt Plains of Uyuni

One of the highlights of my trip so far has definitely been the four-day jeep tour to the Salt Plains of Uyuni. The trip takes 4 days, and weaves through some of the most enchantingly beautiful scenery I’ve ever encountered. From cactus filled valleys, mountains the colours of fire, lakes of crystal green, geysers, indigenous villages, Incan ruins to stunning wildlife such as llamas, flamingos, vicunas, and alpacas. Most of the trip was above 4000 metres, where trees stop growing, and the landscape is barren and dry. The contrast of lakes and rivers and wildlife at this altitude makes a powerful image, and brings home the fragility of life and the miracle of survival.

The setting off point for the trip is a town called Tupiza, which is a couple of hours from the Bolivia-Argentinean border. I love the Lonely Planet’s introduction to this town: “If there’s ever a place where you want to throw your leg over a horse, brandish spurs and say ‘ride ‘em cowboy,’ this is it.” Apparently it’s also the resting place of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, nearly 100 years ago. I still don’t really know who they were, and am not really sure that I care, but the image of the Wild West that is conjured by their names really is what this town is like. With all that, I couldn’t NOT go horse riding, although I still had the memory of the burning backside with me from the three day horse trek in Songpan, China a few months earlier. So I signed myself up for a three hour horse ride as part of a day trip around the sights of Tupiza, and there I met two British couples who would be my companions for the day, Graham and Amy, and Steve and Annie.

We did a ‘triathlon’ of activities throughout the day: a combination of sightseeing by jeep, hiking and horse riding. Our guide for the day was Eddie, a retired doctor who now runs the Hotel La Torre where we were all staying. He spoke excellent English, and explained some of the sights along the way as well as sharing with us some stories of his life. Incidentally, Eddie also likes a bit of a drink, and my strongest memory from the Hotel Torre is him draped over the fish tank in the foyer, announcing in a proud slur ‘I’m talking to the fish.’ Nevertheless, we were most grateful to Eddie for the ‘saltenyas’ that he provided for lunch. Made by his wife, Irma, these were seriously the best thing I had eaten in South America. Kind of like pasties, only juicier, more tender and more flavoursome, with surprises such as olives and boiled eggs to be found inside! The best thing about the day, however, was the horse riding. The back of a horse was seriously the most perfect way of seeing the scenery.

Graham, Amy, Steve, Annie and I must have bonded at least a little during that day, because by the end of it we were laughing like old friends, and we had decided to do the 4-day Salt Plains tour together. To be honest, I was a little bit apprehensive initially… I was the odd one out, the only one on my own without a partner, the only Australian… And although we’d had a great day in Tupiza I had no idea what four days cooped up together in a car would be like.

Luckily, these four people are seriously four of the best Brits I have ever met. I laughed more than in those few days than I have in years thanks to their wicked sense of humour. I seriously think I have extra laugh lines now that I didn’t have a week ago! Everything is fair game for a joke, nothing is sacred, therefore everything is funny. But the best thing about the group for me was the positive attitude that everyone had.

A short way out of town on the first morning of the trip, Alfredo, our driver and guide pulled over the car, turned around from his seat to introduce himself. I don’t remember everything he said, but he definitely spoke at length about how we would need to be patient, that if we had car problems he would be able to fix them with our patience and cooperation. I remember thinking how he must have had some shocking groups in the past if he felt the need to say that up front…

Luckily, nothing went wrong with the car for most of the morning, and I had almost forgotten about the spiel about patience, when we got our first flat tyre… The first of MANY… The roads throughout the area are incredibly basic, at best, and we ended up with the vehicle from hell. Throughout the four days, anything that you might imagine could have gone wrong with the vehicle did, from flat tyres, to something with the brakes, something with the radiator, something with the battery, something with the suspension… Throughout the whole trip, no one complained, no one whinged, in fact, I think we all just laughed every time something else went wrong. It was almost like there was a consensus that we couldn’t do anything about the situation, so we might as well make the best of it. For me, that was the one thing that could have made the trip dreadful. But instead, the positive, bright, cheerful attitude from each one of my companions was the total antithesis of the ‘whinging pom’ that I think we need to rethink the stereotype. These were seriously fantastic travellers…

Of course, it helped that Alfredo was a genius with repairs, and such a fantastic guy and good spirited about the whole thing. Whenever something went wrong he would say ‘there are no problems, only solutions’ which is a saying of his that I just loved. He would then get his overalls on and using whatever he happened to have in the jeep would fix the problem. We had three flat tyres on the first day, and only the one spare tyre, which meant that Alfredo had to do some pretty nifty puncture repair. It was an education just watching the process, in which Alfredo took out the inner tube like we would a bicycle tyre, placed a patch over the puncture, and pumped up the tyre again BY HAND!!! We each had a go at pumping up the tyre, but at that altitude, after about 30 seconds we would start to tyre, so it became a kind of tag-team relay to get the tyre pumped up fully.

Graham, an ex-army mechanical engineer, always seemed to know what was going on, though, which was calming. He was Alfredo’s right hand man when it came to repairs. He also had a multitude of survival skills thanks to his time in the army, and I’ve lost count of the number of things that I learnt from him. I do remember that a good way to warm up your socks for the next day is by putting them under your pillow as you sleep, and that for warmth, it’s not a good idea to wear the same socks for the day that you’ve worn to bed, and vice versa. Also, apparently if you put cold water on your feet before getting into bed it ensures that the blood rushes to them and warms them up more quickly… but I still haven’t had the courage to try this one.

After our mammoth puncture repair session we finally got on our way, just as it was starting to rain. So as we drove past a lady walking along the side of the road we unanimously agreed to pick her up. She had left home at 5am that morning, and had been walking all day to take the school news to the next town... Alfredo informed us that she would have walked 70 or 80 kilometres. There are no phones, no electricity, and so she was commissioned to walk between towns in order to pass on the information about the school in person. She had a lovely smile, and was so grateful that we stopped. She told Alfredo that he was a godsend, and that she was sure that God would watch over us on our journey and we would have no more obstacles in our way. If only. But there were no more car troubles that night.

We arrived at our destination two hours later than the other jeep we were supposed to be travelling in a convoy with, as the sun was going down over the horizon. Ordinarily this wouldn’t have been a problem, but we were all dressed for daytime, and the difference between day and night temperature in the mountains of Bolivia is really startling. It was freezing, to say the least, and we all decided we would be much more prepared for all kinds of weathers and all kinds of circumstances on the next day. Delfina, the cook for the expedition, cooked us a spectacular meal of vegetable soup, beef steak and mashed potatoes, which helped warm us all up. Alfredo joined us for some beer and conversation after dinner, by which time we were all laughing about our car troubles, the weather, everything.

The second and third days were much the same. Early morning departures and spectacular scenery along the way. We saw many beautiful lakes, full of flamingos. My favourite was called Colorada Lake or the colourful lake, and here we saw flamingos and alpacas together, and a beautiful reflection. And of course, more car trouble.

I also feel enriched thanks to the game of ‘shithead’ that the Brits taught us along the way… The aim of the game is not really to win, but just not to lose, because if you lose then you are the shithead, and no one wants to be that. We explained the game to Alfredo, which was a bit of a challenge thanks to the language barrier, but he cottoned on quite quickly, and he loved it. Watching his expression as he struggled not to be ‘cabeza de mierda’ was hilarious. He had such an innocent joy when he managed to beat out Steve, we all laughed so much just watching them…

The highlight for us all was definitely the final day on the salt plains themselves. We had to wake up at 4:30am to be on the plains in time for sunrise, and we all grumbled a little about that, especially Annie, who is definitely not a morning person. But seeing the salt flats covered in water, and watching the sun peak over the horizon and its mirror-like reflection was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. When I look at my photographs I can hardly tell which half is the sky and which half the water. It looks like we were in a photography studio, it was that perfect, but the magic of it is that none of the beauty of the moment can be conveyed in photos… A little of it was captured in the video that Annie took, but it still doesn’t truly show what it was like being there.

The rest of the salt flats was also fantastic, although nothing could top the sunrise. Steve bought a soccer ball, and he and Graham organised a game of soccer on the salt with the drivers and some other tourists. At 3680m above sea level, I thought it was incredibly impressive that they even thought of playing soccer. While they were playing, Annie and Amy and I played in the salt as well, by taking crazy photos… The pure white of the salt means that you can get awesome effects in the photos, and you can position people in the foreground and background and they appear different sizes rather than looking like they are a long way away. We got a bit carried away and tried lots of different photos, but not all of them worked.

By midday that day we had made it to Uyuni, and we had to say goodbye to Alfredo and Delfina. They were a great combination, and Alfredo, in particular really made the trip for us. We really wanted to do something for him besides the standard tip for great service, so we asked him to take us to an internet café in Uyuni and wait for a few minutes before leaving, and we put our group photos onto CD for him. Steve also gave him the soccer ball as a memento of the trip. Alfredo really was outstanding in every way. As a driver he was safe and responsible, he was knowledgeable as a guide, he was caring as a person, always making sure that we were looked after and happy. And above all, he was just a bunch of fun. But all in all, I think it was a combination of everything that made the trip so memorable for me. The people that travelled together, Alfredo, Delfina, Annie, Steve, Amy and Graham… our shared experiences, the games, the laughter, the sunrise, the crazy photos… they all helped make it a trip that I will remember for a lifetime.