{"id":1292,"date":"2011-04-25T18:29:47","date_gmt":"2011-04-25T21:29:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/?p=1292"},"modified":"2011-04-30T10:44:26","modified_gmt":"2011-04-30T13:44:26","slug":"cycling-bolivia-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/2011\/04\/cycling-bolivia-2\/","title":{"rendered":"And so Pass the Days: a dispatch from Bolivia"},"content":{"rendered":"
Our two big Andean adventures (Paso Sico and the remote Southwest Bolivia ride) left me with more than some nice photos and a few good tales to tell.<\/p>\n
Those cold hard rides had gifted me something that felt like the early stages of pneumonia.<\/p>\nMaybe we've had our fill of adventure cycling for the moment.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
I was the sickly one in room 42 at Uyuni\u2019s Hotel Avenida.\u00a0 The one who coughed and hacked all night, keeping those in adjoining rooms awake.\u00a0 The one who rasped and wheezed, whose sneezing ended with a shudder and shaking, a few sniffles and finally a, \u201cthanks, I\u2019m fine,–really–feeling better every day,\u201d addressed to anyone showing sympathy.<\/p>\n
And there were plenty of sympathy givers.\u00a0 Hotel Avenida was full of tourists, all on their way to or from the famous Salar.<\/p>\n
The largest salt flats in the world, stretching some 120 kilometers across the otherwise barren land.\u00a0 Cycling across the great white expanse of the Salar is a highlight for any South American bicycle tourist.<\/p>\n
And now the Salar was flooded.\u00a0 Buried under 10 centimeters of water.<\/p>\nCycling on the edge of the Salar. We'll definitely have to plan a return trip when there's no flooding.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nSalt from the Salar ready to be shipped.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
<\/p>\nDon't feel like cycling? Hop on a truck to see the Salar.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
Not that I was really up for another adventure.<\/p>\n
It was time to lay low, get well.<\/p>\n
Wandering around Uyuni\u2019s markets was all I was really up to.<\/p>\n
Observing the buying and selling of goods is an age-old pastime of tourists everywhere from Bangkok to Beirut, Marrakesh to Mumbai.\u00a0 Bolivia is one of the better countries to partake in this simple pleasure.<\/p>\n
First, there are the vegetable markets where huge women in wide pleated skirts and frilly aprons preside over mounds of avocadoes and potatoes, pyramids of bright purple onions and tiny bouquets of parsley.<\/p>\nA typical market in Bolivia.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
Then there\u2019s the meat market, best avoided by those with queasy stomachs.\u00a0 Bolivians, unlike Europeans and Americans, see no need to be disconnected from the fact that they\u2019re purchasing, and will soon consume, a dead animal.<\/p>\nHe's going to be somebody's dinner tonight.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
No, Bolivian\u2019s seem to revel in the fact that what they\u2019re about to buy a piece of flesh which was, just hours ago, out grazing in an open field.\u00a0 The head and hooves of the recently slaughtered animals are proudly displayed next to the fly-covered meat on offer.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
No, you really don\u2019t want to wander into the meat section.<\/p>\n
The streets are overflowing with people displaying their wares.\u00a0 The lucky ones spread out their pirated CD\u2019s, batteries and various trinkets on tables.\u00a0 Those less fortunate grab a piece of the pavement and squat before a few forlorn sacks of flour or a handful of tiny vials whose contents promise to cure everything from hemorrhoids to \u00a0impotence.<\/p>\nA steaming cup of traditional medicine, the best way to start any day.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
<\/p>\nEarly morning shoe-shiners out to make a few Bolivianos.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
I head to the mounds of used clothing known across the continent as Ropa Americana. <\/em>After much rummaging through cast-offs from the Salvation Army and the Goodwill Shop, I decide on a powder blue fleece jacket from the Gap and a long-sleeved Esprit top sporting the slogan \u2018I love music, dance and fun.\u2019\u00a0\u00a0 This piece of clothing was quite obviously not marketed to my age group, but it\u2019s in good condition and looks warm.\u00a0 My purchases set me back just 20 Bolivianos (about $3).<\/p>\n
As I trudge back to the hotel, past the sellers of cheap (albeit new) clothing imported directly from China, I note how few buyers there are.<\/p>\n
At the small central plaza, a few enterprising individuals have set up outdoor bars and cafes catering to the tourist crowd.\u00a0 Backpacker types huddle together under the strong sun, some thumbing through the Lonely Planet, others laughing loudly, surely recounting tales from their adventures on the road, roughing it on the Southwest Bolivia tourist circuit or maybe a story of late-night revelry.<\/p>\n
They look happy and I am hit with a sudden pang of jealousy.<\/p>\n
Cycling can be lonely.\u00a0 We spend most of our time on the road, sleeping in small, nameless villages or under the wide open sky.\u00a0 Apart from other cyclists, there are few who understand our solitary journeys and self-enforced suffering.<\/p>\n
A few days of rest and I\u2019m feeling better.\u00a0 Or maybe boredom is getting the best of me. Apart from meandering through the market, there\u2019s not much in Uyuni to hold anyone\u2019s interest.\u00a0 It\u2019s really just a cold, dusty railway town on the edge of the Salar.\u00a0 Even the internet is hardly a viable escape, seeing as the connection is so pitiful you can peruse a couple of pages in the guidebook before the browser opens up a new page.<\/p>\n
Word has it that the road to Potos\u00ed is paved.\u00a0 Yippee!\u00a0 We\u2019re fed up with sand and washboarding and feeling proud when we\u2019re able to crank out 50 kilometers in a day.\u00a0 Bring on the asphalt, I say.<\/p>\n
Turns out \u201cpaved all the way to Potos\u00ed\u201d isn\u2019t quite right.\u00a0 Paved most of the way.\u00a0\u00a0 As in, the easy parts are paved.\u00a0 The steep, narrow winding parts, that is to say when you really need, want and desire asphalt, those parts are in their, shall we say, natural state. \n<\/p>\nDoes this road look paved to you?<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
The road out of Uyuni goes straight up, at a sometimes unforgivingly steep slope.\u00a0 Oh how I wished I was back wandering those markets instead of forcing my weary legs to pedal a 55 kilo loaded bicycle up a mountainside.<\/p>\n
Then we hit top at the tiny mining village of Pulacayo perched up high at over 4,000 meters.\u00a0 Ahead lay the asphalt.\u00a0 I let out a whoop of delight and raced downward.\u00a0 Practically all afternoon the gentle descent continued until we landed at the village of Ticatica.\u00a0 Really nothing more than a kink in the road, there were a few shops catering to the long-distance bus traffic and a simple guesthouse.<\/p>\n
The owner is asking 40 Bolivianos (about $6), which (according to Eric) is outlandish for such basic lodging. The alojamiento <\/em>is a mud-brick structure with an outhouse out back.\u00a0 There isn\u2019t even a door for the pit toilet, just a couple of old rice sacks taped together to provide a bit of privacy.\u00a0 A shower is out of the question and the town is experiencing a water cut, so for cooking and washing up we\u2019ll have to use the water stored in the old 2-liter Coke bottles lining the building.<\/p>\n
Finally, we agree on 20 Bolivianos.\u00a0 The room is surprisingly clean, even cosy.\u00a0 Someone had gone to the trouble of tacking up a few kitschy posters, one of Machu Pichu, another of some overly cute pets and a third portraying some random beautiful countryside scenery.<\/p>\n
In the morning, when I comment to the se\u00f1ora in charge how much we appreciated the cleanliness of the establishment, her palm is immediately upturned and she\u2019s requesting more money.<\/p>\n
Eric chuckles and forks over another 4 Bolivianos.\u00a0 The se\u00f1ora\u2019s face lights up and she waves us off with a cheery, \u201cQue les vayan bien\u201d and \u201cBuen Viaje.\u201d\u00a0 Take care and have a nice trip.<\/p>\n
The trip begins–not so nicely–with another steep climb.\u00a0 Naturally, this stretch is not paved.\u00a0 Up, up, up all the way to around 4,200 meters and then down, and then up again.<\/p>\n
We ought to be getting used to this by now.\u00a0 But honestly, I feel cheated and tricked.\u00a0 This is, after all, supposed to be the ALTIPLANO<\/em>.\u00a0 High Plains.\u00a0 Plateau.\u00a0 Flatlands.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t sign on for the never-ending tortuous climbs.\u00a0 There\u2019s a fine line between a good challenge (which is fun) and gratuitous suffering (which just sucks).<\/p>\n
That evening we arrive in a charming village by the name of Chaquilla.\u00a0 The village lies in a fertile valley surrounded by fields of quinoa and potatoes.\u00a0 Herds of domestic llamas with their brightly colored tassels graze nearby, and there\u2019s even a tiny plaza on which sits the eloquently named Tourist Hotel<\/em>.<\/p>\n
Eric is suspicious, firmly believing that any establishment using the word \u2018tourist\u2019 in its name is synonymous with rip-off.<\/p>\n
We knock politely, call-out, clap loudly and finally resort to banging on the guesthouse door.\u00a0 It\u2019s Good Friday and nobody is about.<\/p>\n
The old woman manning the corner shop tries to explain something in Quechua and broken Spanish.\u00a0 From her gestures I gather there\u2019s another guesthouse further on.\u00a0 We continue, but no, the village comes to an abrupt end.<\/p>\n
We return to the shop, and there are a few more muddled attempts at conversation until finally a fancy 4×4 pulls up.\u00a0 The old lady speaks to the driver in Quechua, and he then translates to us in Spanish.<\/p>\nThe braided backside of a Bolivian woman.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
Apparently, the family running the hotel has gone on a trip and they will be back \u2018mas tarde,\u2019– later.\u00a0 When later, I ask.<\/p>\n
\u2018Mas tarde,\u2019 insists our translator.\u00a0 Later.\u00a0 Just later.<\/p>\n
Now you\u2019re probably thinking, you\u2019ve got a tent, why not use it?<\/p>\n
Because it\u2019s cold.\u00a0 And I hate the cold.\u00a0 I left Montana some 20 years ago to escape the cold.\u00a0 And well, maybe Bolivia isn\u2019t the safest place in the world to be camping out in the middle of nowhere.\u00a0 There is the occasional tale of a hapless cyclist being robbed in the night.<\/p>\n
We run through the usual list of hospitality prospects:<\/p>\n
School?\u00a0 Closed.<\/p>\n
Church?\u00a0 Only open on Sundays when the itinerant priest passes.<\/p>\n
Municipal buildings?\u00a0 Locked up tight for the holiday.<\/p>\n
Random friendly individual?\u00a0 Negative.<\/p>\n
Health Center?\u00a0 Bingo.<\/p>\n
Abundio, the auxliliary health worker in charge, invites us in to pitch our tent in the courtyard.\u00a0 As he scrubs and beats his laundry in an endless stream of ice-cold water, we get to chatting.\u00a0 Abundio tells us his home and family are in Potos\u00ed, he sees them just four days a month.\u00a0 This has been going on since he began his work at the village health center some 13 years ago.\u00a0 His children are now at university, one is studying to be a doctor, and I can tell Abundio is proud and doesn\u2019t regret his sacrifices.<\/p>\n
Abundio wrings out his now lilly white socks and underwear and I reflect on his dedication not only to his family, but to the act of getting clothes clean.\u00a0 I\u2019m a pretty lazy laundress, just swishing about a bit of powdered soap, rarely getting down to the dirty work of scrubbing and beating till the clothes are sparkling clean.<\/p>\n
We set off the following morning at 6:15 AM Bolivian time.\u00a0 I say Bolivian time, because our watches are set one hour earlier.\u00a0 It\u2019s a psychological thing.\u00a0 We need to get up early, but if I see it\u2019s only 5AM, freezing cold and pitch black outside, there\u2019s no way I\u2019m rolling out of the tent.<\/p>\n
6 AM feels far more realistic.\u00a0 We know it\u2019s only 5AM, but the watch says 6AM, so yes, we manage to struggle out of the sleeping bags, make coffee, cook up a pot of porridge, pack up the tent and eventually hit the road just after the sun\u2019s first rays begin to warm us.<\/p>\n
It will be a tough day, with three big climbs to over 4,000 meters.\u00a0 I\u2019m prepared with good music and oreo cookies.\u00a0 Just before 5:00 PM, we finally spot Potos\u00ed and Cerro Rico, the big hill out of which so much of the world\u2019s silver was once dug.<\/p>\nPotosi, once the largest city in the Americas.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
<\/p>\nA street scene frpm Potosi.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
<\/p>\nThe highest beer maker in the world.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
The city is a maze of markets and steep, winding streets. My legs go feeble just at the thought of more climbing.<\/p>\n
We gain at least another 300 meters of altitude before finally stumbling into Alojamiento La Paz, the same crumbling guesthouse where we stayed on our first visit to Potos\u00ed back in 2002.<\/p>\n
Just three days have passed since we left Uyuni, but I feel as if we\u2019ve been on the road non-stop for three weeks.<\/p>\n
Cycling the Andes is real work, many times each day we cross the line between adventure and gratuitous suffering.\u00a0 I\u2019m not ready to hop on a bus yet, but, damn wouldn\u2019t I like a few days of flat roads, warm weather and sickness-free cycling.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Our two big Andean adventures (Paso Sico and the remote Southwest Bolivia ride) left me with more than some nice photos and a few good tales to tell. Those cold hard rides had gifted me something that felt like the<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1309,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0},"categories":[10,12,49],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n
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