In Bolivia, with patience

I arrived in Bolivia after some very cold days riding above 4000m in southern Peru and along the shores of Lake Titicaca. I decided to cross on the third day of protests and road blocks near the border where campesinos where protesting against increased water tariffs and prevented any vehicles passing by building bonfires in front of several bridges and putting large boulders on the Panamerican. I had to make some detours through a deserted and vandalized town, luckily during their midday march to the town hall, sneaking through the barrage of trucks to make it to the nearby border town. I made in to La Paz that night and met Jenn the following evening having flown from London to a significant change in elevation. Jenn is here for a couple months, we’ll be riding together as much as we can and she’ll catch buses between big towns as we can’t carry all our luggage together with Sixto.      

Bolivia is beautiful open spaces, it’s mountains, deserts and rainforests and dramatic changes in weather conditions, from sunny and mild lowland days to bitterly cold nights at height. It’s evidently poorer and cheaper than my previously visited South American countries. It’s cute children, reserved men and women in big skirts, round hats and brightly coloured sack on their backs. It’s dusty roads and eager dogs racing us by humble and deserted adobe villages. Most of the country is at high altitude and covers the majority of the Andes Altiplano - the high and dry plains between the mountain ranges.

The Tiahuanco were the first prosperous civilisation in modern day Bolivia with art, architecture and agriculture similar to that of Ancient Egypt, thriving for a millenium until being overtaking by the Inca empire.

When the Spanish arrived in the 16^th century, modern day Bolivia wasn’t affected significantly as it was so far from the Spain’s new world capital at Lima. Life continued as usual until silver was discovered in Potosi. Potosi’s Cerro Rico (Rich Hill) mines brought unimaginable wealth to the Spanish crown. Indigenous Bolivians were then reduced to slaves and farmers working to gain permission to cultivate lands they had used for many years. The first call of colonial resistance in the whole of Latin America came in the capital, Sucre, resulting in independence in 1824. Later on Bolivia’s geographic vulnerability led to attack by Chile in the 1879 Pacific War where Bolivia relinquished its coastal territory and subsequently lost valuable territory to all its other neighbours – Peru, Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina in other battles.

 

You wouldn’t believe it when seeing the conditions of its towns and villages but Bolivia is a world leader in minerals – in lead, zinc, tin and silver. The controversial leader, the first indigenous leader in Latin America, with little friends outside of Cuba and Venezuela is either loved or hated by his people, his name sprayed everywhere from previous elections to the upcoming one. It’s a relatively frustrating country to travel in, always with a lack of or unreliable information and patience is necessary when dealing with the people, a straight answer is hard to come by and what would seem like an efficient way of doing things is never the Bolivian way of doing things. With this brings a slow and relaxed way of living, passing one day to another. Every visit to the petrol station is interesting here. Internationally registered vehicles are charged nearly three times more than Bolivians for the one type of petrol offered. When I pull in, the attendant typically races over to check my plates when he sees me. He or she then confirms the inflated cost before filling up. I suggest a personal tip if they give me the local price, usually met with a stern no, pointing at the surveillance cameras until they eventually smile and agree except in cities where there’s almost always a strong rejection with many attendants and sometimes a policeman on duty.         

A few days in La Paz we take in some nightlife, join a walking tour and make the most of the local markets and their impressive produce, cooking at the hostal and enjoy the free locally brewed beer.

Once Jenn has acclimatized we venture out to the Sajama National Park, near the border with Chile and home to Bolivia’s highest peak at 6,542 m.a.s.l. It’s a great ride out together, basking in the sunshine along the well paved and desolate desert highway with a few days of luggage and snow-capped mountains in the distance. We arrive at the small tight-knit community living in a difficult landscape and within a day we’re invited to join in the annual vicuna shearing ceremony.

We set off in the back of a cramped pick-up truck one afternoon with women, children and a travelling couple we met to build a fence which the following day will be essential in capturing a group of vicunas – an imposing wild animal of the llama family which roam in the national park amongst the plains between the desert mountains. Every December members of the community join together to catch, shear then free the vicunas because of their valuable, fine wool. We’re told the wool is exported to Italy because of the lack of local textile machinery and the money is used to support the village.    

The elders set us off to work, digging holes, erecting the posts and fixing the fencing. It’s arranged in a V-shape with a circle at the ridge where the vicunas are to be directed to, trapped and fenced off.

Digging a hole

 

 

The following day we take Sixto out and follow the convoy back towards the plain, splitting in two groups to wait patiently on opposing sides. Jenn and I are given streamers to attract attention and divert the vicunas towards the fence once they finally present themselves.

We all advance once we have the attention of the herd and slowly enclosed them into the fenced area.

 

 

The vicuanas are given a chance to settle, some shiver and shake, others fight the fence with one escaping beneath it, but finally the remaining ten or so huddle together and rest. Some women arrange some refreshments – beer, Bolivian cola and coca leaves which are shared around in communal cups, firstly pouring some on the ground, an offering to Pachamama then drinking and chewing on the coca leaves.  

One by one the men tackled the vicunas, one hugging the upper body while another blindfolded them to calm them, then grabbing its legs, placing it on the blanket and tying its feet to a rope secured into the ground. The women then got to work, shearing away with stiff old clippers. 

 

 

 

The vicunas are returned to the enclosure until all have been sheared and were then blessed with confetti and released back out into the wild.

 

We spend more time in the national park, checking out some geysers and swam in the hot springs.

 

 

Hanging out with cheeky Carlos and his brother who’s family ran the hospedaje we stayed at.

 

Visions of Ecuador & Peru

 

 

Video of my time in Ecuador & Peru - play with music

 

All roads lead to Cuzco

Back in Quito Sixto gets new tyres and I rest up from the trek knowing that the following few weeks will involve a few thousand kilometres of riding through Ecuador and Peru to get to La Paz in time to meet Jenn before we travel together for a couple of months. Before riding directly south into Peru, Ricardo the friendly mechanic invites me on a Saturday ride with his mates, a motorbike group he'd established. We meet up back at the shop and I follow him on to his place where he shows me his home servicing setup and then on to his group clubhouse where I'm introduced to some other members of his group and become an honorary member for the day. They're a nice bunch of guys and as usual we stand around discussing each others bikes and take in some morning sun.

From here we move on to a party, collecting more from the group along the way and forming a long line of bikes as we head to the outskirts of Quito. I had little idea where we were heading but arrive mid afternoon to no other than the local headquarters of the Bandidos Motorcycle Club. On arrival there's a long line of motorbikes of all brands and sizes parked along the laneway, a few marquees, a roasting pig at the back of the clubroom and guys setting up the stage ready for an afternoon of heavy metal cover bands. The party brings together several Quito motorcycle gangs. I'm welcomed by a heap of guys from all different walks of life, what may appear intimidating on the surface is just another way people form social groups and share in a common interest. I feast, play pool and enjoy the music and characters and get shown a lot of bikes including Mark's - who takes me to his yard nearby to show me the collection of bikes he's restoring. A nice farewell to Ecuador, a preferred country for it's people and places up to now.       

 

Following a month passing through Ecuador’s mountains, volcanoes, lakes and rainforests the landscape changes dramatically soon after crossing the frontier a couple of days later. In Northern Peru the roads are now surrounded by dry sandy desert with more aggressive truck drivers and the petrol stations offer gas at three times the price. The strong winds across the desert also means I need more fuel per kilometre. I get the impression that people are a little lazier and unwilling here. The honking of horns become incessant for what seems without reason – Overtaking? Not happy with my riding? Or just recognition that I’m noticed? It’s never clear. I’m against the clock for the first time since Mexico and make stops in the dead end town of Sullana where I'm not given much of a welcome into the country then in the bigger, more interesting city of Trujillo.

 

  

Further on I head east with the hope of catching a clear glimpse of the Cordillera Blanca near Huaraz, Peru's highest point and stunning snow capped and rugged mountain peak. To arrive the interesting way I cross into canyon country which brings back the joys of riding through parts of South Western U.S. 

 

 

The roads empty and the surroundings become nothing but blue and cloudy skies, warm sun, valleys of rocks, many shades of red and brown, stops to let trucks pass on narrow sections, ghost towns, dusty gravel tracks, tunnels and no sign of life but the Rio Santa which flows on beside me. I make the 30,000km mark when passing through an abandoned village and push on until reaching the dam walls and eventually the wet highway to Huaraz. 

 

Sadly, the overcast and miserably cold weather conditions doesn't give me much of a view of the mountain range at Huaraz but I do manage a few good meals and make friends at a family run restaurant, staying at a empty hostel ran by a Peruvian who spend years living in Ascot Vale over a decade ago but returned here for a slower life. From here it's back to the Pacific Ocean within a few hours, a spectacular return after leaving it's shores months ago in southern Nicaragua, approaching high above the waters which meet with the sandy deserts of central Peru. I pass through Lima hours later with no intention of stopping so I push through to it's southern holidaying beaches.    

 

 

 

 

I've been pretty happy with the simple food in Peru, the menus don't seems to change much from meal to meal- breakfast much like lunch and dinner offers chicken soup, egg and bread or roasted chicken, lo in of beef, tripe, fried rice and macaroni and similiar dishes. With petrol prices as high as I've seen so far I can get about seven modest restaurant lunches to a tank of petrol which is by far the biggest relative difference. 

 

 

 

Whilst searching for a cheap bed in Punta Hermosa I'm approached by Alberto cruising around on his pushbike who sees me aimlessly wandering and offers a room at his place. My instincts tell me he's a decent guy so I follow him to his apartment where he has a spare room which he usually rents out during the surfing season. He's an interesting guy who used to live in the Amazon, run a coffee business and now spends his time surfing, mountaineering and studying acupuncture. His mates drop in and we play chess, discuss Peru, the best way to see Macchu Picchu and they cook me the best bacon and eggs I've had in months the following morning before I have to head off.

 

 

 

Not before long I'm heading away from the coast and later that day I reach the town of Nazca. I stop at one of the watchtowers to get a glimpse of the mysterious site which surrounds me, the Nazca lines. You don't get to see much unless you take a plane high above the plateau to better witness the ancient geoglyphs - hundreds of shallow lines and geometric shapes resembling animals, from humingbirds to monkeys to sharks formed around 1500 years ago. 

 

After much lonely afternoon riding I reach a landscape new to me in the Pampa Galeras. The pampas, found in Peru and vast areas of Argentina are the high elevation, treeless, windswept plains of the Andes. I hadn't experienced anything like it before, despite the cold and unavoidable gusts of wind and being constantly chased by stray dogs, there's a mysterious beauty to these lonely lands with little agriculture, snot-nosed children playing by the roadside, herds of llamas, guanacos & alpacas roaming and tiny villages appear with nothing more than a few adobe homes and stone walled animal enclosures by a river. 

 

 

 

 

I ride all day without seeing many people or vehicules, freezing my hands in the high desert with concern for when the next gas station will arrive until finally reaching a village after dark. Lucanas is a small village atop a hill where of all places I'm offered chicken cooked in coca-cola and the following morning I buy a wheel of the cheese the village is supposedly know for. I stop for a roadside breakfast and moments later I'm forced to stop for roadworks. The woman at the roadblock and the cop say it'll be a two and a half hour wait for linemarking and I couldn't convince them to let me through with urgency until I offer them both cheese ten minutes later and they arranged an escort car through the radio.     

 

 

Making good progress high in the pampas on the day I plan to arrive in Cuzco, I notice a quaint little village off the highway in the distant and decide to take the small track out there for a rest in the sun and maybe a drink.  On arriving I befriend a teenager who directs me to the square where tables and chairs are being setup for a ceremony. I'm asked to stay and get chatting to a bunch of men waiting for the meeting. Within half an hour  what seems like all the adults of the village, maybe 150 people have arrived, all the men sitting in front of the main town building and the women off to the side huddled in groups. It's the monthly general meeting of the indigenous village and to start proceedings the mayor and a group of armed men in military clothing raise the Peruvian flag at the central flagpost and fire guns into the air. I'm then called over to the main table to introduce myself as a visitor where I briefly explain myself to everyone - what I'm doing there with some complimentary words of the village and its generosity. The next hour or so I sit and listen to the proceedings in a Spanish difficult to understand, where between the mayors speeches all the men are given a chance to stand forward, give their suggestions and vent their concerns of the village whilst everyone else sits and listens. I'm told the meeting may go on for a few more hours so I excuse myself and get back on the highway towards Cuzco.

 

 

 The 4,200m high pampas at sunset where wild vicunas roam

 

 

I eventually make in to Cuzco after stopping to chat to a couple from Geelong riding pushbikes since Colombia and sharing cheese. I arrive in the pouring rain and with a very dim headlight in need of a replacement. The city appears as colonial as any city I've seen since northern Mexico but a closer look shows membrances of the heart of the Inca empire which ruled for 95 years until the Spanish invasion. It was the largest of American empires before Columbian times and at its height it dominated the Andes, stretching across modern day Peru, large parts of Bolivia and Ecuador, northern Chile & Argentina and as far north as Colombia. I move on to ride as close as I can to Macchu Picchu and decide on riding to Santa Theresa which takes me through the Sacred Valley - it's high mountain pass, many waterfalls and rivers, misty mountain sides and wet and silent roads. It's a struggle through cold weather. I'm advised to stop and take a bus when I get to the end of the asphalt due to an imminent river crossings too deep for Sixto. I take my chances, get through the rivers and get held up by roadworks which means I arrive after dark. The following morning I take a collectivo taxi to the end of the train line at Hidroelectrico and walk with a couple of Europeans along the train tracks for a few hours until we finally reach the sacred mountain of Macchu Picchu, that wonderful royal city so hidden away the Spanish never discovered it.        

 

 

 

Within a few days I leave Peru, having spent less than three weeks here. I was warned several times that the country isn't so beautiful but I regret rushing through as it's uniqueness and variety - sandy low deserts, windswept high deserts, deserts meeting the ocean, high snowy mountain passes and tropical sacred rainforests gave me a new motivation to explore new landscapes.