Bolivia – Seriously Difficult to Leave….

Journey from Uyuni to Villazon (on the Boarder between Bolivia and Argentina)

Probably my most hilarious journey to date.

I had agreed with a friend (Rene) to travel to Argentina together, so met in a town in the south of Bolivia called Uyuni. From here we took the bus to the boarder and as such begun the adventure.

The bus, along with all the others, can be caught from a dusty street north of the main pedestrian strip in Uyuni. The cost was Bs60 ($8/£6) and left at 8pm. The ticket seller adviced me it was a 9 hour trip… We appeared at our destination 15hrs later, but what happened in between was almost comedy at times.

You either pay full price for a guaranteed seat or less and take your chances. The bus was full,  as such about 8 people had to stand or sit in the gang way for the trip.

On board there were three employees. At first we thought they were all drivers who would swap round during the journey, no such luck. One was a driver, the other helped collect the money and load and unload bags and the final was the mechanic (imagine the confidence this gave us…).

The ‘road’ was simply a muddy track which had so many ridges you quickly understood what had happened to the suspension. Rivers flowed across the route, which worried the driver to the extent he had to get off and see if he considered it crossable. At points the water would come up to about 0.5m below the windows.

At one section the road got so muddy the driver asked all the passengers to get off the coach and walk approx 200m as he wanted to lessen the weight on board to guarantee getting through the mud. By now it was about 11pm, the temperature had dropped considerably and the rain was lashing down (we didn’t realise this till getting off the  bus. For example Rene was still in his T-shirt, shivering extremely and he’s Austrian). After about 10mins of squeezing the bus through the mud, we could finally get back on.

At about 12pm the driver decided he wanted some shut eye so stopped the bus and had a sleep for approx 2hrs. With little else to do (we were in the middle of no where) the rest of us joined him.

The journey continued until we hit another muddy patch about 2.30am. We got off again and Rene and me expected to walk the same 200m as before… a 2.5km hike ensured! Picture the scene: it was pitch black (I’d forgotten my tourch on the bus), there had been heavy rain and as such the route was extremely muddy. What do you choose: the muddy slippery road which is flat or along the sides which were slightly dryer, pebbly but with a very uneven surface (remember you can’t see much in this moment)? I tried both, with varying degrees of failure,  my muddy trouses being testament to this. Rene jokes we got a free hike included in the trip which we’d probably have had to pay a much higher price for with a tour operator. I can’t entirely disagree with him, but at 2.30am, I was not in the mood for a hike and would have stayed in bed given the choice.

Finally back on the bus and it was beginning to get light. We swung through the mountain side, don’t imagine a scene from ‘The Sound of Music’ of the bus gliding through the Alps while we were all singing gayly…. More the fact that the track was uneven, muddy, there was a sheer drop one side of us (which we got very close to if there were any cars travelling in the other direction), clinging to the seats for sheer terror (you can see from one of the photos of cracked front windscreen and the state of the road) and the bus broke down three times. Once (photo) was in a beautiful place with dramatic scenery. However,  the on board mechanic had to fix the brakes (photo) and then said to the driver: ‘I’ve done my best with them’, inspiring confidence in his passengers.

Off we went again winding through the south Bolivian outback. And then (shock horror) we found a road with tarmac! Rene and me awoke thinking we were already in Argentina. But jokingly promised each other that during the next protest in La Paz (of which these are regular) we would take photos and hold them up for the President chanting ‘We want more of these’ (forming our own mini protest, and probably confusing the on looking locals).

Driving along the tarmac roads there was an alarming smell of burning rubber, to which even the driver looked stressed about. Stop, off hops the mechanic who returns a short while later, looks at the driver, shakes his head and says (roughly translated) ‘No chance’. As such the driver then flagged down a passing mini bus and piles all our bags on it.

The mini van was comparatively new, the road: tarmac but we were subjected to loud Bolivian dance music… I won’t repeat Rene’s thoughts but lets say it won’t be making his iPod selection any time soon.

Finally, 15hrs later, at the boarder with our bags (and lives), what were we complaining about….

Bolivia’s Deep South- Uyuni and Nearly My Final Fatal Adventure

Almost best to start from the end with this adventure. The area is famed for its salt flats and as such people tend to arrive in a town called Uyuni where they buy a tour. This involves a guide who drives you across the terrain in a land crusier. Our guide, Javier, was a pleasant guy but only spoke Spanish which was not a problem for me but the group consisted of Irish, Turkish and Russian who spoke very little so I ended up as translator. However, Javier seem to have few facts or knowledge about the area. For example we turned up to one location which consisted of interesting rock formations that brutally erupted from the sand. Javier’s comment was simply that they were suppose to represent animals and just advised us to use our imagination. I asked him more about them in Spanish, all that he could say was that he didn’t know, before getting out of the vehicle and walking across to chat to his fellow drivers…

On the evening before the final day Javier went off with some of the other drivers and, according to the lady who owned the hostel where we were staying, drunk a couple of bottles of tequila and many beers. He looked hung over the following day but seemed ok to drive. Then at each point we stopped to look at the landscape he would meet the other drivers and have a blast on some other alcohol (vodka, whisky, etc). By 1pm he was absolutely smashed and his driving had become very erratic to the extent that he was aiming the car over a ravine until I grabbed the streering wheel to straighten the vehicle again (the girls in the back where screaming). This happened on a few occasions until I made him pull into a village. He said we’d spend about 10mins here but I told him strongly that we’d be here for 30mins and he must sleep.

By this stage the girls, in the same jeep as me, were beside themselves with fear (I wasn’t happy either). So I found a shop with a phone and called the agency (Kamal). I spoke to a woman and confirmed I had the right number then went about explaining the situation and the fact that we needed a new driver/jeep to get back. She simply hung up on me, so I tried again four times but each time got the answer phone. The only bus out of the village was fully booked that day and, speaking to a number of locals, no taxis came here. As a result I spoke to the owner of a lorry and asked if he could give us a lift home. He pointed out that he already had his family in the front and no more seats. I explained the situation and said we were happy to ride in the back, he, slightly reluctantly agreed. As such one of the photos is of us in the back of the lorry. Dusty and with a very sore backside (the ‘roads’ are not tarmaced and the lorry had little suspension) we made it back to the main town alive (and in need of a drink ourselves).

I had a good group, one of the photos being testament: me with a Russian chick, Javier and three Irish ladies. Missing from the photo is a Turkish guy who had left for Chile by this point. On the first night our group, nearly single handedly, drunk the hostel out of alcohol. As such a Greek lady in another group with who I made friends said I had definitely picked the right group (as her’s were in bed early and didn’t drink).

The trip was full of the usual Bolivian organisation, they had not booked any rooms for us so the drivers raced each other every day to find the last beds. A major fault is that Jan-March is high season and it was really busy, taking away from the experience in my opinion but the people I met made up for it.

Pink Shorts: thought you might be wondering. Going to Uyuni, everyone said how cold it was so I packed all my warm clothes. It was cool but with a good jacket would have been fine. As such I didn’t pack any shorts as no one said that we were off to the hot springs (which we could swim in). One of the Irish girls then lent me a pair of her’s….. look it was cold that day and I was the amusement of many a photographer (I am posed with the Greek lady, poor girl).

The landscape though was ever changing from sandy deserts with rocks seemingly erupting from it, to a still live volcano, pretty rivers that gave life to green vegetation and villges, hot geezers, lagoons with flamingoes enjoying a daily feed and even snow (although apparently only 3 times a year- made me laugh as thought I’d escaped it).