Woke up early enough on 16 July to discover that the hostel provides breakfast. Free, I think. Scoff down some fruit – solid & liquid – then pack my stuff and check out. As I’m leaving, a canadian is coming back. He’d been to bus station, but road to Cochabamba is blocked by coca-growers protesting. I check with lady at hostel, and she assures me road to Samaipata is fine. So – I walk to where the colectivo taxis for Samaipata leave. (Taxis that do a certain route, and wait until they’re full before leaving). I was the fourth person to arrive wanting to go, so was immediately pushed into the dodgy old stationwagon, and off we went. Dirt road as soon as we left the city, with quite a few landslides. And awesome tiny villages with thatched huts – I really wanted to stop the taxi and just get out to stay a night in one of these places, but wasn’t too sure about the practicality of it, and didn’t want to waste the couple of NZ$ I’d paid for a 2 or 3 hour taxi ride. Got to Samaipata, and decided to use the hostel with whose pamphlet I had figured out how to get here. A hostel which provides useful info deserves my money. Get there, and it’s rather busy. But – room available once other people check out. So – leave my bags there, and go look for food. Turns out to be rather difficult, but eventually find very cheap place, with very bad food. Then, decide to walk the 9km to El Fuerte – the largest stone carving IN THE WORLD! First 4km, easy – fairly flat along the main ‘road’. Then, a dirt track up a hill. Was expecting this, and not too bad. Then, down the other side. Then, up a hill again. A bloody long hill which got steeper and steeper. Absolutely buggered by the time I got to the top. Chopped back a quick lemonade, then did some more walking up and down hills around this big rock with carvings all over it, and some Inca ruins. (Pen & Ben – we can probably cancel Macchu Picchu. I’ve seen Inca ruins now, and they aren’t that great.) The carved rock was pretty impressive, but you couldn’t get the bird’s-eye view that is really needed to fully appreciate it. I was pretty disappointed, especially after that awful walk here. Which I could have avoided with a NZ$8 taxi ride (for ride up, driver to wait for up to two hours, then drive back). I really need to remember how stupidly cheap taxis are in this country. But, walked around the big stone, saw some ruins, and started the walk back. Wasn’t too upset about having to walk back, as knew the only uphill bit wasn’t too bad. Then, on the final downhill, a minibus stopped and offered me a ride. Full of schoolgirls. Giggling schoolgirls, as soon as I got onboard. A couple of them found the courage to ask for photos with me, and I of course obliged. Didn’t have time to get my own photos with them before we arrived at the main road, and I had to get off, as they were going in another direction. A local fellow who’d also been offered a ride got off too, and we strolled back to town together. He started chatting rugby as soon as he knew I was from NZ. Thought I was a professional player. Everybody on this continent confuses my size as to being strong, rather than just too much cerveza. Anyway, he explained that rugby is growing quite quickly in Bolivia, and a lot of his friends are playing it. Look out All Blacks.
Got back to hostel eventually, and met an australian couple. Very nice, the guy had just shaved a beard comparable to my China beard off – leaving the moustache. A rather fine moustache. They informed me that they’d been travelling with two kiwis they’d met, and who’d just left yesterday. Also, there was a group of 4 other kiwis in the hostel. Later in the evening, I met the group of 4 – immediately doubling the number of New Zealanders I’ve met on this trip. Went to bed very tired, and was woken up by the English girl in another bed – asking me to roll onto my side, as I was snoring rather loudly.
17 July – Woke up too late for breakfast at the hostel, and then wandered up to an organic restaurant – where I came across the aussie couple and the Kiwi4. Sat around chatting, watching hummingbirds fly around (hummingbirds are cool), drinking fresh juice and eating fresh food. Then, walked up the hill at the back of the cafe/garden – where the owners had set up a ‘throne’ with a rather good view of the town and surrounding hills. Back to the hostel, and I drank some cerveza while the aussies and english girl packed, then caught the night bus to Sucre. Two kiwi girls arrived, and soon there was a group of 7 kiwis, and one canadian (the guy from Santa Cruz who couldn’t make it to Cochabamba – instead arrived here today) playing cards, and drinking. One kiwi girl was rather drunk rather quickly, and became the perfect example of the embarassing kiwi traveller. When asked to go downstairs to the lounge, not many people understood why (rather sensitive neighbour). But, I managed to convince everybody, then cleaned up after them. Unfortunately, a girl who is working at the hostel voluntarily (well – free board I assume) sleeps in a room adjoining the lounge. While I was upstairs cleaning, I gather she hinted that it would be nice if people were fairly quiet. And that smoking wasn’t allowed inside. When I got down there, it was rather obvious that this was being ignored. And when I tried to convince them that it was a good idea to be quiet, it turned into an argument which was even louder. Eventually, at 1am, everybody went to bed.
So, I wake up on 18 July, feeling rather seedy, and intending to apologise to the volunteer. Apparently, though, she’s already left for ‘The City’ – and won’t be back until tomorrow. I do find, however, a note in the kitchen from her to the owner, complaining about last night. Dumb. I get the hostel owner to book me a ticket on tonights bus to Sucre, and ask him to apologise to the volunteer for me. Then, walk up to the organic cafe with the Kiwi4, where they get some packed lunches for a walk up a hill, and I settle in with a jug of juice, a book, and the menu. Soon hear a thump, and look around to see a hummingbird fall to the ground after flying into a window. Pick it up, and place it on a table so that the dogs won’t hassle it – and hopefully it can recover. An hour or two later it’s gone – so hopefully did it on it’s own steam. I’ve said it before, but hummingbirds are cool. Eventually finish the book, and return to hostel. Buy a cerveza, and hostel owner confirms that I have a ticket. Luckily, as the buses were booked out, but there was a cancellation. Kiwi4 were also hoping to leave, but only one cancellation. I ask what time the bus is (have heard that they are usually around 9pm) – and the hostel owner suddenly remembers that this one is much earlier, and that I should head down immediately. Leave my cerveza with an elderly lady who had asked me earlier if they sell cerveza at the hostel – and catch taxi with owner who has to restock the cerveza. Get to a roadblock where all vehicles have to pay a toll, and wait. And wait. Buses come through, but I can’t remember the company name I’m supposed to be on. And apparently the driver has my ticket. I know my seat number though, so ask the guys jumping off the buses to pay the toll, and sneaking a look at their passenger lists. Nope, nope, nope. Three hours later, in very very cold night, the guys at the tollbooth (after doublechecking all the passenger lists several times earlier for me), tell me there won’t be any more buses coming through. I walk back to hostel – where luckily there is one bed free. It happens to be mine, which they haven’t stripped or remade since I left. Drop off my stuff, check the thermostat which is bang on zero, buy a bottle of wine, and head down to the lounge where a few people are watching a movie. They head off, I watch an awful action movie while I finish the wine.
Get up on 19 July, and come out to breakfast – to the surprise of the owner, of course. He asks what happened, and I explain. He books me another ticket, this time with the company they usually use. Doesn’t want me to pay for the second one, but we settle on me paying for half the second. Then, I head to the museum about El Fuerte, which I’d forgotten to visit earlier. Not too interesting, but had scale model of the big rock, so could see the full extent of the carvings. Don’t do too much else. Back to hostel, and have a few cervezas. Kiwi4 are also booked on this bus, so we wait together. I ignore the warning of the hostel owner that there is no toilet on the bus. Several cervezas. Volunteer has returned from The City, so I apologise in person. Not sure if it goes down well while also buying more cerveza. Eventually walk down to main road (different place from last night – has a little shop and seats to sit on while waiting). Bus arrives on time, and we get on board. Much better than last night. Kiwi4 get on and laugh and complain about the lack of legroom. I, the older and wizened traveller, get on, sit down, and prepare for an umcomfortable sleep. Would have been much less uncomfortable if I’d heeded the warning about no toilets. Wake up in the middle of the night, and try to tie my internals into a knot. Succeed, I think, as when the bus finally stops, and I jump off for some quick relief, the pain in my gut continues until well into the next morning.
20 July – Arrive in Sucre. Theoretically still the capital of Bolivia, although it now has only the Supreme Court, and everything else is in La Paz. Civil war you see, which La Paz won, but to appease Sucre – allowed it to remain the capital, kind of. Kiwi4 get off with me, and one offers to share a taxi. I watch them load their packs into the boot of a taxi (boot is open, packs standing up on end poking out of it), and tell them I might see them in town. They take the taxi, and I take a walk. A fairly easy twenty minutes, and I reach the street with multiple hostels on it. Ask at a couple which are full, then discover one with space. Get myself a room, and drop my stuff off in it. On the wall, written in biro, is “WARNING: this place is a shithole.” Charming. I’m not sure if the author is referring to the hostel, or the city. So – go for a walk in the city to see if I can figure it out. A market is across the road, where I buy a couple of saltenas. Bolivian specialty (espcially in Sucre, with the reputation for the best saltenas in the country) – pretty much a pastry filled with chicken or beef, diced potato, and a sweet sultana sauce. Pretty tasty, and very cheap. Also, freshly squeezed juice – I opt for grapefruit. Two large glasses for less thatn 50 NZ cents. Sweet. Walk around town – another immaculately maintained central plaza. Discover an old train sitting by itself in a compound, and can’t remember if I read that the last train ever robbed by Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid was in Sucre, or somewhere else in the area. Anyway, an army-type chap stops me from entering. So, walk back to hostel for a siesta.
Get up in time for lunch. Another bolivian specialty, this time not so good. Greasy sausages served on a hamburger bun. Then, check out a museum. Not bad – housed in the house where Bolivian Independence was signed up. See the treaty of independence, and other stuff dedicated to the War of Independence, among the several other wars Bolivia has fought. (I think Independence was the only one they’ve won.)
Then, find a restaurant with a balcony overlooking the plaza, and have a couple of cervezas. Starts to get very cold as the sun drops, so head back to hostel, put on some more clothing, and return to the restaurant with balcony. This time, order yet another bolivian specialty. This time, delicious. Diced chicken, beef, and maybe llama, with vegetables, in a spicy onion sauce. I order the half-plate, and eat maybe half of that.