Badlanders MCC Website

 

I know folks; it’s been a while since I blogged and there are mitigating circumstances. I have never worked so hard, on a bike at least, in my life. The climb onto the altiplano in Jujuy left me breathless and in pain. There were times where I felt my lungs burning as I climbed some of the most difficult heights. Between that and the changeable weather, I found myself changing clothes every couple of hours from summer cycling gear to winter clothing. You dread seeing the downhill bits, knowing that it’s going to be case of going back up again. That’s how I felt as I rolled down to Volcan and then after a few glorious miles of gentle undulations, back up again. The route thereafter is up and down, but always, given you reach a height of 3600 metres, more up than down. And, though its awe inspiring at parts, its also soul destroying when you find yourself barely getting up to a 7mph average. I just wanted to undo the trailer and panniers and feel the freedom of cycling without load. But on the other side of the coin, I knew how much I appreciated the five bottles of Gatorade to , 2lb of bananas to give a much needed boost of energy, and the warm clothing I was able to change into. I couldn’t have done that without carrying the load I’m carrying. I understand why the two or three groups of cyclists I have met, going the other way of course, are sharing the load as a group, and finding it less of a challenge to climb the hills, though a challenge nonetheless. After all, you only need one stove, and indeed one of most things, can reduce the number of spares carried and you only need one tent for two cyclists or at two for a group of four.

 

When I reached Humahuaco I booked into the Colonial hostel. That was the first of my sleepless nights gasping for air. The second was when I reached La Quiaca where I spent the night in a nice hostel, but yet again, for the most part, a sleepless night. And everyone who knows me, will know that’s a problem I rarely if ever suffer from. To add insult to injury I met a group of “travellers” who after a five or six hour bus ride, proudly talked of how they never felt the slightest twinge of altitude sickness! Must be my age, one had the temerity to say...... Not that he’d been sitting on his fat lazy backside for 200 kilometres on a bus. However, having forgiven their ignorance, we started to chat amicably. They had after all hired a bike to do the famous death road in Bolivia...a whole 60 kilometres! Anyway after a longer chat about their experiences in Bolivia, I explained my route. They said presumably you are going to do the Salar. I said no, and somewhat sarcastically, that people who are travelling around by bus and train often say that you can’t miss that, failing to realise it could add anything from 4- 20 days on the trip, when doing it by bike. They said. Why not get your bike on the train in the other direction to Uyuni and take the jeep trip out for a few days. I pondered on that suggestion and having re-read the guidebook it did indeed sound stupid to miss some of the most amazing landscapes in Bolivia; the world rather, and indeed the largest and highest salt plain in the world, not to mention active volcanoes, brilliant wildlife etc. 

Anyway my next challenge, as I made for the crossing over the Argentinian border to Bolivia, were my old friends, the police. More about them in a moment! But first, the sight of the crossing into Villazon. This was one of the most amazing sights of the trip. From early that morning as I proceeded to make my way to the crossing, I could see from on high literally thousands of campesinos and traders crossing the borders with their wares, some with stackloads of hay, other “plants”, and bags on their backs. It was a scene of utter chaos and looked like thousands of ants. As you reached the crossing it looked as if it would be relatively easy to cross without having to face officialdom. However, that would only last until you reached the next police control point with police checking your passport. However, if I explain the torture of getting over the Argentinian border, you’ll appreciate why an illegal crossing sounded tempting.

 

I stood for an hour behind a queue of people to pass the customs and controls squad at La Quiaca only to be told that my passport was invalid as there was no stamp. I had already supplied the report from the police which explained everything about the robbery and the fact that I had to get a new passport. I also explained that the Mendozan police and the embassy explained that all I had to do was present the report and the new passport and everything would be a formality. I should, of course, have known better! The customs policeman said that I’d need to pay 300 pesos ( just over £60) for overextending my stay. I explained that I didn’t need to as my passport was stolen. I told him the date that I crossed from Santiago to Mendoza. As was so often the case, he wasn’t interested. “Tres cien pesos” he said. I of course had reduced my Argentinian money to a minimum and only had 50 pesos on me. I asked if I could pay by card, knowing of course that that would be impossible. No, was the response I would have to go back to the town centre to get money. I returned to town with my bike, but not until I had to retrieve my Passport from a guard, who managed to drop it onto, but fortunately not down a deep gulley- that really would have led to me getting on a plane home, if of course that was possible without a passport!

 

I cycled back up the hill into town and found a bank which again had a queue of about twenty people. Making a good start to my cycle in Bolivia was now impossible. Worse, because the bank rejected my card and I had to search high and low for another bank, hoping that I wouldn’t face the same problem! Fortunately after half an hour of cycling, I eventually found the Banco de la nacion. I’m delighted to say it gave me the three hundred pesos and I promptly made my way back to the border, hoping that my additional 50 pesos would be enough if I was in a “plata”  situation. It definitely appeared as if I was destined never to leave Argentina!

 

As I left the bank this old lady dressed in Bolivian clothing, sitting on a set of steps on the building next to it, offered to sell me two reasonable sized green bags cellotaped together..........of cocaine, no less! She was 70 if she was a day. I politely said no, “ muy malo” and she responded by nodding and hid them back under her mutli-layered petticoat. The bizarre thing is that the place is crawling with Border policia and gendermaria, though I suspect that she was an unlikely suspect. But a gringo; now that would be a different matter!

 

I cycled back to the border, only to join yet another long queue. I finally arrived at the desk and paid the money, handing over the form stating that I was a naughty boy for overstaying my welcome, even though I wasn’t. It angered me, more for the inconvenience than cost, though the cost would have covered anything from six to twelve night’s accommodation in a decent hostel. I asked for a receipt, and he proceeded to make me wait a further half hour. I still had the Bolivian customs and passport control to go through, which everyone said would be a nightmare. I finally received my receipt and passport and was off on the short walk to Villazon and the Bolivian passport control office.

 

I chained my bike to a railing outside the office and was told by a policeman that I couldn’t do that. He pointed me to another railing which was completely out of sight. Bear in mind that there were thousands passing, I was left with a nervous wait as I tried to complete two forms in a queue heading for the desk where I would get my passport stamped. I have to say, for something that looked like organised chaos and dated beyond belief, with poor systems, it was remarkably quick. There was one interesting moment when he checked my passport and look at my birthplace as Scotland. I explained  “it was Escocia, pero es en UK”. He proceeded to look at his wallchart for the code for Escocia. His colleague had to explain to him that it was the UK! They were both entertained and impressed by the fact that I could not tick the box for any of the normal modes of transport, offering their total respect for my travel by bike.

 

I was off up the hill amidst the chaotic market stalls and shops. Trying to find somewhere to eat was my first challenge in Bolivia. There were a number of places either closed or without anything to sell! I eventually found a little cafe where I was given plate of the famous Bolivian soup and a piece of picante chicken, together with a couple of bundles of sheets of toilet paper. It wasn’t the best advert for their food, but the stench from the toilet was even less so!

 

After a pretty stunning view between Tupiza and Uyuni, that is until it got dark, I arrived at Uyuni at 12.30 at night. I put the bike together, realising that all those that had left the station before me, would probably take up the majority of bed spaces. I was lucky, after a brief cycle around the streets and a few dog chases, I found the palacio hotel in the main plaza. Don’t be deluded by the name. This was no palace! Nor did it have electricity or running water the next morning. I checked out and found the delightful Los Girasoles where I slept the next night, again however, an uncomfortable, restless night. Although the hotel, was nice and at £12 a real bargain, I took one of the cheapest rooms sleeping on a metal bed with a very thin mattress. I ended up sleeping in my sleeping bag on the floor, with my thermasol mattress.

 

I was still finding it difficult to sleep and not even a bundle of coca leaves alleviated the breathlessness. At breakfast the next morning I was advised by this American couple in the hotel to take it easy for a few days, which I did. Now this would have been the ideal time to BLOG and check emails, but there was no Wi-fi anywhere in Uyuni, so I was left with some very slow speed internet cafes, with all the risks of identity theft that they carry! I also met this lovely couple Patricia and Aldo, who had only been together for a few weeks, though had an internet relationship between Chile and Bolivia for a couple of years. Having explained that I’d found the cycling at altitude tough and was finding it difficult to sleep in particular, she explained that she operates tours mainly for the third age, which, I suppose I’m not too far off. She said that she could give me some oxygen if I fancied it. I said I will, within reason, try anything that might help. She came into the hotel with an oxygen bottle and I proceeded to take some deep breaths with an oxygen mask on my face, in the middle of the hotel reception. I doubt I was really a case for oxygen but having listened to the tale of two people who had been given heart injections and taken at speed to a lower level, I suppose oxygen is a somewhat milder remedy.

 

The next day, I proceeded to check out the prices of trips into Salar de Uyuni, looking to do it for a day, believing that that in itself would be a rest!  However, after visits to a few tour operators, I eventually succumbed to the hard sell of what I would miss by not doing the three day tour. Salt hotels, geysers, active volcanoes, beautiful lakes and wildlife to name but a few! A really nice French couple Samuel and Amelle were also listening to the hard sell and also agreed to the 3 day trip. They were even thinking of a further days hike up to the crater of a volcano. I wasn’t really feeling the need to scale a volcano and anyway, was taking valuable time. However i asked if they minded being joined by a jock with limited Spanish and even more limited French. Their English and Spanish was equally limited so we agreed that we would communicate with a new language of Spanglishfrancaise!

 

I then went for a bite of lunch and met this irish guy Kevin, who I have negligently lost the contact details for. So if you’re out there, and checking the website, please drop me an email! We had a chat for a couple of hours. He’d been volunteering on a school building project in Peru and was now travelling for a few months. As he was off on the bus that evening to much lower pastures in Argentina, he agreed to provide me with bottle of herbal medicine called Agua de Florida, which you sniff when you feel faint or breathless. We met later and as well as enjoying a bite to eat with a group of other travellers, including two ex Newcastle Uni students, he passed on the bottle of Agua de Florida. This stuff is great and I’m very grateful!

 

Well there we have it. This is without doubt the hardest bit of the trip so far, and I know I’ve got worse to come in the city of Potosi at 4200 metres and in Peru, where one of the passes reach an altitude of 5000 metres.