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Reaching Copacabana and escaping Bolivia

 

Oruro was so uninspiring; it provided nothing to write about really. Tempting as it was to go for a swim in Lago Poopo nearby, I was much too tired to change and the name was a bit off putting, especially as raw sewage smells were the order of the day.

 

 I found a basic Alojamiento and booked in. The good news was that they could keep my bike under cover! The bad news, it wasn’t clean and I wasn’t feeling well. I decided after a cold shower to go for a walk along Avenida 6 de Agosto, where I found a bustling night market, trying to sell me things I didn’t want or need.

 

 I was feeling quite ill and had been really weak for the last couple of days, but decided that I needed to eat something substantial rather than plain pasta and maggi soup or bananas. I found a pizza place, where I tried to eat a miniature pizza. I just managed to digest it and then, feeling really tired, went back to my Alojamiente to sleep. Fortunately I was too tired to worry about whether the sheets were clean or anything else for that matter. I crashed and slept for nearly 12 hours. I was full of best intentions to get up and head on, but my stomach and head was telling me otherwise!

 

I tried to find an internet cafe. (there was no wi-fi to be found anywhere in Oruro, or as I have said almost the whole of Bolivia, full stop). I eventually found an internet cafe where I was able to call home to confirm I was still living even though it didn’t feel like that at times. I was feeling really weak and decided reluctantly that I’d book again for the Sunday night. I forced myself to eat again on Sunday afternoon at the Nayjama restaurant. It was a plate of pasta, chicken and broccoli, cooked to perfection. The Nayjama restaurant is pretty famous, and though it’s meant to be pricey (my food cost £3), it didn’t seem expensive to me and the food was great even though I had to force myself to eat every bite. In it I saw this actor who I had seen in a film I’d bought to try and improve my Spanish.

 

I left Oruro at 10.30, Monday morning, feeling only marginally better. However, ill or not, I knew that I had to move, firstly, because my accommodation was a dive, and wasn’t helping my condition, secondly because of the stench of raw sewage from nearby drains, which was also turning my stomach, and lastly because I don’t have much time left and can’t hang about. The smell of sewage is something I’ve learned to live with throughout Bolivia, but it was especially bad in Oruro. I realise that you can suffer sewage smells in all cities, including London, especially if there has been no rain for a while, however this is something you can’t escape unless you move out into the countryside, and even there you can suffer the most appalling smells from open sewers. I’d also lost my appetite, which is pretty much unheard of. I just couldn’t bring myself to eat a thing. At breakfast I had yoghurt mixed with some oats, which just stayed down.

 

As I left Oruro, almost an hour into the journey, this cyclist came towards me. His name was Ben and he’d been cycling for one full year on that day, coming all the way from New York. We had a chat about some of our experiences. He very kindly gave me a good map of Peru and after explaining that I thought the altitude and water was the culprit for my perpetual nausea, he gave me his waterfilter, explaining that he had no wish to use it any longer. He would only drink bottled water.

 

When I left Oruro, I spoke to the “receptionist”, who told me the route to La Paz was flat. Yet again, the idea of flat is a relative concept. It is flat if you compare it with the cycle to and from Potosi, however, nobody could describe the route to La Paz as flat. In particular, the route from Villa Rosa to Calamarca and thereafter was a non-stop climb, though I accept not very severe. Probably it was the way I was feeling that after a steady 12 mph, I dropped to an average 7 mph from Villa Rosa. I think they just say that it is flat to encourage you to keep going!

 

Though cycling the altiplano was pretty boring, I was struck by the range of aid projects shown all the way along the altiplano, co-ordinated by US Aid, Plan, EU, Christian Aid, and many more organisations. Most of the aid was focussed around education and provision of potable water, though it was clear from the number of houses, whose “chagas generating” thatched roofs were replaced by metal corrugated sheets or tiles, this was highly likely to be another externally funded project.

 

I’d spent an uncomfortable couple of nights in the tent, which is not what you want when you have a bad stomach, and on the second morning managed to nearly pass out as I disassembled the tent, probably as a result of tiredness, lack of oxygen and the weakness from lack of food. However, I finally reached El Alto choking my way through the thick black fumes of diesel from the trucks and buses that passed and manoeuvring my bike around some mind-bogglingly deep potholes.

 

Now I’ve been quiet about the trailer for sometime, most will be pleased to hear! However, on the route from Oruro to La Paz/ El Alto, I managed to get no less than three punctures! That didn’t help my pace at all!  Here, there are no crash barriers to rest your bike and trailer against, therefore it means dismantling panniers and trailer, with all the hassle that entails (especially reconnecting them). The punctures.... I put down to the glass on the road which is everywhere or the wire out of abandoned blown tires that are scattered all the way along the highway. However, I blame myself for not checking the inside of the tyre properly on one occasion, as I ended up with a puncture in the same place. My third puncture appeared just as I rode into El Alto, and though there were plenty of walls, I didn’t feel like stopping at that point to repair, hoping instead that I’d find some accommodation, where I could repair the puncture and generally service the bike. However, in a moment of unprecedented kindness ( for Bolivia anyway), this guy shouted me over. Normally I don’t stop in these situations, however he was shouting, that he would fix my puncture. The whole place is covered in tyre and auto spare shops. I readily agreed, more because I had the assistance of someone holding the bike, while I removed the wheel. One of his guys checked the tube, repaired the puncture and thoroughly checked the tyre. He also directed me towards Copacabana and told me of a hotel that I could get on Juan Pablo II road. I gave him 10 bolivianos (£1), which he was over the moon about.

 

After five dog incidents, I finally arrived at the Hotel and asked if I could have simple room and if they could storethe bike. They said yes to both, but that the bike would need to go into a garage along the road a bit. I went with the hotel’s Duty Manager to the garage. He kept saying that he would deal with the bike and I could go to my room, but I explained that it was complicated, so I would need to be there. When we arrived at the “garage” it became clear that the bike and trailer  was not going to go undercover, and the yard was crawling with straggly, very unhealthly dogs! I didn’t have the time or energy to change my mind, and accepted it. To my surprise the Manager said that I had access to a sauna and swimming pool on the ground floor. I was rather looking forward to that, until that is I came down in a towel and trunks to get to it. It turns out you have to go out the building and around the corner to get into the sauna. I changed into some gear, preferring not to wander around Juan Pablo II with a towel around me. I manage to get quite enough funny looks with the bike and trailer, or as a basic gringo, without going overboard on the dress bit (or lack of it).

 

When I finally got into the Sauna, it was a spectacle. The facilities were cram packed with Bolivians, the pool water being barely visible for people (clearly no HSE guidance on bather numbers here). It was like a big plate of boliviana soup! The sauna, it has to be said, was one of the most impressive I’d seen. It was huge with a large boiler in one corner, but with tens of people queuing to get a seat on one of the benches. I stayed there for about ten minutes and returned to my room for a proper shower and rest. I asked  the Hotel manager about somewhere nice to eat. He said that he couldn’t recommend anywhere but that he would arrange for something to be brought to my room. “Would chicken and chips do.?” “WHAT? CHICKEN AND CHIPS! Well that’s unusual”, say’s me facetiously!” Yes. That’ll do”, I said and then awaited the knock on the door. Why they insist on giving you rice as well as chips (which tastes as if it’s been made a week beforehand and heated up) I do not know!

 

I was up at 5am and decided that I needed a day of rest, as i wasn’t feeling any better. I switched on the TV to one of the four channels, to find party political broadcasts from the five leaders of the parties, (including Evo), standing in the next general election in December. Now I went for a shower and came back to find the party political broadcasts still going. They were effectively on a loop for over half an hour. Can you imagine the complaints that BBC would receive if they’d allowed that to happen? Not only that, Evo Morales then managed to get maximum coverage after attending a business dinner which was televised and another gathering somewhere in the North. Clearly no Widdicombe or publicity code here! 

It was 7.30 and I decided that I would take a trip into the centre of La Paz by bus so that I could try and find wifi- internet, which I was assured would be found in the centre. That was an experience. I needed to catch two buses to get to the centre. The first bus was full of drunks, and I mean drunks, with bottles of Huari in hand and more beer going over each other by this time than down their throats. I then found myself lost in Rio Seco, trying  to find the correct bus to the centre. I eventually took the spectacular autipista down to the centre. It offers the sight of a city that I don’t think I’ve ever seen anywhere in the world. When I finally arrived after an hour I eventually found an internet cafe, with the most miserable waiter I’d ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a few! I’d ordered a coke and asked if I could have the code for the internet. I tried to load one of the first videos I’d taken in a long time and just as it was finishing he said, that they would be switching the wifi off, because it is coming up for lunch-time AT 11 OCLOCK! I nearly strangled the guy. Anyway as we were busy debating whether that was reasonable, the video finished loading! I was going to stay for lunch, but with this guy’s attitude, there was no chance. In any event, I’d heard there was a good Thai restaurant. I asked around a couple of hotels and finally a guy said that I need to head for Calle San Francisco.

 

I’m pleased to say I enjoyed a very nice Tom Yum Talay, which though not perfect, was still very good. I was joined by another solo traveller and the only other person in the restaurant, Ashley from Baltimore. She’d been travelling for a few months and became very sick in Chile. As a result, she was having to be  extremely careful with what she ate. She said that she was hoping to go to the Coca museum, and having a couple of hours before my bus back, I joined her. I was in the process of paying my entrance fee, when these high distressed screams came from an adjoining building. It sounded like a child, and I went to the door to see what was happening. It was infact a middle- aged woman who was being dragged kicking and screaming, somewhat brutally, by a couple of policemen! No such thing as softly-softly tactics here. I was glad I hadn’t got on their wrong side!

 

The Coca museum was really interesting. It was ever so slightly politcal, and especially caustic about western influence on what has been a part of Bolivian heritage for centuries, since before the 2500-1000 BC. Coca leaves were found in the coffins of mummies originating from this period. The Incas had discovered the anaesthetic qualities of Coca long before western physicians were using barbaric methods to relieve pain, including drilling holes in skulls! They became the staple diet of the slaves, campesinos and mineworkers during the colonial period in south America, as this was the only way that they could survive the lengthy hours of work in appalling conditions. Coca Cola was originally based on Coca leave. Over 130 countries thoughout the world including the UK are allowed to produce cocaine from synthetic sources for medicinal purposes, including the UK, but Bolivia isn’t, following an agreement signed by Henry Kissinger and the Bolivian government in 70s. Were Bolivia able to produce the refined version for medicinal purposes, its wealth would grow, and it would prevent the illegal processing of the drug to meet western demand! These are just some of the facts as seen from a Bolivian perspective, that I gleaned from the visit. However, the prize was the coca coffee and coca chocolate cake that I enjoyed at the end, before dashing for my bus back to El Alto!

 

As I passed by the shops on El Alto, I saw and internet cafe and as soon as I was dropped off I decided that I would make my way along to it. By the time I finished checking emails it was dark. I understood then why the Hotel manager was keen to arrange for food to be delivered. The whole area had such an edge to it, it made Boca in Buenos Aires look like Kensington or some other relatively safe place in London! I decided that rather than find somewhere to eat, I’d go back to the hotel and get them to order something in.

 

I left in the morning to make my way to Copacabana on what was undoudtedly a much flatter road, as I’d been told, though I’d given up believing anyone. I have to agree that up until I stopped for a bite of lunch in Huanchaco, the road was very flat. I stopped at a rather attractive restaurant on Lago Huinaimarca ( which adjoins Titicaca). As I was just about to order my lunch, a bus load of officers from the Bolivian Navy arrived (don’t laugh), pristine in their white uniforms. It turned out I was no longer welcome, so i walked to the restaurant a few yards further up.

 

Unfortunately it was some time before I was served, which wasted a lot of time, and left me doubting I’d get to Tiquina before dark. I shouldn’t have worried about the late lunch delaying me. The main culprits were...you guessed; another puncture and the most horrific climb from Huatajata to San Pablo. I hit this hill just as it was getting dark with the result I had yet another scary descent, but worse, one that meant I missed the views, just as I had when I decended from the Andes crossing from Angostura to Osorno. I eventually arrived in Tiquina, after a shaky ride over on a wooden raft for san Pablo. The first Alojamiento I arrived at had no vacancies and I wasn’t keen on spending the night on the Plaza, with countless drunks. I eventually found one which involved a steep climb up a cobbled alleyway and exhausting process of getting the bike into the building. It was awful stank of sewage, had no toilet or running water, though there were some bowls strategically placed around the corridor. I just got my sleeping bag out lay on a bed that sagged to the floor and crashed, barely moving for 8 hours.