Tupiza

The bus ride from Villazon was awsome. As we made our bumpy ascent into the mountains we passed some fantastic scenery . As the light diminished the black outlines of cacti on the hills resembled an exodus of strange alien figures . We saw our first Llama. After emerging from a mountain tunnel, we spotted the carcass of a coach that had tumbled to it's fate 200 feet below - a reminder of the dangers of Bolivian roads.


We arrived in Tupiza and found a little place for 40 bolivianos a night - roughly 4 quid between us. The balcony looked out onto the jagged red clay mountains that lay on one side, the kitchen over looked the grey rocky hills on the other. Depending on the time of day, the various types of hills and mountains surrounding us would change colour. There were various shades of greys, browns, and reds, and despite being barren and desolate, it was beautiful. From time to time we spotted herds of wild mountain goat clambering amongst the red rocks far and high in the distance.

Tupiza is just under 3000 metres high, and we could feel it- the smallest of actions could leave us feeling breathless.

We met a few other travelers and went to the nearest 'bar'. We were led by a man through the front of his little llama/alpacca clothing shop out into the back, to his new pride and joy - a bar which he hoped would soon be the centre of Tupizza'a nightlife, but which was empty for the moment.

The next day, we went for a bit of a hike, with a French girl called Rafael. The scenery was stunning, and throughout the day I enjoyed moments of the rare sensation of silence. We walked along dried-up riverbeds, between dry shrubs and cacti, climbed a huge rock formation called 'punto del diablo' (the devil's point) and big clay/scree hills that resembled huge solidified globs of volcanic lava. We found huge canyons, and passed high, jagged clay formations that towered above us looking sinister like a landscape lifted straight out of The Lord of the rings. It was somewhere in this region of Bolivia where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid met their maker at the hands of the Bolivian police in 1906. It made a nice change to be able to go for a walk without having to take a guide and pay through the nose.
We met a couple of lovely Irish gals on horses, and later on that night we all met up for dinner.

The next day, we got up and prepared for a 4 day Jeep tour around Bolivia's South West, finishing in the famous 'Salar de Uyuni', the world's largest salt lake.

Bolivia bound

By the time we'd reached the bus station, we'd decided to give the north of Argentina the wide birth, due to tales of dengue death and mayhem. We'd hoped to camp, but came to the conclusion that this was a bad idea. It was mainly Colette who had the doubt - I had been of the opinion that we should find out exactly where the outbreaks were and avoid those areas, not the whole region. However, 2 things made me realise we'd probably made the right choice; as we boarded the bus for Jujuy anyone boarding north bound buses was handed a free big bottle of 'Psst' mosquito repellent, courtesy of the Argentinian government, and during our 30 hour bus ride, I saw south bound traffic being stopped and fumagated by men in boiler suits and masks at least 3 times. Some people complained about over the top media scare mongering and claimed that it was nowhere near as bad as people were saying. We decided against finding out for ourselves. We really were due to be in Bolivia by this point anyway.

We arrived at La Quiaca after dark, and decided to stay the night and cross the border the next morning. Stepping off the bus we could imediately feel Bolivia's proximity. The indigenous blood was evident in the faces of the people and the traditional dress of the women, or 'cholas' who sat huddled in groups amongst their blankets and wears, chewing mouth fulls of coca leaves. As it was Easter saturday we could hear Mass being projected into the night by loud speaker from the church. The mountain air felt clean and crisp after so long in the city, and the beds in the chilly little hotel were necessarily equipped with layers of thick alpaca blankets.


After a good night's sleep we had breakfast and set off for the boarder, which was a 10 minute walk along a disused railway track. It felt like we were walking through the set of an old wildwest movie, rugged and dusty with mountains in the distance.

The boarder crossing was pleasant as far as boarder crossings go. There was no que, the official was cheery and it was all very straighforward and swift. The cheeky face of Evo Morales beamed down at us from a poster hung on the wall (Bolivia's first indigenous president). We walked over a bridge and saw people washing clothes in the river below. Walking up the street we passed Cholas selling fruit, street stalls selling anything from cigarettes to pliers and, behold, juice ladies! We'd being missing fresh fruit juice in Argentina, and hadn't really seen any since Colombia, so we were happy to see the juice ladies with their orange press mobile stalls out in force. Pomello for me, 25p. The street was colourful and buzzed with activity and we traded the last of our Argentinian pesos for bundles of ancient looking Bolivianos. We were in Bolivia.