There
hadn’t been any rain in the last few days so backing the bikes down the steep
slope to the cobbled street was pretty easy. I still managed to drop Isa’s moto
onto the red dirt. The road to the Bolivian border was quiet and of good
quality. We made the border crossing in 30 minutes, a new record. Copacabana
was just down the road and we had no trouble finding a nice room. We were in
Bolivia!
The Bolivian border before Copacabana
Copacabana
We walked
away the afternoon in the pretty town of Copacabana and couldn’t help noticing
that the tourism infrastructure was massive but the place was deserted.
Copacabana is a beach town on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca with a very
pleasant microclimate. It is popular with Bolivians and foreigners as a
launching point to visit Islas del Sol and de la Luna. We planned to do just
that the next day.
Copacabana Bay
Barber
shops are fascinating. Everyone knows the barber in a small place, they send up
a greeting as they pass by in the street. Getting a haircut in a place like
that is fun. We run into English speakers occasionally but only in big cities.
It was sink or swim for twenty minutes in Spanish, during this haircut in
Copacabana, and I managed to swim. Barbers are skilled conversationalists and
this one helped me along as he would any child, with my childish Spanish. Still,
I was pleased with this little accomplishment. I came away from his shop with
shorter hair but a slightly larger head.
No waiting for a table in the deserted tourist town
We took
the boat to Isla de La Luna. The lake was flat and calm, the ride was pleasant.
We saw the Women’s Temple. We got back on the boat and moved over to Isla Del
Sol. There we saw the Inca stairs and the Temple of the Sun. Far away and above
a carpet of cloud, the view of Cordillera Real seemed unreal. Its peaks
appeared to hover over the waters of Lake Titicaca as if suspended or
weightless.
Weightless Cordillera Real
We didn’t
really get the “magic” of the place and regret not taking one of the overnight
trips. The islands had plenty of picturesque little inns. Slower and longer
time combined with hikes around the large islands to see more of the ruins
might have helped us absorb the atmosphere. We had trouble understanding the
guide too. Most of the day had been spent in the boat on the massive lake.
Isla Del Sol
Reed boat near Isla Del Sol on Lake Titicaca
That
evening, Copacabana was still deserted. There had been several weeks of protest
and road blocks on the highway leading from La Paz to Copacabana. All the
tourists had been scared away from the beach resort. We had monitored the
situation via the internet. The protests were still on the same highway but had
moved to the north shore of Lake Titicaca. They no longer blocked the road
between Copacabana and La Paz. We crossed our fingers for the ride to La Paz
tomorrow.
The
countryside was delightful in the morning light. We rode over the eucalyptus
covered hills, headed for the tip of the peninsula that jutted into Lake
Titicaca, to the ferry. The ferry was exciting. Dozens of small wooded
long-boats are run up onto the gravel beach. A wooden plank or two are what
vehicles use to roll onto the ferry. The ferryman adjusts the loose wooden
planks on the ferry deck, accomplishing a custom fit for each vehicle. Between
the decking planks the wooden ribs can be seen below! Between the boat’s ribs sloshes
the bilge water.
Loading a truck onto the rickety ferry
After
mounting the rickety “ramp” I looked carefully to choose a route and a place to
park that would avoid plunging a wheel into the bilge water. My first attempt
at lowering the kickstand had it leaning into one of the gaps in the planks,
headed for the sloshing blackness below. I repositioned the bike and took even
more care choosing a spot when loading Isa’s bike onto the ferry. We fit a
small truck and three motos on the tiny wooden vessel.
The Ferryman uses his pole
The
weight of the truck at the bow tipped up the stern and allowed the ferryman to
simply pole away from the beach after pulling in the loading planks. A tiny
outboard engine slowly pushed us across the water. The wooden vessel creaked
and groaned as its shape visibly twisted with each wave. We remained with the
bikes to balance them.
Staying with the bikes
Once at
the other side the boat was run onto the beach. We were required to turn the
motos around to exit. Remember, it was uphill to our rear because of the truck’s
weight at the bow and we do not have a reverse gear! A whole lot of pushing and
shoving and straddling of gaping planks got the bikes turned around. I rode each
bike down the bump onto the exit plank to finish the job.
Movable decking for a custom fit!
The road
to La Paz began with extensive but easily navigated construction zones. We
passed several sites where evidence from the roadblocks remained. There were charred
bonfire piles, rocks and much garbage all pushed off the side of the road.
La Paz is
a huge city and is as congested as Lima. The drivers are much less aggressive,
even polite to a degree. We found our lodging and chatted quite a bit with our English-speaking
host. Our first impression is that people seem happy here. Buildings are better
built and more attention is paid to visual aesthetics.
La Paz
La Paz cityscape
Today we
took a city tour on foot with two hip young guides. They were quite
entertaining as they told about the 190 coups and 80 Presidents that have come
and gone in the 191 years of independence Bolivia has enjoyed. They described
the free market economy that operated on the other side of the prison wall they
pointed to across the plaza. They also warned us not to accept an offer of a
prison tour or of white powder from anyone on the street.
La Paz sits in a deep valley
The
guides took us to the Witches’ Market and showed us various powders and
potions, alongside the dried llama fetuses. They described Aymara traditions
that required sacrifice for gain. Offerings of food, tobacco and alcohol are
commonly left at construction sites of personal homes or businesses. Our guides
hinted at the use of human sacrifices for very large construction sites. They
offered as evidence that human remains were sometimes uncovered in the
foundations of buildings that are torn down to make way for even larger ones.
The tour ended with a shot of a local concoction in a bar. Who knows, maybe our
guides warmed up a bit in the bar before letting loose all their stories?
Witches Market
We
visited El Centro by ourselves today. We took the teleferico to the top of the
valley and the suburb city of El Alto. We visited the famous Sunday market that
is 50 blocks long, making our way to the building that housed a wrestling ring.
We were first in line to see the “Wrestling Cholitas” Bus loads of tourists
arrived to fill out the seats before the lights went down and the show began.
Taking the teleferico up to El Alto
View from El Alto
A romanticized Che made from auto parts
It was a
fun evening of carefully practiced choreography interspersed with the drama of
the battle between good and evil. The popcorn was fresh, the drinks were cold
and the underdog always found the strength for a “come-back”. The crowd
rewarded success in the ring with loud applause. No one was hurt in the
display. All the smiling performers came out for bows at the end, even the
corrupt referees.
"The Wrestling Cholitas"
“La Ruta
Del Muerte” – The Road of Death
Calle
Yungas Norte, also known as “The Road of Death” was a fun ride with
breathtaking views. The real challenge was navigating the steep cobbled streets
in Coroico in the rain while looking for a hotel that night.
Lake at the high pass before descending toward Coroico
Descending eastward
Following the river valley downward
We encountered
groups of cyclists along the Death Road and had fun chatting with them when
stopped for photos. The weather was perfect. We met a cyclist from Calgary and a
nice young man from Montreal named Philippe. He had taken a day off riding his
bike (from Canada) to ride a rented bike on Ruta Del Muerte with a group. He is
alone and almost immediately mentioned the loneliness of solo travel. I think
he was rather happy to be speaking with people from home.
Scenes from the "Death Road"
Riding La
Ruta Del Muerte had been an event we had both looked forward to, for different
reasons. My eagerness had been matched by Isa’s trepidation. That evening, we
looked at each other and agreed that after more than two months riding in Peru,
the death road had been an enjoyable ride with great views. Isa had experienced
no more than a reasonable challenge on the 36k road of death and my challenge
had been searching around town for a hotel on steep, wet cobbles.
More scenes from the "Death Road"
Caracollo,
Cochabamba
The next
day’s ride back up to the 4600m pass was foggy, the views obscured. We had made
the right decision to ride the “Death Road” yesterday (down) instead of today
(up). La Paz is huge and traffic is tough. There was no avoiding going through
it today. Google Maps took us along a rather good route that skirted around the
north end of the giant city. The route stayed high up in the barrios, away from
the dreadful congestion below. The roads were twisty, busy and sometimes steep
but at least they moved.
Riding high in Bolivia
Mountain Scene
The
highway toward Oruro provided 4 lanes of high speed travel. We looked at a
couple of hotels in the rough little crossroads town of Caracollo. The
standards were low and the hour was early. We decided to push on for Cochabamba.
It was after the turn-off toward Cochabamba that things changed. Thick truck
traffic produced choking clouds of fine dust. Things moved at a crawl and
passing was rarely possible. When it was possible the dust clouds made sure you
couldn’t see. Water trucks wetted long sections of the powder covered detours.
The resulting mud caused our motos to skid and slither and to scare the
wide-eyed riders who attempted to control them. Airing down the tires had
little positive effect on traction. One false move and it was under the wheels
of a truck you go!
The
construction zone had been longer than 50k. We descended from a frigid 4700m
and arrived in Cochabamba well after dark. The road had been desolate. It
featured only the occasional hard-scrabble village with not a hotel in sight.
We had not researched lodging in Cochabamba, having planned to stay in
Caracollo. Trouble finding something affordable with safe parking meant we
finally turned off our engines at 9:30 pm. We had ridden for about 14 hours. We
fell into bed, exhausted.
Sucre
We decided
to skip visiting Cochabamba and go straight to Sucre. The ride was beautiful,
winding and long. Bertha’s smile greeted us at her home-stay/Spanish school in
suburban Sucre. We parked the motos in the gated courtyard and settled into
what would be our home for the next three weeks.
That
evening, we got together with Frank Lindert and his girlfriend, Roxana at
Goblins. We had met him in Cusco and kept in touch since. He has traveled much
of the world during the 6 years he spent on his 1989 BMW R100GS. He is a gifted
photographer who writes for motorcycle and travel magazines. Roxana owns a
travel company. Part of her business is running a fleet of 4X4 Land Cruiser
tours of the famous Salar de Uyuni (salt flats) and Parque Nacional Eduardo
Avaroa, south of the salar. Walking home through the quiet streets of Sucre we
tried to process all the great advice for routes and destinations south of
Bolivia Frank and Roxana had given us.
Marisol our patient Spanish Maestra
On
Saturday Bertha served a group almuerzo (lunch) for everyone at “Homestay Bertha”.
For over an hour Isa and I practiced our Spanish. We are understanding more and
more. Sharing the food with Bertha and her family were a Colombian overlanding
couple, a French couple, our Spanish teacher (Marisol) and a young volunteer
from Lichtenstein named Marina. The next day five adults and two kids packed into Bertha and
Pepe’s (Bertha’s husband) car. We headed to an area with numerous restaurants
for a traditional fish Sunday almuerzo (lunch). After lunch Bertha took us on a
tour through the Sunday market. She named and explained the produce, both the
familiar and the fascinating. The sky was red with a sandstorm.
Governing Chamber at "Casa de la Libertad"
We walked
downtown that evening for a sandwich and coffee. The evening sky was still hazy
with sand, the moon half hidden. Sucre, population 300,000, is quiet and very
safe feeling. We are told that the crime rate is very low. It is a judicial and
administrative centre. People are well dressed, polite and seem well educated.
The overall standard of living seems visibly higher than what we have seen for
many weeks. The brightly lit plazas and parks are filled with young families
and adolescents playing and socializing. People seem calm and some cars are
left out at night. There are even a few street level windows and doors, some
made entirely of glass, conspicuously without bars on them.
Sucre the "White City", administrative and judicial centre
Spanish
class was fun and passed quickly. Marisol is kind and patient. She is helping
us expand our vocabulary and to understand and use more verb tenses. We shared a
lovely dinner that Frank baked in the apartment he shares with Roxana that
evening. Conversation was easy and enjoyable. After dinner we enjoyed Frank’s
slide show from his 6 years of travel.
A few
more days passed as we settled into a routine of Spanish classes in the morning
and business in the afternoons. Internet research produced two six-month motorcycle
insurance policies covering Argentina and all countries that are direct
neighbors with it. Prior to this we have been restricted to buying coverage one
country at a time, at each border. I dealt with an insurance company in Buenos
Aires. The bank transfer actually went to Allianz in the US.
Courtyard at "Casa de la Libertad"
I also
paid the entrance taxes for Argentina which must be done before presenting
one’s self at the border. A visit to the business centre up the street allowed
me to print all the documents and proofs of payments and make all the
photocopies we would need at the Chilean and Argentine borders. Route research,
after processing all the advice from Frank and Roxana also occupied much time.
Simon Bolivar surrounded by Indigenous leaders and other first Presidents
We will
need to visit the migracion office in Sucre to renew our tourist cards. This
can only be done within the last five days of the thirty days we were given at
the border. Our passports were stamped with the routine 30 days, even though
our motos were imported for 90 days. We are able to renew for 30 days two more
times.
We had
dinner at Frank and Roxana’s once more that week. Frank plans to ride with us
on a remote rural route. Samaipata is the destination but along the way we will
travel part of the “Ruta Del Che”. Che Guevara was executed in rural Bolivia in
1967. A hostel in the tiny village of La Higuera will provide a convenient
mid-way stop for us on the way to Samaipata.
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