Sucre

So I arrive in Sucre, and straight away schooling begins. I have been put up with a host family providing me with a cosy little room (into which they later installed cable tv for me - woop!) and two meals a day; breakfast and lunch. The family were impossible not to fall in love with. I lived with my host parents, Carlos and Patricia, and kids, Fabricio and Bebe (yep... never quite worked out this one`s real name). Then every sunday was the family lunch. Grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunties would all get together to have an enormous feast and a good gossip. Only Carlos`s sister Maria and her son Juan-Pablo spoke any English, but this helped my spanish no end. My host parents loved to chat and we would sit for hours while Carlos would tell fascinating stories, marching around the room with his arms waving in the air. My spanish vocabulary was rather limited, but he always managed to come up with ingenious ways to help me understand.

The school itself was just off the main square; a beautiful two-storey colonial building with pillars in all corners and stone clad floors. Classes were four hours a day, covering grammar and conversation practise, and I was lucky enough to have a class of just two people. My partner in crime was Mikael, a danish guy travelling for a year who had already been at the school two weeks. From the second he found out I spoke danish, English conversation went out the window. Trying to improve on both spanish and danish simultaneously was exhausting but very rewarding, especially as Mikael spoke both much better than me. I am proud to say that I have done my best to drag him down to my level on both accounts, and have unfortunately done nothing to help his English.

The school, as well as some fantastic teachers, had lots of social events to get people chatting. Wednesdays were cooking classes, learning to create traditional Bolivian classics (such as "Pique a lo Macho"), but due to the large turnouts generally just involved peeling and chopping one vegetable each while the teacher stirred the pot. Thursdays were the best, with four-a-side volleyball and football in a "raquetball" court (a sport seemingly identical to squash, but with a significantly bigger court and faster-moving ball). We soon made this a three times a week event due to the high demand, and it was usually followed by a big group dinner. With only the first two meals of each day included, every night around 20-odd of us students would head out to eat together, usually followed by an array of delicious alcoholic beverages. Then Friday was Bolivian salsa dancing with Roberto; a guy who really knew how to shake his hips. After which teachers and students alike would move into town to practise their moves and enjoy one of the many salsa or reggaeton (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reggaeton) clubs in the city.

Easily the best suprise was the random arrival of Katrine; my beloved cousin. Not having seen her in almost two years it was great to catch up. She had been travelling for 6 months and her spanish was amazing. She did two days at the school and then joined my friends and I on a fun-packed biking trip to see the 7 waterfalls of Sucre. I only counted two or three falls, but swimming in the rock pools allowed you to quickly dismiss this limitation. The water was freezing and brown, but a five metre waterfall standing tall above it provided the thrill of launching yourself high from the top into the deep water below.

Overall I think that Katrine had an enjoyable time in Sucre, but unfortunately her visit started with a slightly unpleasant experience. Just like many South American cities, theft is a profitable past-time, and many have come up with noticeably unique ways of aquiring tourists´ possessions. Within minutes of arriving into Sucre, rucksack on back, she met a fellow traveller who was equally as new to the city. They quickly got on well; chatting and learning their way around together. Suddenly a plain-clothes policeman approaches questioning the two travellers. Flashing a badge, he explains in an authoritative manner that he has to take them to the police station to review their travel documents. Of course Katrine is suspicious of these kind of situations, but her friend is a worrier and thinks it might be best if they just follow his instructions. Feeling a sense of security in a pair they join the policeman in the first taxi that pulls up, guiding the driver to the local police station. During the brief journey, the policeman begins his investigation by rifling haphazardly through my cousin`s hand lugguage. Then, as if suddenly completely satisfied, the plain-clothes policeman stops the cab and ushers Katrine onto the street, driving off with her new friend still inside. Flustered and worried about her friend, she finds that her camera and money are now mysteriously missing. Soon after, explaining the story to the police, she is surprised to discover how regularly this hustle is used... and understandably is even more shocked to discover that not only the policeman, but also her apparent tourist friend and taxi driver were in on it too.

The city of Sucre could at least be called passionate. The way I understand it, Sucre was the original Bolivian capital until the invading spanish moved it to La Paz. With the government and everything else sitting in La Paz, all the investment that Sucre deserves has been directed at La Paz. This is particularly noticeable when you compare the size of the two cities. La Paz is a huge bustling metropolis, while Sucre is one the nicest, most relaxed, tiny little student cities I have ever been to. That is, until the people of Sucre decided that they wanted the capital status back. Suddenly it wasn`t so tranquil. They have actually wanted the capital back for 100 years now, but only recently has it been decided that they are going to re-write the constitution, which among other things specifies where the government is located. They therefore now have something to fight for.

As my second week commenced, the fighting began.(http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/6983681.stm). Students and other towns people had week-long strikes as they marched around the city with banners and coordinated chants. Anybody (luckily except schools and hospitals) not closing shop had their windows smashed, their wheels punctured or their goods vandalised. Students walked the streets with bats and masks. The reason for the masks being that they spent the whole night camping outside the town hall burning rubber tyres. As expected the police soon called reenforcements and their force quickly tripled with numbers sent from La Paz and Santa Cruz. Sucre made the front page in every newspaper in Bolivia. The police attacked with tear gas, automatic rifles and plastic bullets, while the students retaliated with home-made bombs, mainly in the form of molotov cocktails (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Molotov_cocktail). Gunshots were heard all night and day and flames blocked the roads in every direction. Getting to school was a mob-avoidance exercise, but we carried on as normal as we could. In honesty, avoiding real danger was easy, and the people of Sucre are the most welcoming I have met. But despite how the fighting has died down in recent weeks and how friendly the city of Sucre is, it has still just been placed on the Dutch government`s list of places "not to travel to". A list that also contains countries such as Iraq, East Timor, Burma, Liberia and Congo.

Sucre was a fantastic experience; a place I hated to leave and a place I miss terribly already.

Rurrenabaque

Returning to La Paz a few days recovery are necessary, but as soon as my legs can walk again I’m off to the airport to take my flight. Waving at the peak of Huayna Potosi from my window my next stop is the jungle of Rurrenabaque. From here a three day tour begins on motorized canoe into the Pampas. The Pampas is acres of marsh land, lakes and rivers; ideal for many varieties of animal life. Every day we saw dozens of different birds, alligators and crocodiles both large and small, as well as multicoloured playful little monkeys. A friend of mine recalled how before his trip his doctor had commented jokingly “To be honest, you should be fine without the rabies jab; just don’t go around fighting monkeys.” He remembered it fondly while six monkeys scratched at his arm, fighting for the banana in his hand.


Our first day we just settled into our new accommodation; a mini village raised on stilts to cope with the changing water levels, where the shower water was browner than the rivers. The next day was Anaconda hunting. Wearing big boots that had seen better days we headed into the long grass. While our guide waded into the swamp where the water reached his waist, the rest of us stayed way off to the side, keeping to where we felt the snakes were least able to hide. None of us could honestly say we thought the concept of Anaconda hunting could be considered a sensible past time, but it sure sounded cool on the brochure. Interestingly enough, waiting for the endless search to produce results, I got chatting to an American girl on my tour. Turned out she did voices, and was actually the actor who did the English voice for the main character of Dragon Ball (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon_Ball). Unfortunately I had to admit to never having watched it, but I knew it was similar to Pokemon.

Soon, deep in the swamp, our guide raises a long slithering reptile above his head as he shouts with joy. The first snake he found was not our target, but instead a cobra. This was not as disappointing as it sounds because, finding an Anaconda an hour or so later, we realized that at this size cobras are the far more dangerous species. Our guide demonstrated how to extract poison from the cobra’s mouth, as well as how the Anaconda could attempt to strangle our arm. It was a pitiful attempt, but we soon went quiet hearing how this tiny animal is able to swallow a baby calf whole. Because of this incredible ability the Anaconda will only eat on average once every three months. Our guide also described how he had been bitten by cobras so often that his body was now totally immune. The first ever bite had caused him to go blind for a day, but now he could barely feel it when it happened.









The next scheduled event was swimming with dolphins. These freshwater dolphins are famously pink and swimming beside them is apparently safe. We were promised that the big (arguably man-eating) aligators wouldn`t approach due to their fear of these scary dolphins; we could only assume it was the pink colour that got to them. Either way, when it finally came to it, all a little nervous dressed in swimwear, there were no dolphins to be found. The spot at which we were meant to find them was a section in the river much wider than anywhere else. As we sat in our boat waiting to see them arrive, large scaly crocodiles were clambering in and out of the murky river in every direction. After a while however, convinced by our Steve Irwin style guide, two members of our group chose to jump in and try the warm water. I wimped out, but after our piranha fishing the following day, I never regretted my decision. They launched themselves into the zero-visibility water and as their heads once again emerged they spun around frantically, their eyes darting to check that their scaly onlookers hadn`t made any significant movements. Luckily they had not, and as our guide had promised they came out unscathed.


The piranha fishing commenced the following day. We were each given a string of nylon with a hook attached to the end. Our choice of bate was not worms, but instead small chunks of raw cow, and it was incredibly effective. Within seconds of our hook hitting the water you could already feel a swarm of piranhas tugging on the string, and only a few seconds later the beef would be gone. They are cunning animals, never biting on the hook like fish back home, but with them attacking in swarms fishing becomes very easy. You wait for the swarm to attack, then quickly yank the string backwards as hard as you can. Odds are that one gets in the way and within an hour we had all caught between five and fifteen each. The little buggers had frighteningly sharp teeth and would bite at our fingers as we tried to delicately remove the hook lodged in their cheek. Then finally as we were finishing up, as our guide went to pick up a few loose piranhas flapping on the floor of the canoe, one finally got the bite it was looking for. Blood flowed from his hand. A large chunk, 2cm in diameter and a mm deep, had been removed from his index finger. The crazy guy merely laughed as one of the girls desperately tried to bandage him up. All I could think about however was that if one bite did that much damage, what could a swarm of them do in 30 seconds. And thus I am still very pleased with my decision to stay in the boat the previous day.










The morning ended with us tucking into our fried piranhas; absolutely delicious, but surprisingly little meat for such a carnivorous fish. I then headed back in time to catch my mini plane leaving from Rurrenabaque airport. Of course, I use the term "airport" very loosely, as it could better be described as a field (or opening between the trees) with matching shed. I was pleased to find a friend, Paul, who I had met a few days previous was also on the plane. We were both knackered and neither of us had showered in 3 days. We decided to do what any reasonable pair of gentlemen would do in this situation. We bought beers, ordered pizzas... then booked into the La Paz `Ritz´ hotel(http://www.theritzlondon.com/). At only $45 per night for two double beds, ensuite bathroom, a kitchen, mini bar and lounge with cable tv... it would have been a crime not to.

Hauyna Potosi

The second trip was a two day climb of Huayna Potosi, a mountain that peaks at 6,088m. This peak, higher than Kilimanjaro, is snow covered the whole year round and sits significantly higher than the clouds covering the Amazon rainforest below it. The first day is a gentle three hour hike from base camp up to high camp, carrying all the equipment we need for the following day. High camp is conveniently positioned exactly where the rock stops and the ice begins, and it is here where a meal awaits together with a few hours sleep. We’re all in bed as early as 7 as we’re expecting breakfast in time for midnight. At this altitude not only is day time climbing unbearably hot, but the risk of slipping on the snow or experiencing an avalanche is higher than desirable. We therefore plan to climb all night when the snow has turned to ice.


At midnight we wake and already some people have to drop out. Altitude sickness has hit them hard with headaches and vomiting. The rest of us start adding layers, and then with clamp-on spikes on our feet and ice axe in hand we head into the darkness in groups of three. Pairs of climbers have each been tied to a guide with the understanding that we either all make it or all turn back. The climb was easily the most grueling day of my life; constantly uphill with only a five minute break every hour and some completely vertical walls for us to overcome with use of our ice axe. Half way up and the altitude is really paying its toll. My main focus is getting enough oxygen into my lungs, while my partner is suffering far worse with a throbbing headache. Knowing that I need him to make it, the process of feeding him various painkillers and altitude pills quickly commences, and just minutes after sunrise we successfully hit the top. Once the sun rises over the ice the views are incredible. The whole night the only view we had was the tiny spotlight at our feet created by our head torches. On the way back down we get to fully appreciate the beauty of what we have just defeated. The pictures can only attempt to do it justice.

Death Road

The week ended with a flight in a mini 18 man pane flying mere inches above the mountain peak that we had earlier that week struggled day and night to conquer. The reason for the flight was that the only alternative route was an 18 hour bus ride along a path famously known as “Death Road.” It is so named because this gravel-covered, thin windy road sits so comfortably between a huge stone rock face on one side and a fatal 100m drop on the other. Friends who I met after they had survived this bus trip described Valium, a necessarily strong sleeping pill, as the only way to stay calm as the driver, who happily does the whole ride in one sitting, speeds along. Those lucky enough to have a window seat will enjoy watching as the two left hand side wheels regularly take turns to leave the comfort of the gravel and dangle over the deep and menacing cliff edge whenever the road isn’t wide enough to squeeze the whole bus onto it.

I never had the pleasure of experiencing this bus for myself, but instead tried the more popular alternative; Death Road mountain biking. This was amazing. The road seems significantly wider when it’s just you and your bike. This is a long downhill part of the Death Road, which since the World Health Organisation labeled it the most dangerous road in the world, has unsurprisingly become a very profitable tourist attraction for Bolivia. As you cycle down, never needing to pedal due to the sheer steepness of it, you pass many beautifully decorated memorials to the many lost over the edge each year. While deep in the valley, wherever the bush doesn’t quite cover the rocks, it’s possible to make out the outline of the litter of vehicle remains. The gravel is what adds the challenge, knocking your wheels left and right, as the bumpy surface causes your fingers quickly to go numb, reaching for the brakes rapidly becomes more than a chore. But at the end of your exhilarating day, the whole group finishes in Corioco, a small town famous for its spas and hotels. Here we enjoy the sun, a nice warm pool and a traditional buffet lunch. Bliss!