Geezah

San Pedro is a small, sleepy town on the western edge of the Andean cordillera. It's very dry and dusty and everything is made of mud-brick giving it a Middle Eastern feel to it. There is, however, very little in the way of on-site entertainment, although there are a couple of natural sights not too far away. One of these is the geyser field at El Tatio, which has some of the highest geysers in the world. Unfortunately they are only active around sunrise, this therefore requires a 4am departure from San Pedro to be able to observe the spectacle. This leads to a lot of yawning and sleeping on the minivan, which is a pity as the surrounding countryside is quite spectacular. The geysers are very pretty, but also dangerous, as the water in them is boiling (though only at 85 degrees due to the altitude) and several tourists have actually been boiled to death when they fell into them. I'm no geologist so I can't tell you why the geysers only spout at sunrise, but it is quite impressive to see them all begin to bubble as if someone had flipped some giant switch. There's also a pool fed by a couple of geysers up there and it made a pleasant change from the sub-zero temperatures of the high Andes to take a dip in the hot mineral springs.

Tomorrow we head down south through Chile and in about 5 days or so we should be in Santiago. I hope you're all having a good run up to Christmas, although it certainly doesn't feel like it's December here with 30 degree temperatures.

Cumpleaños

Happy birthday to me!
Happy birthday to me!
Etc, etc. Yay, I turned 24 yesterday, although I don't feel mature enough to be that old, but anyway... It turned out to be a rather pants day, though not through anybody's fault. It just so happened that my birthday fell on a rather long driving day (and there will be more of these now as the distances between destinations in southern South America become ridiculous) from Salta to San Pedro in northern Chile. All in all it took 14 hours to get to our destination, however this was partly due to a very long and stringent border control, mainly because of an outbreak of foot and mouth (aftosa) in Bolivia that the Chileans are hell-bent on keeping out.

Once we finally arrived at the campsite at 9pm, we quickly set up our tents and headed out to a (overpriced) pizza restaurant. There was also a bit of acrimony at the end about how much should be paid and by whom (your standard bistronomics situation). The day, luckily, did have a silver lining as at the restaurant there was also a group of college girls out on a field-trip and so there was a bit of dancing and chatting before the restaurant closed.

Extreme!

The past couple of days have been rather extreme, both in my activities and the elements. I've ticked off a couple of things off my list of "things to do before I die", namely white-water rafting and paragliding (actually, I'm not even sure if my insurance covers paragliding, I'll have to look it up). Both were sufficiently exhilarating, although I personally preferred the rafting, even though it wasn't sufficiently life-threatening (the river was graded 3 on a 6-point grading system; next time it'll have to be 5!). I also got some kick-ass photos that I shall post as soon as I am able. The paragliding experience wasn't perhaps as intense as the rafting, but sitting strapped to a piece of cloth whilst floating hundreds of metres above the ground is a feeling that's very hard to describe. It's difficult to tell whether you are climbing or descending, or whether you are going fast or not. It was quite relaxing yet eerily scary at the same time.

Last night we also had a bit of unexpected (and unwelcome) excitement when a heavy thunderstorm decided to unleash itself upon us in the middle of dinner. Understandably dinner was cut short and we rushed to put everything away (including ourselves) to wait for the storm to abate. Unfortunately it didn't and the ground soon became waterlogged and the water level kept rising; this led to some desperate rescue operations as people strove to save possessions from fast sinking tents (my passport got soaked for the second time on this trip and I'm unsure as to whether it will survive it intact). This led to the night being spent either in the truck or in the shower building of the campground.

Little Europe

My first impressions of Argentina are very positive: the people are very friendly and laid back, things are generally well organised, the music is good, and lets not forget that they have paved roads as well. Actually Argentina seems, in many ways, to be very much like Europe. There's a large middle class, a more predominantly white population (the only area where indigenous people form a sizeable portion of the population is here in the north west) and a strange fondness for French cars. This Europeanness is a source of dislike for some other Latin Americans who regard the Argentines as being quite snobby and "too good for the continent", but to me they don't seem big-headed (although that could have something to do with the economic crash of a few years ago which may have humbled them). Similarly I thought they might harbour some resentment towards the English/British as demonstrated by a sign at the border: "Las Islas Malvinas apartienen a Argentina" (the Falkland Islands belong to Argentina). But they seem genuinely phlegmatic about that and the only dislike I've heard professed by an Argentinian has been against the Americans (and I can completely understand that).

My only problem with the Argentinians is the way they speak: far too fast and very often missing the end of the word (especially if it's an "s"). This has been one of my bugbears whilst travelling through Latin America; I thought that having got with the lingo in Mexico I'd be fine for the rest of my trip, but no, not only are the accents different (annoying but understandable) but several everyday words are completely different as well. For example parking in Mexico is estacionimiento, in Peru it's playa, and in Bolivia it's parqueo. Luckily for me I don't drive. What's more the slang is different too, so even though I can insult people pretty well in Mexico (which of course I wouldn't do, this is only a hypothetical situation you understand) the same words mean nothing in South America. Ah well, I'll have to learn to be rude in every country's particular slang then.

Faded Splendour

I am writing to you all from Salta in north west Argentina, but a lot has happened since leaving Sucre.

On leaving Sucre we travelled to Potosi (along, what is a rarity for Bolivia, tarmacked roads), which has the distinction of being the highest city in the world at 4090m. Potosi also has a very turbulent history. The Spaniards found silver in the mountain overlooking Potosi (named cero rico, or rich mountain) early in their conquest of South America, and it turned out to be the richest silver mine in the world. By the end of the 16th century silver from Potosi was underwriting the Spanish monarchy and the city had become one of the largest in the world at the time (third I think). Conditions in the mines were incredibly harsh and in the 300 years that the mine was exploited on an industrial scale it is estimated that 8 million people died as a direct consequence. The silver gradually ran out and the city's fame and wealth faded with it. Lately other minerals such as zinc, tin and lead have been found and the mountain is home to small-scale co-operative mining.

The buildings of the old town point to its glorious past, but most of them need slightly more than a lick of paint. The town's main highlight is the old mint which has been converted into a museum chronicling the history of Potosi and the mines there. One of the major ironies is that for about 250 years a lot of Spain's money was minted in Potosi, nowadays most of Bolivia's money is minted in Spain.

On our second day we went on a tour of the mines, which was a real eye-opener. After getting kitted out in boiler suits we headed off to the miners markets to buy some provisions for the miners we would meet. The miners market in Potosi is probably the only place in the world where you can buy dynamite on the street, and since we can't pass up an opportunity like that we duly bought some! Then it was on to the mine. The work conditions are horrible: low ceilings, constant dust in the air, oppressive heat that sometimes exceeds 30 degrees and long hours (working in excess of 12 hours a day is not uncommon). Although the conditions in colonial times must have been far worse at least it gave an idea of what it must have been like. What was perhaps most shocking was the fact that some of the miners were as young as 10 years old! To see these children (because that's what they are) push heavy carts full of ore and weighing over a tonne was quite difficult. However after the grimy horrors of the mine there was place for some light entertainment when we blew up our dynamite. The highlight being when someone had the bright idea of shoving a stick up the ass of a stuffed toy (Pooh) that we happened to have with us. Contrary to popular demand Pooh survived the dynamite encounter unscathed and so we stuck a blasting fuse in the poor bugger and finished him off.

After our mining adventures we were back on the road towards Salta. It's amazing that the main road between Bolivia and Argentina is little more than a dirt track. Due to this we were unable to reach the border before it closed and decided to camp by the side of the road. When we finally reached Argentina the next day (today) we were overjoyed to be greeted with tarmac. Aaaah, I had missed the luxury of being able to sleep on the road.

New Pictures

I've just uploaded some more pictures to my album again. These are considerably smaller so should take less time to upload. Look out especially for the Uyuni and guinea pig photos.

Also we've just spent the day in Sucre, Bolivia's constitutional capital i.e. seat of the supreme court. It's an OK town I suppose, it's main attraction being the well-preserved colonial era buildings in the town centre that, by law, must be painted white. Apart from that there's nothing particularly special about it, but it's good enough for a little wander. The day was enlivened by a political demonstration. Although I didn't find out what they were protesting about the procession had a carnival atmosphere, with erratic bands playing as they saw fit and lots of good-humoured shouting and joking. From here it's down to Potosi and then on to Argentina.

Uyuni

Uyuni is the name of the largest salt flats in the world, which is where I am at the moment. Seeing as it's in the south west corner of the country (i.e. very far away from La Paz) all of yesterday was spent travelling here along some pretty atrocious roads. I have been asked by an avid reader (OK, my dad) what we do on the truck on these long rides. Most of the time is spent either sleeping, reading - for example on yesterday's ride I started and finished "How To Be Good" by Nick Hornby (which I would wholeheartedly recommend to everybody) - or just watching the amazing landscapes trundle by. The altiplano is quite an unforgiving environment and so very few plants are able to survive; one that thrives however, is a grass that forms characteristic pyramidal tufts that make the hills look like an enormous troll graveyard. We also had our first falt tyre on the way down to Uyuni, which added a welcome break to the monotony.

Today, however, was spent out on the salt flats. When the Andes were formed the sea became trapped between the mountains with no outflow, and so the water gradually evaporated leaving just the salt, and a lot of it. At over 10,000 square km the salar is over half the size of Wales and contains a staggering 10 billion tonnes of salt. They form a very spectacular landscape: bright white ground and bright white sky. This produces some strange optical effects that make it difficult to judge distances, but also allows for some pretty cool staged photos (see below). There is also a hotel on the salt flats made (almost) entirely of salt, much like the ice hotel in Sweden although less glamourous. Unfortunately we only spent a day there (on the salt flats, not the hotel which we only visited for 20 mins) when I'd love to have spent at least one more to see some of the many strange geological formations. I also seem to have been made unofficial Spanish translator of the group, which I'm quite chuffed about as it shows how much I've improved my Spanish.

Death Road And Other Bolivian Oddities

Well, I've survived Death Road, which rightfully deserves its name: on the descent we saw a lorry being hauled out of a ravine (the circling vultures adding a bit of atmosphere) and many wrecks littering the forest below the road. The road itself serpentines its way from the high Andes, at 4700m, all the way down to the rainforest at 1200m. The start is deceptively easy as it's paved, however soon it becomes a lethal dirt road clinging to the edge of very sheer mountainsides, with about 10m of guardrail for every kilometer, more as an afterthought than for any safety reasons. What's more, since this is the only road that connects La Paz to the jungle there is a fair amount of traffic in both directions. The descent itself was far from being fun the road gave a new definition to the term bone-jarring (my upper arms were still vibrating half an hour after finishing the descent), and the rainforest was also true to its name, with a horrible two-hour downpour turning the track into a mud river, with the odd temporary waterfall soaking us to the bone. Nevertheless we arrived at the bottom safe and sound, though not a little dusty and and with excruciating hand cramps from holding on for dear life to the vibrating handlebars and pressing the brakes for all we were worth; and were rewarded with a much appreciated shower and lunch. Then came the really dangerous part: the drive back along the Death Road. You see the vast majority of cyclists make it down alright, the vast majority of casualties come from vehicles falling off the road. When we finally got back to our hostel in La Paz there was a great feeling of elation and achievement, as well as many oaths of never repeating the feat again!

The rest of the time has been spent in La Paz, just exploring and chillin'. The night before braving the Death Road we all went out to say farewell to those of us who are leaving the tour in La Paz (including our fantastic tour leader Oscar who must be glad to get away from my incessant Spanish vocabulary questions). It was therefore an opportune time to hand out various dubious prizes. Funnily enough I got quite a few, namely for eating anything and everything and generally being a communal waste-disposal unit (I'm sure my Mum would be surprised at that as she never wastes an opportunity to remark that I never eat enough), and also one for excessive swearing (which surprised me a lot, although it probably wouldn't surprise any of my ex-pupils!).

Other highlights here in La Paz include the coca museum and the Moon Valley. The former gives a good insight into the history of coca use among the indigenous population and also the West's hypocritical stance towards it (as well as showing you how to make cocaine from raw coca leaves!). The Moon Valley is a small patch of badlands (apparently that's the technical term for the type of rock and sedimentary formations) very close to the city. The terrain is just out of this world, with large clay pinnacles that look like huge stalagmites or termite mounds just sprouting out of the ground. Although the area is quite small it is remarkably breathtaking.

Other general oddities that I have noticed in La Paz include the following:
-a large number of men walking around with balaclavas. At first you might be excused for thinking that La Paz is the terrorist capital of the world, until you realise that they are shoe-shine boys and wear the balaclavas so that they are not stigmatised by such a demeaning job.
-people wearing fluorescent green vests. They perplexed me to begin with until we asked them what they were, and it turns out they are walking telephone booths, which I found highly amusing.
-many old(er) ladies in traditional dress, the most arresting feature being a sort of bowler hat several sizes too small. I'm continuously amazed at how they manage to keep them on.
-the local buses, or micros. Usually they are small vans (Japanese car makers seem to have cornered the market) that can pack a deceptively large number of people on them, and each one contains a "wingman" who perpetually shouts various destinations as the van drives past. Personally I love these buses, because not only do they have several points of their route variously displayed on their windshields, but if you're not quite sure if it's the right bus you just ask the wingman if the bus goes where you're headed and he'll usually help you out.

Superlatives

So here I am in La Paz, the world's highest capital city, although that there could be some debate about that as Bolivia is one of those rare beasts: a country with two capitals. La Paz is the seat of the government, and Sucre is home to the supreme court. But then again, if it's not the world's biggest, highest, tallest, smallest, silliest, etc. then it's not worth visiting. La Paz is actually situated in a steep valley below the surrounding altiplano to escape the biting winds, and as such it is one of the few cities that I know of where the more expensive areas are lower down and the poor ones high up. There are not many traditionally touristy things to see in La Paz, it's crowded, noisy, ridiculously hilly; and yet I really like it. It has a certain vibrancy about it, and you actually feel quite safe walking around, even at night when the city seems to get especially crowded and lively. Plus it's got tons of street stalls that remind me of Mexico where, along with sundry knick-knacks, you can buy all sorts of tasty morsels, and that I had been sorely missing in Peru.

Just to show you why Bolivia seems to be the land of superlatives, in the 10 days that I will be here I will also be visiting the highest city in the world (Potosi), the largest salt flats (Uyuni) and cycling down the most dangerous road in the world (sincee that's for tomorrow I might not actually get to do the first two!).

Rude Lake

This is my last day in Peru as we leave for Bolivia this afternoon (although there is a chance that we might not get there due to a general strike here in this part of Peru). For the past two days we've been on lake Titicaca (which has been high on my list of places to visit since an early age, although this probably has a lot to do with its name, which contained two of the rudest words I knew as a little kid!) the world's highest navigable lake. Don't ask me what that means exactly, although it may mean that on higher lakes your more likely to get lost. Personally I think the title is a bit of a cop-out, although it truly is the highest lake of comparable size, at almost 4000m above sea level. An interesting fact for those of you who are interested: even though lake Titicaca is a freshwater lake it contains sea-water that was trapped as the Andes were formed; the salt, however, has precipitated out of the water and is found in a layer at the bottom of the lake.

The first day on the lake was spent visiting two islands: Taquile and Amayanti. The former is a chauvinist throwback where the women are not allowed to speak above a whisper, must walk 3m behind their husbands, are not allowed to use chairs and aren't allowed to knit! (knitting is the sole domain of the males on the island) The latter is much more liberal when it comes to equal rights and it was there that we spent the night with a local family. We also had a game of football against some locals, and boy can you notice the lack of oxygen: after running around for only 5 minutes you're too knackered to carry on. Then in the evening we had a fiesta with some locals where we got to dress in their traditional clothes (a poncho and woolly hat with earflaps for us blokes and a patterned blouse, three skirts and a shawl for the girls) and they showed us how they dance. It was good fun as everyone (at least all us men) just looked like walking tents!

The next day we said goodbye to our new families and started heading back to Puno (the Peruvian port town), but before we got there we stopped off at the Uros floating reed islands. These people fled the Incas 600 years ago by hiding amongst the reeds of the lake and have lived there ever since. They make everything out of the reeds that surround them: their boats, houses and even the islands themselves. And when they aren't making things out of reeeds then they are eating them instead. When walking on the islands it feels like the ground is one huge mattress; plus it's rather unsettling to know that there's only a few metres of plants between you and some very cold and very deep water.

Hopefully we'll have no problems in getting to La Paz and my next post should be from a new country.