Tuesday, 8 December 2015

To Iguassu (via La Paz and Lima)

15–16 June 2013

It turned out that the hotel receptionist who assured us that we didn’t need to book a taxi to get us to the airport was wrong. With a big car race on in town, taxis were scarce and roads were closed. While the concierge tried his best to call one, we went outside to try to hail one and were saved by a lovely Bolivian man and fellow hotel guest who agreed to share his taxi to the airport with us when I asked him to. He (well, his company) even paid for it! He also turned out to be on the same flight as us to La Paz, and happily shared his favourite tourist hot spots with us.

The flight went off without a hitch this time. Chris even had his eyes open for take off! The views on our way to La Paz were gorgeous – mountain ranges as far as you could see, with detailed lines of different minerals (mostly red) along the mountainsides. Some mountain tops were covered in snow, while others just had a light dusting of it.

We opted to stay in the five-star Hotel President again, and were set up on the 13th floor, in a huge room with views of the city and main square. We spent our afternoon doing last minute shopping in the markets, eating and drinking, and swimming in the hotel pool. With an early start in the morning, we opted for room service, bad TV and an early night.

Our journey to Iguassu went via Lima, and was thankfully uneventful again. We had some time to kill in Lima airport, which we spent shopping and drinking cocktails. It was a surprisingly comfortable and interesting airport.

The flight to Iguassu itself was with LAN, and it was lovely to be on a ‘proper’ airline again. They even had vegetarian food and decent whisky on board, and I spent the trip writing while Chris napped. We were pleased to be heading to a new country, not being completely happy with our time in Bolivia (well, mostly La Paz). 

Hotel Del Ray, where we were staying in Iguassu, sent a car to pick us up from the airport, so our arrival went very smoothly. The hotel was simple, but clean and modern, with great customer service. We explored the local area by foot, ditching the restaurant recommended in Lonely Planet for the one next door to it (a huge sports bar that just happened to have US basketball playing on huge screens, much to Chris’ joy!). We topped off our fajitas and quail egg salad with huge ice creams, then made our way back to our room to watch bad TV. We were absolutely exhausted again – although it was lovely to be at sea level once again (or near enough to it).

Our plan was to spend the next two days exploring the falls – day one from the Brazilian side and day two in a tour that goes to the Argentinean side – before staying in a super deluxe hotel in the national park next to the falls, then heading to Rio for our final week.

As sweet as Sucre

1114 June 2013

Our trip to Sucre was slightly problematic, as we soon learned was to be expected with Amazonas. We left Uyuni bright and early, and while we waited to board our flight, we were entertained by the security guards hugging and kissing and taking photos of the cute, immaculately dressed little Japanese girls also getting on our flight. We ran to get our connecting flight in La Paz, only to find it had been cancelled and we’d automatically been put on the next flight that left two hours later. All without anyone actually telling us. At least this gave us time to walk around the airport, get some sunshine in the pretty gardens outside, talk to the birds and grab a late breakfast.

Chris ran into more trouble with security as we tried to board our flight. They found his personalised Swiss army knife in his carry-on luggage. It had been there for several weeks, but no other security guards had spotted it! We said farewell to his pocket knife and made our way to beautiful Sucre and its tiny but classic airport that looked like it was straight out of 1960s America.

Without doubt, Sucre is Bolivia’s saving grace. Despite the three pigs we saw grazing on the grass in a residential area near the airport, the city seems much more cosmopolitan, cultured, clean, young, orderly and organised. Traffic is less chaotic. Buildings are beautiful, well-maintained, old colonial-style mansions. There are lovely parks, gardens and squares, full of happy families, students, the elderly and birds, and decorated with lots of flowers, topiary bushes, big trees, lush green manicured lawns, fountains, old-style wrought iron lights, fences and benches. Even the stray dogs look exceptionally healthy and happy (the dogs with owners tended to look a little uncomfortable and embarrassed – probably because they were decked out in coats and jumpers!). Sucre feels modern, fresh and energetic. It’s got a nice vibe – and loads of cafes and chocolate shops. It’s also a very walkable city, and we walked everywhere (luckily, considering how much chocolate we (I) consumed).

Chris had booked us into a posh hotel in one of those huge colonial-style buildings, with rooms set around a central courtyard. It was immaculate and ridiculously comfortable, decorated with plush antique furniture and gorgeous indoor/outdoor plants, and had stunning views of the city and surrounding mountains from the rooftop courtyard outside our room. I spent several hours sitting there on a big egg chair, writing, while Chris napped.

The hotel owner met us when we arrived and gave us a private tour of the hotel’s underground museum(!). We later realised this was so they could put some complementary food and booze in our room, in celebration of our honeymoon. They provided an antipasto plate, cheeses, fruit, garlic toast, dried fruit, nuts and champagne. Delicious! In the evenings, the staff even turned down our beds and left chocolate on our pillow. Very decadent!

Our room was huge, clean, bright and classically modern, with a huge bed, tables and chairs, a modern bathroom with loads of hot water and a big shower, an ornate brick and wooden ceiling, a big flat screen TV, a rocking chair, and big windows that overlooked the city on one side of the room and the inner courtyard on the other side of it.

Breakfast was included and while Chris slept in the first morning, I feasted alone on a variety of bread, pancakes, cakes, biscuits, puddings, fruit, yoghurt, cereal, eggs (from the egg bar – cooked on the spot to your liking), juice, tea and infused water. Juan, the waiter, made friends with me and talked with me about the food, hotel, city and photos, and introduced me to Roberta, the egg chef. Chris managed to drag himself out of bed each morning after that, once I told him how good it was.

The food in Sucre was delicious, although sometimes the service was a little lacking. Because we had such big breakfasts, during the days, we mostly just ate chocolate (and cakes, crepes and fruit kebabs with chocolate sauce) and drank hot chocolate and coffee at Para Ti, a gourmet chocolate shop. (I also stocked up with chocolatey goodies for the hotel room.) In the evenings we got room service or tried local restaurants. At Lovet’s bar/restaurant we feasted on Mexican: fajitas, nachos and salad, and drank beer (for Chris) and mojitos with coca leaves (for me). The star restaurant, which soon became our regular haunt, was Florin, where we sampled more Mexican (mojitos, beer, nachos and quesadillas), plus wine, salad, a cheese platter, pad thai and lasagne (not all in the one sitting). We also popped in there for a cuppa and snacks during the day. It had a lovely, slightly alternative vibe, good service – and was no smoking between 6.30 and 9.30pm (generally smoking is permitted everywhere in Bolivia – gross!).

After a couple of false sightseeing starts (everything closes between 12 and 2pmish), we kept ourselves busy for the few days we were there with museums, galleries, parks and shops (although saved our last day for nothing more than walking, shopping, eating and drinking). Several times we ran into some of the people from our Peru tour, who had stopped in Sucre on their way to Brazil in another tour group.

Sucre’s touristy highlight for me was the biology/anatomy museum, which is linked to the local university’s medical school. It was filled with cadavers, body parts, skeletons, diseased tissues, preserved foetuses and organs, and wax work replicas of bodies and the cardiovascular system. It also featured the tools of the medical trade, which were a bit scary and gruesome. There were old scalpels, knives for amputation, blood pressure machines, needles, syringes, x-Ray machines, machines that restart hearts with electricity, and gynaecology and obstetrics tools – all very crude but similar to what is still used. Sadly, the foetuses (ranging from about 10 to 38 weeks' gestation) were from women who had died while pregnant, and most of the bodies and body parts were from dead people who had no relatives or money to bury them, so their bodies had been donated to science. 

A young med student gave us a tour of the museum and talked us through the displays, some of which the students have to make for their assessments. He looked up translations for terms on his phone and I filled him in on a few things he didn’t know (like about the meninges and meningitis). It was all pretty gory and garish, but I loved this museum. It was so interesting and different!

The House of Liberty museum was also pretty interesting. It outlined Bolivia’s political history, fight for independence and wars with its neighbours. Bolivia is pretty bad at war to be honest. It hasn’t won a single war it’s waged, and has actually lost more land in the process!  The museum is full of old flags, weapons, a copy of Bolivia’s Declaration of Independence, and portraits of past presidents (only one woman) and historical figures. It features a chest that contains the bones, swords and shoulder plates of a national heroine. The woman fought for Bolivia’s independence in the 1800s, but was stripped of her status and military rank – despite her senior position in the army and the fact she’d lost her husband and four of her five children in the fighting – all because she was a woman and Indigenous. It seemed the new government didn’t want any challenges from Indigenous people or women. This poor lady died penniless and alone in her 80s, but was posthumously honoured with a senior military rank and is now a national hero.

The dinosaur park was a fun and different excursion too. We jumped on the open-top Dino Bus in the main square, which took us to the park about 20 minutes out of town on the edge of an industrial area. It was a strange but beautiful area, with great views of the country side, the rolling hills scattered with farms and houses, and Sucre in the distance. There must be loads of tectonic plate activity, because there are endless hills and mountains there, pushed up and shifted by all the movement underground.

The story goes that a huge earthquake in the 1800s flattened most of Sucre. The government gave permission for a concrete factory/mine to be built to help rebuild the city (the factory still operates next to the museum). When they were excavating minerals for concrete, they found dinosaur footprints on a cliff face, which they researched and preserved. Some of the cliff face has crumbled over time, revealing different footprints underneath. The footprints were originally made on the bottom of a lake/wetland, but the land had become vertical due to all of the earthquakes and land movement in the area. A little ravine separates the museum from the footprints on the cliff, so we couldn’t get up close to them, but the museum housed moulds of some footprints and actual footprints cut from the land. 

Our tour included a CGI movie about the dinosaurs (their development, daily lives and eventual demise) and a guided tour of the museum complex. The complex features several buildings that house the moulds, models of dinosaur skeletons, some footprints and other random dinosaur paraphernalia. It also has replicas of gardens/landscapes in which the dinosaurs would have lived – with life-size animal models; pieces of land and rock with dinosaur footprints on them; and a play park for kids where you can stick your head in a dinosaur’s mouth and uncover dinosaur bones and eggs buried in the sandpit.

Interestingly, the guide showed us a chart of how many years dinosaurs and humans had lived on earth, and how long the world had existed before us. She said that if the world was a book of 650 (or however many) pages, a page for each millenium that the world has existed, humans would only feature on the last one or two pages. Kind of puts things in perspective really, and makes you wonder what the world will look like in another million or so years.

We also visited La Recoleta (a little village/monastery and museum in old Spanish-style buildings atop a big hill, with beautiful courtyard gardens, loads of religious art and great views of the city); the ethnographic museum (a huge display of weird masks and the usual pottery, and information on books and the local language); and the cemetery (why not?!).  The cemetery was a bit quirky, really. Very peaceful, lovely gardens, big old trees, lots of big family tombs and crypts, and graves built in concrete blocks, five or six graves high and many, many graves long. The graves looked a bit like the shelves/drawers for bodies in morgues, piled high on top of each other. Most of them have glass fronts with pictures of the deceased, flowers, crosses and other memorabilia. But some are also decorated with musical cards that sound quite creepy when the batteries start to run low and the music turns slow and whiny.

Shopping in Sucre wasn’t particularly special, but I managed to spend a small fortune on gemstones and jewellery. Primarily bolivianite (AKA adventurine), which is a mixture of citrine and amethyst that is only mined in Bolivia, Brazil and Chile (or so I read), and only legal to buy in Bolivia. (I also bought millennium and citrine.)

While it was a little out of the way, Sucre was just the thing to take the edge off our general dislike for Bolivia, and was the perfect place to replenish our energy before embarking on the final couple of legs of our trip – Iguassu and Rio.  

Sunday, 6 December 2015

Don’t eat the yellow salt

10 June 2013

The comfy beds and decent sleep at the ‘posh’ hotel made waking to our alarms at 4.15am slightly less painful (only slightly). It all went well at the airport this time, and we managed to check in with loads of time to spare before our flight to Uyuni. We even arrived on time!

Surprisingly, Chris didn’t complain at the size of the plane, which only had about 60 seats. I’m guessing that his trip over the Nazca lines in a little Cessna has given him some perspective on flying. As we approached Uyuni, we had great views of the salt lakes – endless stretches of bright white nothingness, with tyre tracks the only sign of life, and a few ripples of light grey here and there the only variation in the starkness of the land.

Outside the tiniest airport I’ve ever been to, the sun was bright and the sky was clear blue. It even felt warm, although the temperature couldn’t have been more than about 3 degrees celcius at most. A lovely security guard called us a taxi after we just missed the last one to get into town. It arrived about 10 minutes later, and we bumped around in the back of it, over dirt roads full of pot holes and cracks, into town to our hotel. (The roads in Uyuni town weren’t any better.)

Uyuni is an odd place. So very, very, very odd. I’m not sure if it’s the light or its remoteness, but everything feels exceptionally surreal. We kept expecting to see cowboys on horseback riding down the street, or spaceships passing overhead, being flight tested by scientists in a secret underground government installation nearby. It felt like an old-school film set or novel.

Everything is flat. Almost as far as you can see is flat. Great flat expanses of nothingness. This was a huge contrast to the hilly, congested landscapes we’d become accustomed to in the past month or so. It’s horribly dry and dusty, and there’s almost no vegetation (save a few patches of scrub). Instead, the fields and roads on the way into town – and even in Uyuni town itself – are all completely covered in litter. It’s as though someone sprinkled it around like confetti, and dumped a bigger pile of it every few metres.

There are dogs everywhere in Uyuni – sleeping in the sun, madly chasing cars and motorbikes, scavenging in the rubbish, and following people around in the hope of getting something to eat or just a pat. We made friends with one such scrawny mutt, who followed us as we walked around town before our tour. After it rejected some biscuits we gave it, Chris bought it some roast chicken slices from a vendor (much to her amusement). By that time, however, the dog had wandered off, so we had to go looking for it to give it the chicken! It scoffed it heartily, then followed us around again for the next half hour, wanting more.

The town looks incredibly sad, run down and poor. The tiny houses are built from square mud bricks, concrete or brick, and surrounded by mud brick fences/walls. Metal wires stick out all over the place, the houses incomplete or falling down. Everything is a miserable shade of brown or grey. The businesses in town are much the same – run down, falling down, dirty and dusty. Uyuni is missing its soul, life and energy. La Paz looks like Las Vegas in comparison!

Everything seems centred around the tourist trade here. Albeit not that well. There are a few (basic) restaurants, a few more (very basic) hotels and hostels, and several mini markets and craft shops, selling similar wares to those in the markets in La Paz.

After checking into our hotel and freshening up, we walked around the main streets. The shops were still opening, because it wasn’t quite 9am. Kids were already in school, sitting in assembly, or running down the street with their parents, late to class. We bought some snacks and supplies, and headed back to the hotel.

Our tour started (unsurprisingly) late. We were picked up from our hotel at 11.30am, then stopped 50 metres down the street to pick up three more people – somewhat pungent 20-something-year-old Argentinean guys with a very eclectic taste in music. We were ushered to the 4WD's back seats, squished in right next to the speakers, while the boys convinced the driver to play their music – hardcore heavy metal – at full pelt. Nice. Thankfully, this didn’t last too long, and they soon turned it down and started playing something a little more palatable – a mix of blues, Latin music, folk, jazz, AC/DC(!), pop and reggae – and we started talking together.

First stop of the tour was the train cemetery. Yep. Where the old trains go to die. There were a couple of lengths of well-rusted, heavily graffitied, old trains and train paraphernalia abandoned in the middle of what was essentially desert. Someone had also made swings out of some old train bits and pieces, and attached them to the trains. As you do. There were a few other tour groups there too, and they and the boys from our group were excitedly climbing over and through the trains, taking loads of photos. Chris and I just looked at each other a little confused.

About 45 minutes later, we went back into Uyuni to pick up the lunches, then headed towards the heart of the salt lake. After an hour or so, we made a pit stop in another dusty little town, which consisted of a few houses, a little market, and a museum built from salt bricks and featuring statues carved from salt. It was all very touristy, but all a little sad and run down too.

As we reached the first stop in the main salt lake, my Polaroid sunglasses did nothing to shield my eyes from the sun's glare reflecting off the endless stretch of stark white salt. It was blinding. The salt was a little bit like icy snow – dry and crunchy under foot, the particles having not quite melted to a solid block, but still slightly stuck together.

About 500 metres from us, a man was scraping the salt into mounds with a shovel, harvesting it to dry for sale. There were hundreds of these little knee-high mounds around us. Little puddles of water surrounded the mounds, filling the lake from where they'd been dug up, the only reminder that this had once been a lake.

We drove on to what I presumed was once a hostel or hotel in the middle of the salt lake. I’m guessing it’s no longer used, based on the gaping cracks in its salt-brick walls and holes in its roof. The whole place, including furniture, is made of salt. In the front ‘yard’ is a big concrete podium, with posts flying flags from all around the world. Tour groups stop there to have picnic lunches, buy tacky souvenirs and take photos of the spectacular landscape.

The pure white lake stretched far into the distance, disappearing where mountains, volcanoes and glaciers arose from the horizon. It contrasted beautifully with the crisp, clear, bright blue sky, interrupted only by the occasional wisp of white cloud and a helicopter taking posh tourists from sight to sight.

I’m not sure if it was an optical illusion (or my lack of Pisco sours for the day), but the light and scenery seemed different out on the salt lake – brighter and sharper. Maybe the light reflects and diffuses differently over the white, or isn’t as polluted. But things definitely looked different.

While it was cold and the wind had a strong chill factor, it wasn't freezing outside, thanks to the warm sunlight. I didn’t quite feel the need to break out my beanie or gloves, but I was agog at the guys in T-shirts and shorts. Sheer madness!

For lunch we stopped in a field outside what appeared to be a deserted village on the other side of the lake from where we started (or so it felt). Outside the walled village entrance, a huge flock of flamingos, ranging from pale coral to a dark hot pink, was standing in shallow water, eating. The birds were so perfectly reflected in the water that every time they dipped their head to the water to eat or drink, it looked like they were kissing another flamingo. We managed to get about 10 metres away from them before they started to move away and we backed off.

After our simple lunch of veggies, salad and rice, Chris and I managed to get pole position in the 4WD. This was particularly handy considering the driver had found another two tourists who needed a ride back to town. They and the smelly Argentinian boys looked quite cosy in the back!

We explored ‘Fish’ Island on the way back to town. The island is a huge rock in the lake, and is covered by all sorts of huge cacti. It features an untended ticket booth, a restaurant, a shop, a toilet block and what I think must be the world’s smallest (and lamest) museum – one room with a few rocks on display, a reproduction of a ceremonial pit with bowls of cereal, grain and other offerings, and a couple of statues. It looked like there might have been a little house behind the shop/restaurant area too, though living on the island would be tough. Everything was so very dry, dusty and desolate.

The island's main rocky path leads up a steep hill to a lookout, which is surrounded by huge cacti and boulders. The lookout was pretty impressive, with 360 degree views of the lake around us; the land, volcanoes, mountains and glaciers in the distance; 4WD tracks like stitches and scars across the lake; and the salt ‘ripples’ and ‘waves’ where the lake meets the island below (presumably from where the water had lapped the shoreline long ago). We sat atop the hill for about half an hour, watching the 4WD cars come and go and the people walking around the lake and shoreline below us in miniature.

On the way back to Uyuni (which took about 1.5 hours), we stopped at some cold-water geysers, which were more like little bubbling ponds. We watched the sun setting behind us, turning the sky vibrant orange, pink, then red. It was stunning. It was also very cold, so we got back in the car and, with a Bob Dylan, AC/DC and reggae soundtrack, made our way back to the thriving metropolis that Uyuni is (not).

Chris and I walked into town for tea, keeping a wide berth around a rather large, angry mob that had gathered outside the police station. There were more people there than I would have imagined actually lived in Uyuni, including women, young children and babies. They were yelling and trying to get into the building, but the policemen had so far bravely kept them at bay. We couldn’t work out what had happened, but knew it wasn’t good. We’d read that Bolivians had started taking the law into their own hands of late – burying an accused rapist and murderer alive with the dead alleged victim, and burning alive two men accused of larceny. Let’s hope the police won that battle.

After our fill of pizza, beer (for Chris) and wine and Pisco sours (for me), we spent the evening in our smelly, sparse, slightly decrepit hotel room. The staff finally got our heater working, but sadly not the hot water. Chris went straight to bed while I watched TV after a 'shower' under a dribbling cold tap. We were very grateful to receive a refund for the previous night in that hotel that we’d missed due to the cancelled flight – the La Paz travel agent had kindly arranged it for us.

Although it was a bit of a whirlwind – and strange – trip, I was glad that we’d made the trek to Uyuni to see the salt lakes. Technically, there’s not really much to see there, but the landscape is so very different from anything we’d seen or experienced that it's worth the effort. I wouldn’t have minded spending another night out on the lake exploring (despite the freezing temperatures). However, that would have likely resulted in divorce.