Paco On Tour

Sucre & Santa Cruz

Last days in Bolívia. Travelled to Sucre in the evening on the asphalt road (wow!) which connects the two cities. A trip mostly downhill. Potosi above 4,000 m and Sucre down at 2,600 m or so. Sucre is the second capital of Bolivia (you didn’t know it had two did you?) the judicial centre of the country, with the supreme court and what have you plus a large University population. Around the same size as Potosi but a much milder climate and probably nicer city centre. A great central Plaza, where I spent much of my time in the two days I was there, and great number of colonial buildings. Although as I have said before, I am not over enthusiastic for all these church “transplants” from the old world.
Travelling alone once again, something of a novelty after spending the last couple of weeks in groups, and in a way quite enjoyable.
Got my flight for Santa Cruz booked. Sucre lies in a kind of cul-de-sac as far as the country’s road system is concerned – about 16 hours of bad roads to cover the 600 km to Santa Cruz, including the trecherous descent from the Andes to the plains, or a quick flight from the airport.
Great experience getting to the airport, jumping in one of the micros which regularly criss-crosses the city, full of school children at the time I took it. One simply shouts “parada” at the driver who naturallystops pretty much anywhere so you can get out. No other gringo in the micro, as I see the small airport appear, about 200 m from the road, I simply shout “parada” and walk into the empty parking lot and a pretty deserted little terminal to catch my plane. Not direct this time, stop at Cochabamba – which gives me the chance to glance at the city for an hour – and then on to Santa Cruz. After delays and whatnot I finally get in to Sta Cruz airport around 22:30, about 8 h to do the 600 km – even the planes take it easy around here... Santa Cruz has little to do with Bolivia as I know it – expensive cars, motorways (!) with overhead lights (!!) and everything organised and pretty clean.... They´ve changed the country... I was told it was different, but the contrast amazes me. This low area of the country has everything you can think of. Rich agriculture, animal farming, gas reserves and even some oil... and it shows from the people in the street. A bigger mix of peoples, from Paraguay and Brasil even, and a much lower percentage of mountain-peoples. Interesting, but quite commercial and little different to many other cities in South America.

I met up with Julio (who came by bus from Cochabamba) and he confirms my impressions. We are resting a little more – it is hot here and we don’t really want to travel more in Bolivia – and get our tickets to go to Brazil. Julio will be finishing his 2 month South American tour in Sao Paolo, where he lives, and he kindly invited me over for a few days o see the city. This will allow me to get a cheaper flight to Fortaleza (US $ 750 was the price I was given to fly from Santa Cruz to Fortaleza ! my initial plan) fom Sao Paolo itself.

The ferrobus left on Sunday night – at 20:30 – and it really was more of a bus on rails than a train. A couple of wagons stuck together and we were off. 700 km to the border in 13 very bumpy hours ! i nevre realised that trains could move so much from side to side on a track, but apparentl there was some sort of disalignment in the level of the tracks which meant the trip felt like we were tying to get every pothole on a road – which is a strange feeling when you are travelling in a train! We arrived in one piece at Quijarro just before the Brasilian border on Saturday and were lucky enough to find a direct bus from here to Sao Paolo. Only 26 hours, but Julio was a master at long bus rides (having done Sao Paolo – Santiago de Chile in the same bus, only 60 hours...) and I was in training...

We saw a little of the famous Pantanal at the beginning of the ride, but soon the sunset and we just tried to get some sleep. Rudely awakened at 22:30 by the border police checking for smuggled goods and especially drugs on the bus. My baggage chacked twice (only European / Gringo on the bus, don’t kno if this had any effect) and thankfully nobody had planted anything in my bag so I was allowed to sleep on until we reached the state of Sao Paolo as the sun emerged over the horizon. Definitely a change in the trip so far. New language, very new country all to be discovered...

Potosí

Potosí… el nombre de la villa imperial evoca delirios de grandeza, riqueza y montañas de plata en el subconsciente español, quizás mejor castellano, desde el siglo XVI. La visita a la ciudad a servido para abrirme los ojos a las realidades que ha atravesado este país, o mejor región, en los últimos siglos. Curiosamente, incluso los periódicos locales y nacionales – que trato de leer con relativa continuidad para poder hacerme una pequeña idea de que está pasando en el país en el que estoy – se hacen eco del pasado y el presente del Potosí.
La ciudad debe su existencia únicamente al hecho que se encuentra en la ladera del Cerro Rico. Montaña que domina esta urbe desde todos los ángulos. A la llegada de los españoles por estas tierras, el monte relucía en el sol y era conocido por los Inkas como Monte Bello. Los destellos los provocaba el reflejo de la luz en las venas (como se denomina en las minas) de plata que salían directamente desde el corazón de la montaña a la superficie de la misma. Hacía 1548 un nativo informó a los españoles que la montaña contenía mucho metal preciado – plata esencialmente – que los aventureros andaban buscando ávidamente por todo el continente. Oro ya se había encontrado en lo que hoy es Méjico y Perú – pero la plata encontrada en este Cerro era de una magnitud inimaginable. El monte, en aquellos días, se elevaba a más de 5,300 m de altura (hoy se encuentra a 4,700 m) desde una base en los 4,100 m o así. Los españoles construyeron casi automáticamente la primera base para extraer el material y aquí es donde empiezan cientos de años de explotación y riqueza sin igual.
En la visita de la ciudad Julio, Magali y yo hicimos una visita a las actuales minas de plata (y hoy otros minerales como estaño o zinc) mientras eran explotadas por mineros en condiciones extremadamente primarias y precarias. También visité la última Casa de la Moneda, construida en 1773 por orden de Felipe III de España y donde se presentó de manera bastante exhaustiva la historia de la ciudad. Además de pasear bastante por la ciudad viendo y observando su pasado histórico – esencialmente el legado dejado por la presencia española.

No me gusta normalmente pegar texto en estas entradas al blog, pero esta Opinión que leí uno de los días que visitaba Potosí, justo después de visitar las duras minas, me pareció muy revelador y pertinente.

VALE UN POTOSI
Waldo Peña Cazas

"Cruel ironía: el departamento más pobre y olvidado del país [Bolivia] ha celebrado su aniversario cívico, y en los discursos de rigor se ha recordado un fastuoso pasado, cuando la Villa Imperial era envidia del Universo. Las nuevas generaciones ignoran el significado de "Vale un Potosí", metáfora antes muy usada en la literatura y en el habla común. Dicha en cualquier idioma, la frase denotaba algo de inmenso valor; pero detrás de ella hay una larga historia de crímenes, depredación y pillaje. Potosí es un absurdo histórico. Cuando los españoles llegaron a América, la Montaña de Plata reinaba solitaria en la inclemente altura, y recién el 1 de abril de 1495 el Virreinato de España tomó posesión de ella, en nombre de Dios y de la Corona de España. En poco tiempo, la ciudad que creció a sus faldas tenía más habitantes que Londres y París, y provocaba la envidia de Madrid, la capital del Imperio. En ese páramo frío y desolado vivían millares de caballeros andantes, nobles aventureros, religiosos y artistas, soldados de fortuna, tahúres y prostitutas de toda raza y nacionalidad. Abundaban los mejores vinos de Portugal, tejidos oro y seda de Francia, telas de Granada, cristales de Venecia, espadas de Toledo, hierro de Vizcaya, crujientes damascos de Oriente. ¿Cómo, a más de 4.000 metros de altura, en una región inhóspita, a más de 400 kilómetros en línea recta desde la costa del Pacífico y separada por la Cordillera de los Andes? Este absurdo tiene un fácil explicación. A principios del siglo XVII, de Potosí salía más de la mitad de toda la plata producida en el mundo entero. En cinco mil socavones abiertos en las entrañas del Rey de los Montes, miles de esclavos extraían el mineral, y morían como moscas. En 1555, fray Domingo de Santo Tomás dijo pintó a Potosí como una "boca del infierno" que anualmente tragaba millares de indios que eran tratados como "animales sin dueño". Según Josiah Conder, más de ocho millones de mitayos sucumbieron en las minas, un holocausto que supera al de los judíos durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Este absurdo histórico sentó las bases para iniciar la era de producción precapitalista que , a la larga, hizo la prosperidad de España y de toda Europa. Carlos V, agradecido, dio a la ciudad el título de Villa Imperial, por Cédula Real de 10 de agosto de 1561. Felipe II reconoció su Cabildo, otorgándole "las mismas preeminencias, franquicias y privilegios" de la ciudad de Sevilla; y le señaló un Escudo de Armas: el Águila Imperial con dos castillos y dos leones en un campo de plata, y el Cerro Rico en medio. En 1987, la UNESCO declaró a la Villa Imperial y al Cerro Rico Patrimonio Cultural y Natural de la Humanidad, sin hacer referencia a los horrendos crímenes que hicieron posible su anterior prosperidad y su actual miseria. Los potosinos tienen muchos motivos para un legítimo orgullo; pero los pueblos no viven sólo de gloriosos recuerdos, y tienen derecho a exigir una reparación histórica y económica por el pillaje que sufrieron. Pero ingrato animal es el hombre, y ha olvidado a un pueblo que abrió sus venas para enriquecer a Europa y que por largo tiempo mantuvo a Bolivia en su vida republicana. "Vale un Potosí" es hoy una cruel ironía, pues allí sólo queda el recuerdo de un fastuoso pasado, testimoniado por monumentales edificios de piedra. Queda también el orgulloso abolengo español y el estoico espíritu de los mitayos, sublimados en el carácter del hombre de la montaña que sobrelleva la miseria con sabiduría. Sólo quienes saben lo que es ser rico pueden ser pobres con dignidad."

El principal comentario que tengo sobre este artículo es que en realidad no se produjo riqueza ninguna. La plata no servía más que como moneda de cambio, sus utilidades prácticas eran relativamente limitadas. De hecho, el Cerro Rico era poco que el equivalente actual de una imprenta de dinero, antes de que se utilizaran los billetes de papel. A corto plazo parecía ser una montaña de dinero, a largo plazo era simplemente una montaña de inflación. Si no se utilizaba la “riqueza” para fines productivos para lo único que servía era a incrementar la moneda en circulación, el cual sin un correspondiente incremento de producción/inversión (al menos en España a quien se supone beneficiaba la plata), simplemente incrementaba el nivel de inflación en la economía – que de hecho es lo que pasó en la Europa de los siglos XVI, XVII y en menor medida XVIII. Evidentemente estas teorías no estaban muy bien definidas en tiempos de Felipe II o Carlos III, pero los resultados están a la vista… mucha plata para España, pero poca riqueza. Todo esto me lleva a la reflexión de lo fundamentalmente inútil que supuso tanta miseria y explotación que se llevo a cabo en Potosí. Cientos de miles de esclavos traídos de Africa fueron llevados a las minas de la ciudad – que se explotaban no con picos y palas de hierro (demasiado caro) sino con el hueso más duro de la llama (el fémur). Miles de hombres cavando la montaña con fémures de llama… los africanos falleciendo rápidamente por los efectos de la altura y el trabajo brutal - hasta tal punto que hoy en día no queda descendencia ninguna que refleje su presencia. La explotación – física, peor también cultural – de los indígenas también fue brutal. Ellos evidentemente desconocían el valor monetario que atribuían los españoles a la plata – para ellos el metal era importante, en realidad sagrado, pero por sus propiedades innatas (como el oro) que reflejaban su procedencia divina. Pronto los españoles les inculcaron la importancia del dinero como instrumento de cambio – el cual no existía antes de la llegada europea – y también la sumisión y erradicación de toda forma de culto y tradición precolombina que se pudiera manifestar. No puedo esconder mi asombro observando repetidas veces en todas las iglesias y conventos que visito la uniformidad de los santas, vírgenes y demás imagines – fieles reproducciones de los personaje Europeos que representan. Igual que en Francia, España o Italia – además en estilo barroco haciéndolos bastante más tétricos de lo que deberían ser en un lugar de culto. La magia, sencillez y belleza del románico o el gótico no se observa en ningún lugar – como no podía ser de otra manera. La verdad es que ya no visito tanta iglesia por aquí como suelo hacer. Los asocio demasiado directamente con la supresión de la cultura indígena y la represión continuada que esto suponía.

La visita de las minas en Potosí fue toda una experiencia en “meeting reality”. Realidad de las más duras. Nuestro guía, Xenón (!) es un minero – aunque ahora “sólo” trabaja tres horas como dinamitero – que lleva desde los 8 años trabajando en la mina, hoy tiene 27. Salió adelante estudiando de noche desde pequeño después de sus jornadas de 8 horas diarias en la mina – domingo único día de descanso. Primaria, secundaria e incluso Universidad para sacarse el titulo de guía. Un “success story” pero hay muy pocos como él. La mayoría de los mineros – 26,000 en Potosí, de una población total de 125,000 – hace sus jornadas de 8 horas x 6 veces a la semana en condiciones extremadamente precarias. Entran a la mina con pico o pala, en grupos de 10-50 dependiendo, todos afiliados a co-operativas (no hay empresas privadas) y gana dependiendo de lo que ganan en un día – de lo que vale el metal que extraen. Normalmente se hacen unos 25-30 bolivianos al día. Eso no llega a los US $4. Sólo pueden trabajar tanto gracias a los efectos de la hoja de coca – una buena droga – que mascan sin parar y parece deformarles una mejilla (cuando los veis en las fotos), además de las grandes cantidades de alcohol que ingieren. Y me refiero a alcohol de verdad, se vende en botellas de medio litro y es de 96 grados – como el de las farmacias - pero pone “potable” en la etiqueta. Sólo drogados pueden resistir las altas temperaturas del interior de la mina (increíble contraste con el exterior), el polvo y la angustiosa falta de espacio durante tantas horas y de manera diaria. La mayoría ya no puede seguir trabajando hacia los 35 años por culpa de la silicosis que les destroza los pulmones y no les permite respirar bien. Fallecen, como media, alrededor de los 45 años. Los padres de Xenon murieron cuando el tenía 12-13 años, algo habitual.
Este relato se puede leer sobre muchos sitios donde impera la miseria y en sí no es especialmente revelador. Pero conocer a esta gente, ver a los niños correr en las entradas de las minas, los mineros – jóvenes en su mayoría – trabajar tan duro en condiciones donde a nosotros (turistas) nos costaba muchísimo (por falta de aire y claustrofobia) simplemente movernos, andar y verlos; y sobre todo conversar con Xenón que nos explicaba de forma pausada y clara la realidad de la vida de las minas aquí realmente te abre los ojos y te hace reflexionar. No sólo sobre el presente, pero sobre todo el pasado, donde el trabajo durísimo de los mineros hoy sería una especie de mini-paraíso para los esclavos que trabajaban la mina en el siglo XVI. Y todo para imprimir más dinero…. En fin, el día antes de salir de Potosí encontré un reportaje (y otro aquí) especial en un diario nacional sobre la situación de la minería en Bolivia.
Especialmente interesante después de hablar de la condición minera con Xenón. En el aprendí que finalmente se abrirá un centro taller de Platería en Potosí para enseñar a los hijos de los mineros a trabajar la plata que se extrae y de alguna manera beneficiarse del valor añadido que puedan dará la materia prima. Hoy, las minas, y el minero, simplemente reciben el valor del material bruto, no refinado, de la plata – igual se pueden beneficiar de un poco más de la riqueza que extraen en el futuro. Claro que la plata ya no vale, ni por asomo, lo que solía. Mirando los precios de mercado del metal me sorprendió observar que una onza de plata vale un 2% que el equivalente en oro. Vale más el níquel o el estaño que también se extraen de la mina…

En fin, me fui de Potosí mucho más consciente de la realidad colonial que vivió este país y de alguna forma afectado por las prácticas implementadas por los españoles aquí. Dejo a Julio y Magalí en la ciudad. Julio va a hacer un reportaje (no sé si dije que era periodista) sobre las viudas de los mineros (muchas, dadas las expectativa de vida de ellos) que trabajan en el exterior de las minas, entre los escombros intentando recuperar lo que pueden de los metales que restan en ellos. Triste y espero que buen tema. Me encontraré con Julio en Santa Cruz – voy a Sucre (la segunda capital del país) un par de días y desde ahí a la (muy diferente) ciudad de Santa Cruz, donde emprenderé camino – normalmente con Julio – a Sao Paolo en Brasil.

Salar de Uyuní

Uyuní is a town a little removed from reality... it was founded at least 120 years ago, probably before then, but that was the time of the arrival of the railroad which was really the lifeblood of the town for decades. Today’s trains keep on coming, but they are mostly passenger trains and the mines which fed the exports which built the city do not seem to be as active as they once were.
Uyuní is literally in the middle of a desert, there is very little vegetation around here. Just enough for Llamas to live off and potatoes – of different varieties – to grow. Today Uyunì is the commercial centre of all the small villages around it – it’s hinterland I suppose – which may cover 250 km or so, there is nothing much bigger town-wise around it, and we are talking of a town with just over 11,000 inhabitants.
It is also the centre for all the tours that lead groups (such ourselves) to visit the famous Salar de Uyunì and the lands south of it. The Tour, in total, takes you across 950 km in four days, always in a 4x4 – lucky if it is from the 90s, ours dates back to 1986... all seem to be Toyotas. We are at over 4,000 m all the time but the land for the most part is completely flat with mountain ranges and volcanoes all around it – we had to climb some hills now and then, but nothing extreme.
The Salar is an incredible natural work of art if I ever saw one. Its origins go back to the before the last ice age, when the weather must have been much wetter and warmer in this part of the world. There used to be a landlocked sea at this incredible altitude, fed by the rivers coming down from the mountains around it. About 10,000 years ago the sea slowly started drying up and eventually disappeared, leaving behind an enormous area thousands of square metres large and an earth which was left with the salty remains of a sea that no longer was there. The Salar nowadays is actually an expanse of about 150 x 120 km of land completely covered by a layer of salt – pretty pure salt. At its shallowest it might be 20 cm or so, we were told that at the centre the depth of the salt could reach eight metres... given the expanse of the Salar that is a gigantic amount of salt. What is most amazing is the glaring whiteness and at the same time flatness of the ground. It continues for what seems to be forever until the horizon. The sky is a deep blue – altitude helping here – and the contrast with the bright white of the salt (too much at times even with sunglasses) is startling. The closest image I could think of was a snow-filled mountain, but it is flat here and salt definitely has a different consistency. The shapes it made in the ground as it dried seemed to compose a gigantic mosaic with the same pattern – you can see it in the photographs – which looked like somebody had come along and built this on purpose.
If the Salar were only this it would be amazing enough, but to crown it all there is an “island” as it were right in the middle of it – in fact an elevation of the land which might well have been a small island when the sea/lake existed, its name “Isla Pescado” – not only is this as surprising as finding an oasis in the middle of the Sahara – but it is almost completely covered with very large cacti hundreds of years old. The splash of green and life in the middle of this barren whiteness is breathtaking – going to the top of the island and looking 360 degrees around you seeing simply this incredibly vivid white with the mountains in the background is truly breathtaking. The cacti of course add spice to the whole experience, there seems to be a little “wood” of them, at an appropriate distance from each other but forming a group. They apparently grow around 1 cm per year and some of them are over 10 or 12 metres tall.... quick calculation – cacti of over 1,000 years. It seems they have been here as long as the salt itself....
The Inka and peoples before them had already “inhabited” in a sense the island, given its location and surroundings it was, not surprisingly, used at times as a place for rights of initiation and other sacred or special ceremonies.
For us, it was where we stopped for lunch – together with about 15 other 4x4s. The Tour is pretty popular at this time of year – Europeans and North Americans on holiday, plus weather-wise it is the best time to visit. Football on the salt planes, lunch prepared by Leo (Leoncio) our guide/driver/mechanic/cook and a mesmerised look on all seven members of our group – Esther, Magalì, Rodrigo, Julio (both from Sao Paolo), Sybille & Iris (friends, from Bern – CH) and myself. Loads of photographs, but none that could do justice to the essence of the complete view. Turning in full circle and just opening your eyes in amazement is difficult to record in a flat photo, but we tried... We left the island after lunch and drove to a village just on the edge of the Salar, with a few houses, the largest of which was a lodge for visiting tourists. Comfortable beds, semi-warm shower and a nice dinner prepared by Leo, as always lots of warm soup as a starter – poor Rodrigo couldn’t stand the stuff – he wouldn’t eat much starter for the next four days.
After dinner, the essential thing to was to climb as high as possible to enjoy the sunset over the Salar and the mountains beyond. The lodge had a sharp hill on one side and up we went – Julio, Magalì and myself made it to the top, Esther wasn’t feeling great and stayed half way up. At first, when the sun went behind a large mountain just behind us it looked like we wouldn’t see that much, but slowly the light that did get through to the Salar through the valleys and especially the reflections on the clouds above began creating marvellous colours and shades. Similar cacti to those which we saw at the Isla de Pescado also grew on the hills we were on and those around us, providing a privileged setting for some spectacular photos.
As night fell, we had the fortune to contemplate the appearance of a star-studded dome which converted the sky into the most magical planetarium, with the constellations of the southern hemisphere everywhere – of course – the southern cross on one side and the most vivid Milky Way I have seen. A true gift – if it hadn’t had been for the fact that the drop in temperature after the sun disappears over the horizon is particularly harsh I think we could have stayed gazing into the stars for most of the night... The moon was not due to appear for a few more hours, but we were too cold to witness its appearance. In any case, the day ended on a high point, after the many wonders we had seen during the day.

The second day started off a little roughly, Leo furious with us for having started out 20 min later than we were supposed to... it turned out later that he took our tardiness as a direct insult to himself, a kind of lack of respect or even disdain towards him in some way. He didn’t say as much but rather remained moody and quite for most of the day... Differences in culture I suppose, but we were a little surprised, as a group, at his reaction. Today did not have a single attraction as amazing as the Salar, but the wider view of the landscape was very rewarding in itself. We passed by small lakes formed in the ground, Volcano (Ollagüe)at a distance and amazing rock formations in the middle of nowhere, at least apparently – well, this is formally the Desert of Siloli. Rocks eroded by the impact of small stones pushed against it by the strong wind and taking away the base of the rock primarily, leaving behind formations like the Arbol de Piedra, which looks almost like a tree carved out of the stone. The lakes – with names like Cañapa, Chiar Kota, Hedionda or Ramaditas) are a natural breeding ground for pink flamingos, which inhabit them in thousands – apparently living of microscopic organisms which live in the water. They were surprisingly tame, not minding the proximity of all us tourists looking for a great picture... and some must have been made. I gave it a try and the truth is that however badly they come out, the setting is stunning by itself.
The comical stop of the day was at a military post in the middle of our drive (no photos allowed) which seemed to be something of a cross between the Wombles (or Strumphs / Pitufos) and the Flintstones – even the faux-camouflage of the igloo-shaped buildings seemed to be some kind of satirical joke. They let us past without any problem, but one could only feel for the poor soldiers posted out here – almost literally in the middle of nowhere – to “serve” their country...
In the evening we arrived at the first of the large lakes we would be visiting – the Laguna Colorada – so named because of its reddish colour, caused by small organisms living in the salty waters. Once again, many flamingos to be seen, although unfortunately the red colour of the lake itself was not so evident given the clouds of the day... still, we (Esther, Magalì, Julio and me) went to a view point over the lake – in a chilling wind – to contemplate, once again – and this time at least partially – the sunset. We resisted as long as we could, Julio and Magalì for longer, and enjoyed the spectacular views. Especially the sudden “appearance” of at least one hundred flamingos on the lake which couldn’t be seen in the normal light of the cloudy day but were suddenly shined upon by the rays of the sun, making them appear as if by magic, their pinks feathers shimmering in the light against a darker red background of the lake itself.
A cold evening – once again – but in accommodation which was more like barracks than a lodge – no water to speak of and very cold indeed. We made the best of it, specially given that this would be our last night as a group of seven. Three of us – Esther, Sybille and Iris – would be going on to Chile tomorrow (we would get very close to the border) leaving the remaining four of us to make it back to Uyunì with Leo.

The morning of the third day took us through some truly surreal landscapes – after 45min we arrived at a geo-thermal centre, to call it something. A geyser pushing vapour at least 20 m into the sky and many pools of hot mud bubbling with funny sounds and giving off a strong smell of sulphur, all very surprising and the occasion for a few photos. After this we passed through landscape which seemed the exact equivalent of that seen on Dali’s paintings – especially the one of the hours with the Watches and Clocks all over the place – I don’t know if you can appreciate it in the photos I took, but it was pretty amazing and even eerie, some of us wondering if Dali had actually seen this part of the world in photos or whatever before, so close was the resemblance.
We arrived at Laguna Verde – this time named after the green colour that the high concentration of copper gives to the lake – in mid-morning. A sad moment since the group had to split. It was particularly sad to say goodbye to Esther whom we had met at the same time more or less (Julio, Magalì and I) and established a very good rapport after so little time. She will be going back to Germany in a few weeks, so there is little chance of meeting again until we return to Europe... Still, the traps of travelling and meeting fascinating people with whom your ways must part sooner or later.
At the Laguna Verde we were the closest we would get to the border with Chile, which was only on the other side of Volcano behind the Laguna. We turned back and started our long journey back to Uyunì. A subdued mood dominated most of the drive back, particularly the afternoon of the third day. We had lunch close to the Laguna Colorada, once again, and then had a quick look at some weird rock formations in the so-called Valley of the Rocks.
The last day was a straight drive back to Uyunì, although with a surprisingly changed Leo who was suddenly chatting away and even smiling and laughing at some of our jokes... A pity that the cultural divide had created an unfortunate misunderstanding, since he was full of useful knowledge about the whole area that we would have loved to know more about earlier... Still, at least things picked up in the end.
Just before entering Uyunì we visited the Train Cemetery, a place where old steam locomotives had been left after their useful life had come to an end. Seeing all these steam engines rust away and disappear in he middle of this desert, knowing they had been there for decades and before that had most probably been the pride and joy of those working with them and those that got the chance to see them at their prime, seemed to be the final surrealist twist of the whole trip.
We arrived in Uyunì having done what we had come to do and went straight to the shower – we REALLY needed one at this point ! – and getting our clothes clean... next step was to purchase our ticket to Potosì. Magalì, Julio and myself would be headed to this city full of a (cruel) history the next morning, we said goodbye to Rodrigo who had a night bus to La Paz, eventually to go back home to Sao Paolo.

Without a doubt this has been one of the best trips in South America so far... the landscapes, the people we met, the group dynamics which were created, the fact of going out completely independently and just generally the whole experience was brilliant. Thanks to all of you which were part of it.

La Paz

Paula y Eduard no tenían pensado en un principio ir más allá de Copacabana en Perú - se iban los dos a Cuzco después del Lago Titikaka - pero habían oído hablar bastante de unas ruinas/museo cerca de La Paz - llamados Tiawanaku - y habían decidido venir con Julio y conmigo hasta la ciudad para visitar las ruinas al día siguiente. Julio entretanto había pensado que mi plan de viaje no estaba demasiado mal (en principio iba a hacer unos días de trekking cerca de La Paz) y decidimos que haríamos el camino juntos hasta por lo menos Santa Cruz, donde yo tenía pensado coger un vuelo a la costa de Brasil y él volver a Sao Paolo.
Llegamos a La Paz por la tarde, después de pensar - al menos yo - que era El Alto, una ciudad al lado, donde se encuentra el aeropuerto y que tiene una población parecida a La Paz mismo pero tiene algo de suburbio pobre... cual fue nuestra sorpresa cuando bajamos a la capital - la más alta del mundo a 3,600 m - en lugar de subir. Se encuentra metido en un valle con casas y edificaciones a ambos lados de la ladera de los montes a su lado - por la noche estas laderas se iluminan y parecen un segundo cielo estrellado. Visitamos un poco el centro, para el tiempo que teníamos, y nos metimos a un sitio de pollo frito para comer, barato si, pero bastante mugriento - a $1 la cena completa tampoco se podía esperar demasiado :-) Yo ya me estaba curando del estómago tocado - esto parece repetirse - pero cayeron un poco Eduard y más Paula, que con el hecho de no haber dormido casi la noche anterior tampoco estaba muy bien.
Fuimos en un grupo organizado para visitar las ruinas - el museo bastante bien y muy nuevo, las ruinas en sí algo más decepcionantes - que duró la mayor parte de la mañana y justo después de comer nos despedimos de Eduard y Paula que seguían su viaje a Puno para enlazar con un bus para llegar a Cuzco. Julio y yo pasamos el resto de la tarde en La Paz organizando el viaje a Uyuní desde donde visitariamos el famoso Salar y toda la zona hasta la frontera con Chile. Bus a Oruro (3h) y desde allí enlace con uno de las pocas líneas férreas de pasajeros que nos llevaría hasta el mismo Uyuní. Me pasé un tiempo esa tarde e incluso la mañana siguiente poniendo las fotos del Titikaka en la web, que al parecer resultó, o sea que al menos una cosa hecha !
Pillamos el bus para Oruro por los pelos, llegando 2 minutos antes de que saliera y llegamos justo a tiempo para sacar los billetes (o boletos como dicen por aqui) de tren. Tuvimos hasta tiempo de comer en un pequeño restaurante al lado de la estación donde conocimos a Magalí y Esther (francesa y alemana respectivamente) que también iban para Uyuní esta tarde. Dió la casualidad que en el tren teniamos asientos bastante cercanos y charlando y comentando decidimos unirnos al tour en el que ya estaba inscrita Esther y así pasar juntos los cuatro días que duraba la visita al área.
Entretanto algunas de las vistas desde el tren eran espectaculares, en un momento dado parecía que estabamos flotando sobre un lago, con agua al ras del suelo a ambos lados del tren - todo bastante desértico y extravagante a veces. Como siempre os remito a las fotos mejor que cualquier descripción mía, pero mucho mejor aue el bus.
Lleganmos a Uyuní hacía las 22:30 y la gente que vino a buscar a Esther no tuvo ninguno problema en llevarnos a los otros tres y también incluirnos en su tour. Todo listo para la salida al día siguiente por la mañana, todo había salido perfecto sin demasiada planificación...

Bolivia: Lago Titikaka (2)

En Puno había conocido a Eduard - un catalán que ahora trabaja en Barcelona - durante el desayuno. Fuimos en grupos diferentes a visitar las islas del lado peruviano del Titikaka pero coincidimos a la vuelta y quedamos en vernos en Copacabana - donde los dos ibamos después de Puno. El viaje en autobus hasta Copacabana fue muy agradable, con cruce de frontera como en los viejos tiempos en Europa, bajarse del autobús, ir al primer puesto fronterizo, cruzar la feontera, ir al segundo puesto y al final montar de nuevo en el bus.. todo muy divertido. En tres horas y medio llegamos a la encantadora ciudad de Copacabana con un aire muy tranquilo y relajado, se podría decir que era como un pequeño pueblo del Mediterraneo español de hace cuarenta años. Un poco de turismo, el mercado zona principal y muy buen ambiente. Claro que aqui estabamos a unos 3,800 m y el agua era muy dulce :-)
Fui al hotel donde había quedado con Eduard, me enteré un poco de los Tours para visitar las islas del Sol y la Luna a este lado del lago y reserve habitación. Apereció Eduard y me llevo a comer con otros tres viajeros solitarios con los que se había encontrado en el autobus suyo - Paula, la única chica, de Cartagena; Julio, un brasileño muy salado de Sao Paolo, Brasil; y Thomas, un joven viajero de Ciudad del Cabo, Sud Africa - la verdad es que desde el principio haciamos buen grupo, congeniando bastante bien. Curioso que todos viajaramos solos y coincidieramos de esta manera pero los días siguientes que pasamos juntos creo que nos unió a todos al menos un poquito.
Comimos bien, en una terracita al sol y enseguida creamos buenas migas. Todos teniamos intención de salir a las islas al día siguiente o sea que pronto decidimos que iriamos juntos, llegar en el sur de la Isla del Sol y andar por medio de la isla hasta la parte norte (donde se ve mejor la puesta del sol - recordar que esto es el hemisferio sur!) y pasar la noche allí. El día siguiente visitariamos la isla de la Luna - pequeña - y volveriamos a Copacabana.
Entretanto pasamos una tarde en Copacabana subiendo al antiquisimo observatorio astronómico, construido una civilización anterior a la Inka y que servía no sólo para detectar el paso de los solsticios y equinocios de manera muy exacta - increible dado los medios a su disposición - pero incluso para pronosticar de manera relativamente fiel como sería el año agrícola en ´términos de cosecha y demás, en función de la pasada del sol en el equinocio de invierno (21 de junio en estas latitudes) que al parecer funcionó bastante bien incluso la última vez que tuvieron que sufrir las consecuencias del Niño por estos parajes hace cinco o seis años... Nuestro guía nos explicó que de hecho el lugar era sagrado mucho antes de la llegada de los españoles, Copacabana es una malformación del nombre original de "Cotakayuana". La imagen de la Virgen que hay en la Catedral fue hecha por un nativo del lugar de la nobleza y quedó aqui por su propria decisión. La famosa playa de Copacabana en Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, fue llamada después que la hija del proprietario de las tierras de allí fuera curada de una paralisis por un milagro de la Virgen a la que vino a visitar en peregrinación - una especie de Lourdes Boliviana.
Nos quedamos todos arriba para disfrutar de la puesta del sol sobre el lago desde "el Balcón" esculpida dentro de la roca hace cientos de años y un lugar sublime para contemplar el atardecer (nos veis a todos en un par de las fotos, aunque no hacen justicia al lugar). Al anochecer, una cenita de trucha del lago y para la cama dispuestos a disfrutar el día siguiente.
Salida a las 10:00 AM y durante tres horitas navegando sobre el lago para llegar al sur de la isla del Sol. Lugar sagrado con anterioridad de los Inkas, pero para los cuales resultaba ser la cuna de su pueblo, el lago en sí también era sagrado. Unas cuantas barcas hacen el tour en el día, pero hay menos gente que pasa la noche en la isla. El camino cruza la isla en el centro y por las partes más altas, ofreciendo unas vistas fabulosas a cada lado de la isla. Entre todos se imponía el castellano como idioma común, yo on mi deje madrileño que a veces me sale, Paula con particularidades típicas de Cartagena (tenemos que ir a las fiestas de Cartagineses y Romanos a mediados de Septiembre :-), Eduard con su acentillo catalán que no podía más que salir y Julio con su portuñol genial - ojalá tenga su nivel cuando vaya a Brasil..., Thomas era el que peor se defendía, pero el tío aguantaba estoicamente y salía con sus frases y participaba en conversación.
Como no podía ser de otro manera nos perdimos un poco por el camino y tardamos un par de horas más de lo que se suponía, pero no ibamos con prisa y llegamos a la otra punta con tiempo para ver las ruinas del pueblo inkaiko sagrado incluida su fascinante mesa de sacrificio humano, construido, como el pueblo en sí, sobre los ejes norte-sur / este-oeste y rodeado por doce piedras a su alrededor. Al fondo había un abahía con una playa genial que invitaba al baño y la relajación.
A 3,800 m, aún con el sol calentito como teniamos esa tarde, el agua del lago era bastante fría, pero Julio, Thomas y yo ya teníamos intencón anterior de bañarnos si surgía la oportunidad. Y esta era la oportunidad. Julio y yo fuimos los primeros en meternos - y el agua estaba BIEN fría - pero los otros tres se animaron en seguida. Thomas se quitó toda la ropa en un momento estratégico para eludir la vista de Paula :-) y se zambuyó, seguido en corto tiempo por Paula y Eduard. Fué un momento especial creo. Todos disfrutamos muchísimo, nos bañamos una segunda vez y después nos secamos al sol, en un sitio espectacular y definitivamente para el recuerdo.
Esa tarde nos dirigimos al pueblo más cercano y encontramos un lugar donder pasar la noche. Como no podía ser de otra manera, subimos a un cerro cercano para disfrutar de nuevo de la puesta de sol, que esta vez disfrutamos en todo su eslendor por doble. El sol ocultandose en el lago Titikaka pero a la vez iluminando la cordillera real - cercana a La Paz - por el este con colores anaranjados y rojizos. Espectacular. Intenté sacar alguna foto, pero no pueden reflejar el conjunto de la visión, al menos mejor que nada. Con esta visión tan especial, que creo que toca el corazón de todo el que lo contempla, fuimos a cenar y a la cama.
Desde nuestras habitaciones se veían el lago y las montañas al fondo, con alguna isla entre medias, mirando hacia el este. Me desperte de forma repentina justo cuando amanecía y contemple una de las auroras más bellas que jamás haya visto, o al menos recuerde. Alguna foto también hice, pero de nuevo imposible reflejar toda la belleza de la naturaleza al completo. Un poco más tarde salieron Thomas y Julio para contemplar el amanecer y la verdad es que era una imagen imponente - alguna foto de Paula llegué a tomar desde mi cama :-) contemplando el sol. La mañana super-tranquila, esperando que llegara nuestro barco sobre el mediodía y zarpar rumbo a Copacabana...
Travesía placentera, visita a la isla de la Luna - sin demasiado que visitar - y vuelta a Copacabana para dormir. Yo no me sentía demasiado bien después de la cena y me fui a dormir pronto, pero habiendo conocido a tres estudiantes de arquelogía de Argentina en el barco, los otros tres se fueron de copas y sólo aparecieron hacia las seis o las siete... mucha marcha estos españoles / brasileños :-) Nos despedimos de Thomas esa noche (no tenía visado para Bolivia y le habían retenido el pasaporte en la frontera dejandole pasar por tres dias solamente) y los cutro, después de pensarselo Paula y Eduard, partimos para La Paz.
El lago ha sido un sitio fascinante y tranquilo donde me encantaría volver y que puedo recomendar sin ningún problema a todo cuanto pase por aqui. Quizás el lado boloviano es más tranquilo y de alguna manera más auténtico, al menos esa fue mi impresión, pero todo bellisimo.

Peru: Lago Titikaka (1)

Well, after a week offline I manage to write my next entry after an incredible week spent mostly on the shores of the sacred Lake Titikaka between Peru and Bolivia.
Arrived in Puno at the beginning of the week after a good train trip of 10 hours – crossing one of the highest points of a passenger train service at 4,300 metres – and getting into Puno during the early evening. Nothing too great to see in the city itself but most trips to the outlying islands on the Peruvian side of the lake are organised from here. After a few days of solitude in the Cuzco area I was ready to set out on my first organised tour after Huaraz.
Off we went the next morning from the bus to the port – which is already a funny concept this high up (3,800 m) – in order to see the floating islands of the Urus near the city, made out of reeds essentially, and spend the night at Amantaní which now seems to live primarily off tourism. A great journey on the boat, and rather than explaining too much I would invite you to see the photos… of course there were many other groups heading out to do the same tour and we were a kind of flotilla of boats off to the islands, but whilst aware of it the tourism was less invasive than in Cusco which I think rather marked me :-) The whole geography of the area reminded me a little of the dry Mediterranean islands at times, but of course the high mountain ranges in the background – over 6,000 m and with snowed peaks (the Cordillera Real) – served as a strong reminder of the true location of the place… On the boat I met a great mix of people, two young German students that had come to Peru for a couple of months of their summer holiday, a great Australian lady who had been travelling around the world for over a year and a half with her small child – Kali, four years old now – and above all a great bunch of four Peruvians, three girls and a guy, who were just out of University or almost, all from Lima. It was great to share some time with real Peruvians on this part of the trip, comparing the differences in the language and behaviour in Spain and Peru (de repente anyone, or the various uses of “ya” in Peru, leaving aside “chompa, frasada” and the rest :-). We spent the night in private houses on Amantaní, with typical food as the agency kept on saying – soup and lots of rice and potatoes – and even a “specially arranged” dance in the evening where we all participated – which they only do every night with the tourists. I should stop being cynical though, it was great fun – as the photos attest – I got dressed in typical Andean gear (much more complicated for the women) and we all looked quite a site in our “typical clothes”, although our faces were far from indigenous… The sunset from the top of the island, one of the highest point on the lake, was spectacular, the walk up was a nice way to open our appetite for the evening meal.
I was glad to get back into a more social setting, meeting a lot more people and sharing the great moments – although the sunset felt very special indeed – the local family I stayed with wasn’t terribly talkative, but I guess they were quite tired in a way of having different people very day.

The following day with visited the second island of Taquile, only for the morning though. Spent the trip on the upper deck with Madelaine, Andrea, Cecilia and Pato (Patricio) – the Peruvian group – enjoying the sun, the lake and each others company - and made a quick tour of the island with its famous arches and steps… nothing incredible, but a nice end to the trip – with a little sunburn I must admit. I was sorry to say goodbye to the Peruvian group the next day, but we all exchanged e-,ails (the modern address exchanging ritual) and hopefully will see each other in future. My next plans were to leave Peru, after almost 30 days in the country, and see the Bolivian side of the lake – with its islands – with base in Copacabana, which at this point in time I associated a little too much with the famous beach in Rio de Janeiro… this would change.

Machu Picchu - The Visit

So there I was, finishing my dinner – only a group of four French ladies in the restaurant (of whom more later) and the owner with his daughter who helped to manage the place. Had an interesting conversation with these two – almost the first question I get is if I have a girlfriend back home... it seems that they are as surprised as some of you at seeing a guy travel alone. I smile and reply regardless, but it is nice to be able to chat to the actual people living here once in a while. At 19:15, they rushed me to go to the Station because the train could be on its way... nothing further from the truth. At 19:30 at the station – not that much there, apart from many people waiting – and a couple of trains that left passengers returning from Machu Picchu. At 20:45 our train made its appearance. I saw many people who I would be seeing around in the next two days, since we were all going to the same place and doing the same thing :-)

It was dark outside so I saw nothing of the landscape approaching the village. It took us double the time than was the norm (although I am not sure if there is really such a thing) and we only got in to Aguas Calientes (or Machu Picchu village as it is know known) half an hour before midnight – three hours to do 37 km, it wouldn’t get any better on the return... Anyway – found the hostel I had booked in advance for the night and collapsed on my bed, with the alarm on for 4:50 in order to be able to walk up to the ruins (about 1 to 1 ½ h according to what I had been told) before the sun shone on them and also hopefully before the first buses arrived – I was told the first set out at 6:30 from Aguas Calientes.

So there I was – 5:30 (I had overslept a little) pitch dark on my way to the bridge over the river to get up to the ruins – a nice walk which consists essentially of steps to get up 400 m higher than where you start. Met few people on the road and then as light slowly emerged I started to cross people going up just like me. Made it to the entrance in 10 min less than the time advised at the bottom (wow!!) but felt pretty tired. As I reached to grab my money to pay the US$ 20 entrance fee I realised I had lost my wallet – in a small pocket in my jumper which I had forgot to close when I took it off coming up – so that was a bit of a shock. Thank goodness I had some emergency money stashed in a “secret place” so I managed to get in..... after all that :-) But only as the first bus unloaded its passengers, the first of which was directly behind me in th queue...

No worries, I was still in time to see the sun come over the mountains, although it was pretty clouded and didn’t look like it would clear up in time. Up I went further to the Temple of the Sun, on the right of the sight as you go up, another 20-25 min walk and this time crossing the trekkers who had just finished the Inka trail and were arriving first thing in the morning. I waited for the sun at the Temple but it didn’t really manage to come through – unfortunately, at least it did not rain - pretty tired after the long walk up and the relatively sleepless night enjoyed the sight of the ruins from above and still pretty empty. Took my photos and enjoyed the rest.

Machu Picchu is certainly an impressive sight, it seems it was mostly a priestly/religious town-city and the number of temples and such-like would seem to vouch this interpretation, although as far as I made out the experts are still trying to work out exactly how it all worked. In any case it is an impressive urban sight, surrounded by all these high peaks and being as inaccessible as it is. I took the obligatory photos and had a look around the main sight. After a bit I realised that it was possible to go up the Wanu Picchu – the mountain overlooking Machu Picchu itself – you know the famous one at the background, a further 350 m climb. Quite steep and lots of fun, not so many people at the top of this one and some good views of the site again. Even better was the walk down the other side of the mountain (this way was almost deserted) to the Temple of the Moon, pretty much on the opposite side of the Temple of the Sun. In a cave and personally I found very beautiful, I suppose the fact that there was nobody there increased its charm.

By 12:30 I was feeling pretty hungry and at US $25 for lunch at the top of Machu Picchu I decided it was time to go down to the village. I almost ran down the hill, with the steps it was actually easier to do it quickly than slowly, and at the bottom I met a French guy – Benjamin – who had come to make a “reconnaisance” before going up the next morning... We got talking and it turns out he was part of a team of five medical students studying in Paris that had volunteered to help set up a medicine dispensary in Arequipa – through a Belgian ONG of all things. They had had a great time and were visiting the rest of Peru now that they had finished the month they had volunteered with. I gave him a hand at getting a train ticket back to Cuzco – the ticket office didn’t want to sell him a ticket until a day before his departure, by which time there wouldn’t be any tickets left in any case !

He was kind enough to invite me to a beer later in the afternoon, and to my surprise he had met up with the four French girls I had seen in Ollanta.... he didn’t even know they were there but knew two of them from Paris.... sometimes the world is just a very small place. These four – Claire, Felicia and 2 x Alice – were travelling in Peru before going to small villages in Ecuador where they had voulnteered to help out with the nuns based in each of the villages. All lots of good fun and a nice change to the last three rather solitary days I had passed in Cuzco – haven’t forgotten all my French, but the practice was useful... :-) We had some dinner and went to bed early to be ready to catch that train at 5:45

We were all there at the appointed time (although Ben was marching up the mountain, I guess, as we had done the previous day) and left pretty much on time. After about 30 minutes the train stopped in the middle of nowhere. It turned out that the Engine was kaputt and we would have to wait for a new one to come from Cuzco – that took about 4 hours, so we only entered Oyanta around 13:30 – about 7 hours to do 35 km... I have wlaked quicker on the Camino :-) No problem, patience, a little music and reading my Yourcenar... although by the time we arrived I was pretty hungry, so made a dash to the restaurant recommended by the four French ladies, who had been here for a couple of days. By the time I had sat down and ordered they came through the door and we enjoyed a nice and plentyful lunch – photo taken of us all there and we said goodbye. I left for Cuzco, ready to get my train the next morning to Puno...

On the whole it was very much worth it to go to Machu Picchu, although it is incredibly touristy and the Cuxco Trail has become a bit of a motorway at this time of year – with a quota, costing around US$ 250 for four days and I suppose losing a bit of the magic it might have had in the more recent past. I am really glad I did the Huayhuash trek instead – which was much more of a “real” trek – and at least I managed to go up the Wana Picchu and over to the Temple of the Moon at the site, which less people do. In any case, gald to have “ticked it off” the TO DO list here in Peru :-) Now off to Tititcaca...

Machu Picchu - Prologue

Bueno, pues ya subí a los famosos restos arqueológicos del Machu Picchu – descubiertos de forma “científica” (creo que eso se refiere a que fue el primer gringo en enterarse) en 1911. Las cosas han cambiado desde entonces – sigue siendo bastante inaccesible para el trotador de mundos, pero por razones diferentes a las originales. De cualquier manera supongo que es un primer logro turístico del viaje por Sudamérica :-)

But let me start at the beginning. On my first day in Cuzco I went to the train station to get my ticket to Puno (on lake Titicaca) since I knew there was quite a lot of demand and I needed to make sure of getting a ticket with time. There I learnt that tickets to Machu Picchu Station cost around US $120 return and are full days ahead. The “cheap” way to get up there – the only ways are either by train or walking (second option fully booked for a month at this point) - was to get a ticket at Ollantaytambo (Ollanta), the last station before Machu Picchu itself. Problem is they are sold out a couple of days in advance.... of course. Anyway, up I went on Wednesday morning (about 85 km from Cuzco) and getting my first experience of true public transport in Peru. First a great taxi-colectivo that leaves when the car is full – a couple of people in the boot included (it’s OK, they are all “break” type) and gets you to Urubamba. From here you can either get another private car or the great mini-buses (all Japanese or S Korean) which, at a squeeze, take about 17-18 passengers plus the driver. You normally would be challenged to fit more than 10 in their usual layout, but they are pretty good at improvisation around here. All luggage up on the roof rack, of course.. Anyway, I did this trip four times in total (back and forth) first to get the ticket and then to get up to the ruins proper. Of course, in order to dissuade all tourists from getting the train from Ollanta... (less money made for the train operator) it has silly times, nominally leaving at 19:45 in the evening and coming back at 5:45 – no other choice at the cheaper rate of only US $ 24 (the trip in “Peruvian” style to Ollanta is little less than a couple of bucks). Sorry if I go on about prices and transport methods, but the whole thing just seemed a little too well organised in order to hinder “independent” travel up to Machu Picchu – which is fine, it is just the underhand and murky way that they do it that bothered me a little.

On the other hand I had a great chance at seeing real Peruvians going about their business, talking about football in the colectivo. Copa America just finished today, won by Brasil (but they won the semi’s AND the final through penalty shoot-out, so little glory as far as I am concerned...) – about how badly Peru did and the need to get rid of the trainer, cronies and bad players... just like anywhere else :-) Politics was the best though, the previous President (Fujimori, universially known as “EL Chino”) is grudgedly praised although the corruption got out of hand at the end with Montesinos & co, but it seems the general impression is that he did quite a bit for the country. Toledo, the current President, was called “El Payaso” although not quite sure how much that sticks. Approval ratings in single figures, quite a few political scandals whilst I am here and generally very discontent people. In any case politicians are held in extremly low esteem.

In the mini-buses you see many woman going to and fro carrying very large loads – I suppose for sale some of the time. Driving is surprisingly careful and the road is very beautiful going up and down valleys with great snowed peaks in the background. Tried to take a couple of pictures but not sure how well they will come out...

Whilst I waited for Friday to arrive, I went to check out some of the ruins near Cuzco – Pisaq first, with a pretty market (for tourists) 3 times a week, a longish walk up to the ruins and the pretty site of large groups of tourists around the site who have come up in bus, for the day. Took a few pictures, but the truth is that after contemplating the beauty of the place I got a little tired of all the tourists- I know, I know, high season and all that, shouldn’t complain, I am one of them after all.... – and made my way back to Cuzco.

Oh! Before I forget, during some of my short surfing on the internet I found the site of a Belgian couple (from Brussels no less!) who have also taken a sabbatical, but they are spending the whole time in South America, their site (here) is much cooler than my own, but more importantly it is great to see them travelling around. We tried to co-ordinate meeting each other, but it looks like we crossed paths in the night !! More about that later...

On Friday I set out from Cuzco – just after lunch, and made it to Ollantaytambo in good order. Lots of people there - coming and going to Machu Picchu essentially - although the town has its own ruins. I popped into a local, not too touristy, bar / restaurant on the main square (I have learnt to look for places with “Menus” which give best value for money meals) to have some dinner before setting off. It was early (6:00ish) but I didn’t trust the train timetable and felt it was better to be safe than sorry.... it turned out to be a good reaction.

South American trip... a few years back

The following is a desciption I just received fom Steve - a fellow pilgrim (to Santiago) - who I met on my way to Finisterre and is full of wisdom and practical advice. He also travelled across South America, only a few years back - before the place was very touristy and dangers and adventures were quite real... hope you enjoy it half as much as I did, and thanks Steve !

"I had shipped my VW Bug, modified so that my brother and I could sleep in
it, to Valparaiso. While it was in transit, he and I flew to Lima where we
had the sort of welcome you received from the family of a not-very-close
friend of mine.

After some local excursions .. including the impressive Tren de la Sierra to
Huancayo .. we took a colectivo to Arequipa and the little train from there
up to Puno and then Cuzco. We visited a number of the villages thereabouts
and then followed the Urubamba by train to Machu Picchu along with maybe a
dozen other tourists. (Things had changed qualitatively between then and my
return in 1994.)

We crossed Titicaca overnight. Then, after a couple of days around La Paz,
flew on to Chile where we picked up the VW and started our land circuit.
We'd planned to cross at Portillo but the road was not yet open, so we kept
heading south hoping to find a lower pass. Even the main highway to Temuco
was only a good-grade gravel then. We ended up being towed up the Andes by
oxen to a little lake at the Argentine border, which we were poled across on
a raft. As we approached the Argentine customs, there was a huge sign on the
little ox-cart road with its two deep ruts proclaiming MANTENGA LA DERECHA!
Very Argentine.

From Buenos Aires, we stuck to the coast as best we could down to Punta
Arenas. There was only one ferry a week to Tierra del Fuego and we felt we
didn't want to spend that much time on extending our venture that extra
distance and so headed north, but this time staying as close as we could to
the Andes. We had a remarkable time around the Torres de Paine which was all
private sheep ranch then (No UNESCO recognition or international airport)
with some roads even worse than the one we entered the country on. At one
point where our map showed a ferry crossing a river, there was none, and we
spent a day digging our way back up the dunes. At another, storms had washed
out the road and we were told even by truckers that we couldn't get through.
But, with full confidence in ourselves and our floatable VW, we pushed ahead
.. actually, my brother pushed as I kept my foot on the gas pedal to keep
the tail-pipe free of mud .. across more than 50 meters of roiled muck.
After that, however, we met a stretch filled with boulders and had to give
up. Remembering having crossed train tracks a way back, however, we retraced
to that point and mounted the tracks, bouncing along over the ties until it
next crossed the road, well beyond where we had had to abandon it. That
night .. Christmas Eve .. we got to the Hotel Llao Llao after eleven p.m.
but were greeted as royalty despite our mud and all. Six bucks for a
splendid room for the two of us! (That, too, has changed.)

The following year, a buddy and I took the train from Lima up to Cerro de
Pasco (about 5000 meters) with the intent of catching the evening bus down
to Tingo Maria. However, we were both suffering so badly from soroche that
we just collapsed on the cement floor of the station. Our bus the next
morning passed the one we'd missed the previous night, upside down in the
river with no survivors. So, literally, my life was saved by soroche.

From Tingo Maria and then Pucalpa where we'd hoped to find a river craft to
take us to the Amazon. We ended up having to fly to Iquitos by a Transportes
Aereo Militare DC3 along the river on a small amphibious plane which flew at
tree top level and splashed down for lunch and refueling. Primitive stuff ..
they rolled a couple of barrels of gasoline out onto the floating walkway
and manually pumped it into the tanks. The pilot, a little drunk, saw that I
was having trouble seeing out the badly scratched window so sent me forward
to his seat while he napped in mine.

We got bunks on a wood-burning steamer from Manaus to Belem, nearly a week,
and from there flew on to Brasilia which was in the early stages of
construction but had a functioning hotel. There was neither train service
nor a road to it then, so we took a horse drawn cart to Anapolis, the
nearest train stop. That, too, was a little wood-burner. As we kept moving
towards Sao Paulo, we switched to bigger and better trains repeatedly. My
friend left me in SP, taking trains back thru Argentina and Bolivia to Peru.
I doubled back to Rio and then by bus over bad, muddy roads (much has
changed!) to Foz de Iguassu. There was no bridge to Paraguay, but I got
across in a row boat. A couple of days later, I caught a passenger boat to
Corrientes and from there a train to Salta and another across the Andes to
Antofagosta.

Fed up with the creeping pace of the train, I caught a bus to take me to
Peru. Unfortunately, the driver made some misjudgments and sent us tumbling
down a deep arroyo where we ended up upside down. Many were injured more
severely than I, but all insisted that the foreigner be given first chance
to board the next bus. I left them with the few pain medications and such
that I was carrying. I was treated for some months for a dislocated vertebra
in my neck, but have had no trouble in years. Others were certainly not so
lucky."

Cuzco (2): Conquistadores conquer all…

Well, first real “tourist” day in Cuzco – after sorting out my ticket out for Puno (by train which should be really good – one of the highest railroads still working) and trying to sort out my means to get to Brasil… lots of flights involved malgrè moi, and probably need to finalize in La Paz but the plan is there. Basically get to Natal (via Rio) on the 14 of August. But I anticipate events…
The plan for the next days is to get to Macchu Picchu avoiding the massive tourist surges – they have taken over the trail and the other way of going up (train) costs over US$ 65 and is pretty full too – so I am doing the convoluted way of catching a kind of local train at Ollantaytambo (good name huh) – going there by colectivo, which should be a laugh or at least amusing - and then spending a couple of nights at Aguas Calientes so that I can get up there before the first rush of tourists arrive and enjoy the calm afternoon when they have all left, also a little time to see some of the Inca ruins around Cuzco in the following days, but I’m out of here on Monday – in six days…
Today I tried to see most of “to be seen” Cuzco – churches, buildings, museums, streets… that kind of thing – it is all very charming but I keep on having the feeling of seeing a kind of Ancient Greek city re-fashioned by the Goths and Huns and using all the fruits of the previous civilization to how a rather weak version of their own. I am not trying to be provocative here, but with simply looking at the original pre-Columbian works of art and craftsmanship it is quite clear that they belong much more to this land, and people, than all the European-style baroque paintings and churches that were built on top of the previous occupiers. This is much more evident in Cuzco than anywhere else since it was the capital of the Inca empire and after Pizarro the main city of southern Peru – or Nueva Castilla as it was at the time I believe – on top of it the Baroque qrt showed here is not really the best in it’s genre… after having gone through France, and particularly Spain (but also having seen parts of Southern Italy) where the Baroque style is at its best (not that I particularly like it) this is all like a bit of a copy – lots of gold and silver, of course, it was available by the bucket-full to the conquistadores, but at the end of the day the invaders simply wanted to remember home. The internal courtyards – so popular in Extremadura and Andalucia – are to be seen all over and the pictures in the Churches are all white, tall, saintly looking members of the clergy and royalty with Flemish backgrounds – very in vogue at the time… - all seems so out of place here in the middle of the Andes at 3,300 m that I could only grin :-) Nevertheless, some of the pre-1500s elements do remain, but as a sad reminder of a proud empire. Not that the Incas were very charming with their neighbours and internal tribes – but the Flemish were too happy with Spanish rule either… no need to get into too much history.

The City itself is obviously a magnet for tourists and it is exploited to the full by locals – seemingly hundreds of tourist agencies spring up everywhere and the Pizzeria business is booming – but I guess they are just meeting demand… I didn’t take too many pictures in the churches – it was forbidden for one – but they seemed just completely out of place in their surroundings… Did see Santiago killing some moors though… obviously the chap was still quite popular in that guise.
Anyway, I shouldn’t be negative, the city is an architectural marvel in its way and hopefully I will be enjoying the best outside the city limits in the Sacred Valley in the next few days. Once again, thanks to all of you for your comments and hasta la próxima !