All The Parts That Make The End

June 1, 2012 at 8:52 am (Uncategorized)

Hey there, folks!

So here I sit in Cuzco, awaiting transport to Lima…and home. This is the end and I wonder…oh, you’re not crying are you? Come on, wipe away the tears; there are still plenty of adventures to enjoy below…

I left you in Mendoza last time having heroically crossed the Andes on foot once more. Didn’t say much about Mendoza but it is beautiful, busy and bright and full of tree-lined streets and plazas and fountains that light up of an evening so it definitely went on the ‘could spend more time here’ list, especially as we arrived just at the beginning of a cold and rainy spell that put the kybosh on the famous cycling-vineyard tour, an apparent must but not in the poxy rain that lasted all the three days we were there.

As we left and walked through the outskirts, noticing that there were odd groups of people sitting around street fires, the sun finally came out. And it stayed out. We were walking 100 miles north to San Juan and had not done an awful lot of research. It was raining and full of lush vineyards around Mendoza so what was going to change? Ha! When Argentina has her way she’ll dry you up quicker than a bad case of the squits. At the second day of walking we could see the landscape changing back into the familiar desert we had seen further south. Technically it might not be one as there was a river about 30 miles to the east and it sometimes bursts its banks as we could see warning signs, but a river 30 miles east ain’t no damn good when you’re not there and need to go north. It was bleak and flat countryside and once again I was loving the desolation of it all, just so long as I could get a drink some place. The first was a stagnant watering hole that was likely 70 parts cow pee but it went in the water bottle with a wincey  ‘hope I don’t have to drink this’ face. Luckily, the next day we hit a border post in between the provinces of Mendoza and San Juan and could refill to our hearts’ content there. So we conquered one more stretch of desert on this trip, just to remind us what it’s all about. Things got better as we approached San Juan, veering right back towards the Andes where the parched bushes turned into vineyards and water flows again. San Juan itself is unremarkable, memorable only for a long, drunken chat with some Argentinians who told me with heads in their hands that the outskirts we had walked through to leave Mendoza were the most dangerous in the city. Well, I had wondered about those street fires…

That was it for our second bite at Argentina. Now we had to get north for our final two countries, first up, Bolivia. We took a 24 hour bus right up to the border at La Quiaca/Villazon.  And ‘up’ is the correct terminology in more ways than just north as now we were on the Altiplano, the high plain between two arms of the Andes that split out east and west and leave this dry and empty mass of land up there at 12,000 feet. As soon as I exited the bus I felt slightly dizzy, and where I had been expecting a cold wind I got hot hot sun with not much atmosphere to filter out the rays. Hats on. Not just for me either, because hats are all the rage in Bolivia. The Cholita women, old traditional market ladies that is, waddle around with small bowler hats perched atop their heads as part of a peculiar national dress, along with wide skirts and great multi-coloured sacks of produce (or infants) draped around the shoulders and carried on the back. It is a fascinating and very iconic look. I felt akin to them as I lugged my bloody rucksack around in the thin air and thanked the stars I wouldn’t have to carry it for much longer. That’s what I thought, anyway.

In Villazon we had noticed a lot of buses parked across roads but not really given it much thought but as we approached the train station we found pockets of other travellers with forlorn faces sitting around in whatever shade could be found. No trains were running and no buses either as we had arrived in Bolivia on the first day of a week-long national strike. Oh goody! We wandered around and tried to corral folk into some sort of escape plan. Taxi drivers came to us and whispered that they could get us out but that there were road blocks. We hooked up with an English couple, Sophie & James, and decided to take the risk and try and get to Tupiza, a larger town further up the road where things might improve. We travelled for about an hour with a jolly fat man until we hit the first blockade, much earlier than expected. There was no way through. They wouldn’t let any vehicle pass and said that there were now 8 further blocks on the road to Tupiza, now 20-25 miles away. Of course, Matt and I were equipped for this sort of thing so gradually, annoying as it was, we settled into a plan to walk the rest of the way. For some reason Sophie & James followed us with virtually no equipment and bad shoes but that’s the English isn’t it, and we thought we could all make do if it came to it, so we set off with about an hour of sunlight left, into the Bolivian wilderness for a night march to Tupiza. We passed roadblocks in the darkness and people were drinking and lighting fires and generally seemed to be having a good time so they were fairly good to us, letting us pass through without much bother (we later heard of people on foot being charged to cross). In between we flagged down willing farmers who lived in between the blockades and would run us five miles or so for some cash, but they were dead scared of the protesters and would only drop us way back from the lines. Scabs were not received warmly and it was a sign of things to come in a few days. Eventually, after a walk of about 12 miles in the moonlight, and after being crammed into the backs of several vans (once I got myself into a 3 foot square space, no word of a lie) we made it to Tupiza. Getting out of Tupiza was another thing.

This was the first real Bolivian town we’d seen and it lifted the spirits somewhat. I had heard about the poverty in poor old Bolivia but my, have they turned to the tourist trade and the Gringo-trail for relief with aplomb. It was full of restaurants and shops and charming old architecture and, naturally, tourists. Stranded tourists, all sharing their stories of how they got here and how they would get out. Rumours of trains and buses and taxis abounded but there was nothing concrete. What we had heard was that a train would run on Wednesday evening and it was now Tuesday so we relaxed and ate and drank planned for our journey the next day. When we approached the train station in the morning a worker met us with a frown. “No train today. Possibly tomorrow but no-one knows.” Bugger. Sophie & James had said they were trying for a 10am bus so we headed across town for the terminal and there, sure enough, we bought tickets for a bus to Uyuni at 6pm. It was exciting to know we would be leaving town that day after all. We hung around at our favourite food and drink place, where a bug-eyed and friendly man brought us slabs of meat and rice and beers while we watched the Europa League final. At the bus station all went as planned but when our bus arrived the fear hit me. It was old and creaky and had no toilet. How I lamented those beers I’d had, but we all got on and started to roll out of town at dusk. The co-driver shouted that we must close all the curtains which seemed a bit odd. Next thing the bus veered off-road and began to climb what looked like a dry riverbed. Was this the way to Uyuni? It seemed unlikely even for Bolivia. The bus was rocking about 35 degrees from side to side as it slowly clambered up the stony valley, and each swing was greeted with gasps from the tourist contingent. I didn’t gasp, I just wanted a wee. Next there was a huge bang and smoke in front of the vehicle, which promptly stopped. On the brow of a hill ahead we could see lights and people. Strikers! And they were throwing dynamite at us to turn us back! The blockaders had it all covered. There was to be no escape from Tupiza. The driver reversed and waited and tried again later but it was no good and we were met only with increased belligerence until, much to most people’s relief, the venture was finally quit and we returned to the bus terminal. I had a nice wee and we returned to our hostel, much to the amusement of the girls working there who mocked our escape attempts.

The following day we were awoken by a glorious sound: a train whistle! We jumped out of our beds tout suite and ran down to the station where a crowd of people were jamming against the single ticket window and a calm station worker sucking a lollipop was slowly issuing tickets. This train was going the other way, back to Villazon, but it would return at 6pm and take us to Uyuni. We got 2^nd class tickets so we could mix it with the Bolivians and prepared for another day with fingers crossed. A large market sprang up that covered a whole mile around the station and the best thing about Bolivian sales technique is that there is none. No harrying or badgering you into a purchase; the women just sit there with their bowler hats  and their knitting and ignore you until you make it very clear that you want to buy something, then maybe they look up and give you a random price. It’s great. I bought a toy dinosaur and a ball.

The train came on time and while the tourists went to their 1^st class carriage we waded down with the Bolivians but it was virtually the same and the atmosphere was really jolly, largely because we were all stranded people about to be moved. The journey was without incident and we arrived in cold and empty Uyuni at about midnight, quickly finding a cheap hotel on the main street. Uyuni is even more touristy than Tupiza and this is because of the vast salt lake nearby, the Salar de Uyuni, largest in the world, and bringer of gringo folk who want to take perspective photos. The salt flat is a vast, featureless white landscape under clear blue skies so there is very little depth perception. We took our tour out there and some of our efforts are below (this is where the toy dinosaur and ball came in). Shout out to Patrick the glass-blowing Canadian, a top man who was with us for the tour and beers later. A dude. And the Fins, and Ben & Joe & Will who we bumped into for the second time, the first being in Mendoza.

We were aiming for La Paz and the following day at midnight we re-boarded our train, stopping in the morning in Oruro to watch the Premiership finale, and then taking a bus for the final leg. I’d hardly slept and it wasn’t a great journey but wow! When we saw La Paz it was an amazing sight; a huge bowl of civilization that looks like an amphitheatre for all South American life to come and fill. Didn’t get any photos as along with the tiredness and hangoverness we were now up at something silly like 14,000 feet and I just couldn’t be arsed to move to a window but look it up on the internet!

What can I tell you about La Paz? Not too much as it turns out except that it’s brilliant, wild, crazy, full of pleasure-seeking travellers and it is hectic. Spent most of the time in clubs, coming out squinting into the daylight hours to sleep at our hostel, called Loki (which gives you some idea), a kind of a super hostel with a huge bar, great atmosphere and nightly partying. After 3 days we were exhausted and glad to be heading away to lake Titicaca and Copacabana, a beautiful and peaceful lakeside town where we spent 5 days recovering. All except for the Champion’s League final day that is, when much beer was had in a crowd of Bayern Munich fans whilst watching Chelsea squeak through to glory. Good stuff. Shouts to Kyle of NYC and Matt & Tracy of Dublin for the good times there!

From Copacabana we now had to get back on with the walk. The delay of watching the big game meant we had just one more stint in store, from there to Puno, the next city on the Peruvian side of the lake. It was tough. I had come down with a horrendous sore throat and a cold and Matt was gradually coming down with something quite severely wrong with his stomach. These ailments along with the altitude meant that every slight incline felt like climbing a huge hill. It got worse when we crossed into Peru which, to be brutally honest, looked an absolute dump compared with the prettiness we had just left. Straight dusty roads and half finished buildings everywhere; it was horrible walking. The next day Matt was even more ill and was really struggling but at least the scenery was getting better, and lines of cholita women were leading laden donkeys along the roadsides and waving to us, while men worked in the fields and looked on at these two gringos with curiosity. We made it to a pretty village called Pomata by the evening and booked the only available hotel. It was rubbish. Matt was too ill and could not go on and so we agreed to part ways because I still had it in me to finish this. He went off in a taxi that night as our place had no hot water and no flush on the toilet, not great for stomach trouble. I was excited and nervous but I was determined to set out alone the following day, despite feeling like dog shit myself.

I bought some supplies and aspirin from a jolly lady in the town square in the early morning and I left the village. Virtually everyone I passed gave me a wave or stopped to ask what I was doing. The landscape had been improving and was by now rather pretty as I rounded the lake and fishing boats and green hills. My throat hurt but my breathing seemed better. Spirits were high. They were so high that I barely noticed the large dog eyeing me from across the road; didn’t notice him running to cross the road behind me either. No, I only noticed him as he clamped his jaws around my right calf and then began to bark at me ferociously from a few feet away. Christ! I thought, and drew my hand up to my pouch where I kept my knife. He really looked like he had it in for me so I snapped myself out of the shock and switched to aggressor mode, knowing that you’re not supposed to show fear. My angry shouts of “fuck off!” appeared to work as he gradually backed away across the road. The owner was staring out from under some kind of porch so I shouted that his dog was dangerous but the gormless berk did nothing. I looked down at my leg to see blood running down into my sock and lumps in my leg where the flesh was already reacting to the bite. I hate dogs. Always will, but I wasn’t angry or scared so much as pissed off. I walked down the road to a safe distance and spent half an hour trying to make the blood stop, whilst also coming to terms with the fact that this was it, the walk was over, mostly because I knew that I now had to get to hospital for rabies shots pronto. I did consider risking it but the leg just kept on bleeding and rabies is fatal so I had to give in to practicalities. I jumped on the next bus to the small town of Juli where I stopped for a morning beer, you know, for the shock, and then hopped on another to get to Puno. My thanks to my anglophile friends from Chigago who kept me entertained on that journey. Matt had been expecting me in four days but there I was on his doorstep after only one. Having had the pre-immunisation shots in the UK I only had to have 3 back up vaccines in Puno but was stuck there for 4 days having anti-biotics and shots, all very well handled by the staff I have to say. Hats off to that particular hospital.

We finally escaped Puno for the lovely city of Cuzco and from here Peru gets beautiful. The city is full of shops on cobbled streets and is lively and full of energy, energy that is juxtaposed with beautiful old cathedrals and stately colonial buildings. From here we took a trip to Machu Picchu, the old Incan city perched up in the mountains. The trip is full of staggering views and rides up and down deep valleys and into jungle river passes; the climb up the Inca steps to the city in darkness was epic; the city at the top a thing of beauty, as much for the location as for the historical significance. It was a fitting (and knackering) finish line for this long, long adventure.

For this is it. It’s over. We’ve walked across deserts and snowy mountains, through forests and along shorelines, in rain and sun, wind and sand and thunder and lightning for 4,452 kms/2,766 miles (Update – missed out a chunk so this is 4,492/2,791 miles). I have not enjoyed every minute of it; loads of minutes I’ve really hated, but the special moments, all the views and exciting places I’ve seen, all the people I’ve met, all the enchanting forests and nooks I’ve peacefully slept in with my gradually deteriorating body and equipment, for those I wouldn’t change a single thing. It has been magical, the greatest adventure of my life and I am thankful for it, exhausting as it has been.

But my hope has also been to raise some money for charity and to the above left you will find a link to our justgiving website set up for donations to the Association for International Cancer Research, funding projects here in the UK and across the world to advance the fight against cancer. If you have enjoyed this blog and the photos then please do make a donation, it doesn’t matter about the amount.

I’d just like to dedicate this blog and this adventure to my brill friend Li, top gal! x x x (I hope you’ve looked after my Battlestar Galactica. Not a scratch!)

That’s it folks. Cheerio and all that. Hope you’ve enjoyed it and see you all real soon.

Much love,

Rob x x x x x x