Having travelled to Entre Rios back in 2004 from the other end of this winding road and only during the night, I was very interested in seeing this side of the road that leads to my destination. Even better was that I was about to travel this route during daylight hours.
Leaving the bus terminal at Tarija.
My camera was out and ready to try and capture a little of what it was like to journey along these roads, and something of the countryside and the life of Bolivians in this area. It was harder than I first thought, capturing the road ahead and the sheer cliffs that we were travelling next to, but the photos that follow try to explain a little of the journey.
The beginning sections of the winding road.
Along the way our bus broke down. Some sort of cooling problem required the driver and his helper to don overalls and pull out a range of tools and spare parts especially stored for this sort of event. They climbed underneath the bus and fiddled around for a while, allowing us time to get off and wander about, stretching our legs, relieving the bladder, and looking around. Within 20 minutes we were mobile again, once more negotiating the dangerous curves.
The men under the bus working on fixing it.
Waiting around for the bus to be fixed.
Motion Sick
Apart from being dangerous, our driver took the corners somewhat aggressively, wrenching the bus from one point to the other. I was starting to feel the very early stages of motion sickness creeping in, but put myself to concentrate on the journey and I was fine. The young lad seated next to me was not fine.
The sick young lad with his coat wrapped around him.
Suddenly he covered his face with his denim jacket and from within I heard the gurgling sounds of a stomach that had given up the fight of holding it in. Each corner produced more sounds as the poor lad fought to control himself. By the end of the journey he had managed to cover himself and his seat. In such a closed environment such as the bus that we were in, the smell of such an event can set off dozens of other people also close to that point. Fortunately, with his jacket closed and my window open, there was no strong smell of the event. Those corners really took their toll.
The road often followed the path of creeks and streams.
After four hours of nothing but curves, we finally reach my destination. Entre Rios, a small town in the middle of two rivers amongst the mountains. I get off and let the bus continue on its journey to Yacuiba, heading up the road to make contact with my friends here.
Most houses here are build with mud bricks.
Many of the houses farm sufficient crops for themselves and only sometimes do they try to make a tiny amount of extra money.
The house yard is used as an animal pen as well as for the family and children.
The road continues to wind without end.
Children travelling along the road squeeze between the bus and the cliff edge.
Looking back at the road from where we have come.
Finally we come into site of Entre Rios in the valley below.
Arriving in Entre Rios, the end of my journey.