Here are another series of photos of the city of Tarija, taken during the first day of the transport strikes.
A man works on preparing more goods to sell in his street-side shop.
Old buses like these are very common here in Bolivia.
A Day in Uyuni Town
Uyuni
Upon arriving in Uyuni, I started the hunt for a 3 day tour of the Salt Lakes and many other bits and pieces that you can see here. This is my first and only point of being a tourist in Bolivia and is what everybody has told me that I must go and see.
The main street of Uyuni shows the small population that is here.
Continue reading “A Day in Uyuni Town”
Flowers and Insects of Cochabamba
While at the orphanage, I saw some flowers that I wanted to take photos of. When some of the younger children saw me taking these photos, they suddenly started coming to me with flowers plucked out of the field. Instead, I told them to take me to the flowers while they were still alive. These photos are the result of these young children asking me to take a photo of “this” and “this” and “that.”
Sick in Santa Cruz
The First Day
On Saturday I arrive in Santa Cruz. The directions that I had been given to determine when to ask the bus driver to stop were very good. However I was not dropped off until almost 2 kms further down the road. During the night a bad cough had become worse, taking my voice away from me. So when I went and asked the driver to let me off, it took that long for him to understand me.
The Santa Cruz YWAM Base
Shortly after I had arrived I started helping out in the computer department. There were some small problems that I was able to solve reasonably quickly for them. After gaining some of their confidence, we then began the process via a very slow modem connection of setting up a new website for Kings Kids and possibly for all of Bolivia.
I was not in the office for long, and quickly disappeared into town on the mini-buses to celebrate some birthdays over lunch. We enjoyed some typical Bolivian foods of highly flavoured chicken and rice, hot and spicy chicken, and other variants of spicy and hot foods.
Bolivian foods for lunch.
Celebrating birthdays over lunch.
The evening was another birthday and we wandered down a street filled with parties to try and find the one we were invited to. It took several attempts as we stopped at different houses and wondered if this was the party we had been asked to attend. Our party was much further down the road and the sounds did not carry out to the street because of the large house in which it was held.
Here we ate lots of meat and laughed and danced into the night. I demonstrated some dances taught to me by my good friend Chris which caught a lot of attention at the party. One was The Microwave Dance, and the other The Fish Dance. After that I started making up my own, with The Salad Tossing Dance, and The Car Driver Dance. They were all tongue-in-cheek activities designed to bring a bit of laughter into the night, and they worked well.
Policeman booking a driver.
The Next Day
The whole week was shaping up to be full of events and activities that would take me around the place to see many things, but suddenly I hit the wall. On Sunday morning I tried to wake up but could not. My body was shaking with cold yet pouring out sweat. I had a fever.
For most of that day I slept. There was no strength in my body to get up, even though I tried once or twice. Completely exhausted, I lay on my bed and slept or read. The entire day. There was nothing else I could do.
Monday
On the Monday, waking at 7am I thought all was fine, but suddenly heard a knock on the door at 9.15am and discovered that I had fallen asleep again. In the morning I walked, slowly, down to the doctors for a blood check. I had been bitten by an unknown bug back in Entre Rios and it had some of the symptoms of the Vinchuka bug that brings Chagis Disease and I wanted to be sure of what it was.
The rest of the day was work, hunched over the computer, using as little energy as possible. Everyone went out to a party, leaving me behind. My exhaustion was too much and an early night was the only sensible thing to do.
Next Day – In Search of Japanese
Thinking that I would feel better, I headed off to some distant Japanese colony nearby Santa Cruz. We took a taxi, with three big people in the back and two people crammed into the front seat for the two hour journey.
Lines of cars blocked by the protesters.
Only a short distance up the road we encounter a blockade across the road. Our taxi driver continues up the road on the wrong side, weaving between the other vehicles that have done the same until we get to the source. It is the police drugcheck point where every vehicle gets inspected, and just metres further on is a group of angry people preventing the vehicles from moving anywhere.
Riding in a converted taxi.
Our driver charges us half price and we walk through the blockade, and past dozens and dozens of buses and trucks that have been stuck for hours. Suddenly there is movement. The police have removed the blockade and vehicles are starting to move onward again.
The town’s main street, just like any other Bolivian town.
We were looking for a taxi to take us the rest of the distance but found nothing. Instead we were stuck between the edge of the road and big moving vehicles, with only centimetres between us both.
A small circus was in town when we arrived.
Eventually our taxi finds us again, having passed through the blockade, and we climb aboard once again. This time there are four of us in the back seat for the remaining hour of journey.
A mother and daughter wash their clothes in the field.
When we finally get there, the colony is nothing more than a Bolivian town with some Japanese farms and we return quite disappointed. Later on I hear that we had visited the wrong place and that there really is a Japanese styled township somewhere nearby.
The entry and exit to the township. This sign has Japanese on the welcome side, which I did not take a photo of. Doh.
Last day – Making Tracks
Wednesday was National Day of the Child, and my last day in Santa Cruz. In the morning I joined the girls in shopping for presents for the children at the markets. These markets have such a dangerous reputation that none of us take anything more than we really need for this trip.
Small markets in a township nearby to Santa Cruz.
Witches brews, burnt offerings and dried foetuses of animals were all available for sale alongside of dozens of shops selling childrens toys. Fresh fish and chicken, chocolates, clothes, tools, and virtually anything that you could possibly need was available here.
We returned to the YWAM base to celebrate this day with a party and dances for the children which they all delighted in. I stopped first at the doctors to discover that my test for Chagis disease was negative, and for some advice about my continuing flu. I returned to the base with two medications and an injection, which I duly took (ouch).
The afternoon was spent finalising the work I had been doing on the Kings Kids website and helping David a little more in some of the things he was doing.
My friends from Santa Cruz. (L to R: Sonia, Nadia, David, Lidia)
Before long the day had run out and I was walking out of the gate, saying goodbye to all of the good friends that I had made during my stay including David, Lydia, Nadia, and Sonia. Thanks guys for the amazing stay that you made my time in Santa Cruz.
Next stop. The bus station.
A typical old car for this area of Bolivia.
A shoe repairer working on the footpath.
I used to have one of these motorbikes (80cc) back in 1980 and it was considered old then.
A broken horse cart with basic repairs so it can continue to function.
Two girls sit outside their home, watching the traffic.
Church in the Plaza – Cochabamba
It was only one day that I was able to spend at the orphanage, and by the evening of that day I had returned to the church where I would stay the night before leaving early the next day for La Paz.
Although not all, many of the cities in South America have their own statue of the Christ up on top of a nearby hill.
That night was the last night of an Easter campaign in the plaza, run by this large church. As a guest, I was invited to join them in this large event. When I got there, it turned out to be church in the plaza with lots of dance and drama for the people that came by. People also moved through the crowd passing out tracts about Christ.
The building that houses the large church that looks after the orphanage.
After the event and returning all of the gear that had been used during it, I returned to my small room in the front corner of the church. The church had fed me and looked after me during my short stay here, and had even purchased my ticket to La Paz. Now I was in a guest room inside the church building, yet more evidence of their generousity. Sleep came quickly at 1am in the morning. Tomorrow would be an early start.
The Plaza of the Flags, where the church service was held, on the main street of Cochabamba.
The plaza was surrounded by rich beds of flowers everywhere.
Some girls dance before the crowd to a Christian song.
Preaching to the crowd that has gathered, as seen from the other side of the main
Leaving Entre Rios
We arrived back just after 6pm and drove straight to the bus ticket vendors. The first place we visited had a bus leaving at 7pm. The second one had their bus being loaded as we arrived, and ready to leave almost immediately. That was the bus that I wanted to get on, but after racing up to the mission to grab my bag, when I turned around and looked down the street, the bus had left without me.
My last view of Entre Rios before it disappeared from sight completely.
Instead, I headed down to purchase a ticket for the other bus. It was only three blocks, but it was insisted that I go in the Landrover with Fineke. Well, by the time that we had made the convoluted journey down there and done the bits and pieces that both she and I needed to do while in town, I returned to the mission once again with very little time to spare.
Farewelling all of my good friends there, I picked up my backpack and walked out the door. It would be unlikely that I will return here again in the near future. My work is located in Argentina and I may never get to return to this amazing and fascinating country.
Once aboard the bus, and with my farewells completed, we headed off at around 7.15pm. I snapped a quick shot of Entre Rios as it passed before me and was then gone. Perhaps forever. My memories surrounded me as we continued along the bumpy and muddy main road toward Tarija.
Suddenly the bus lurched upward and came to an abrupt halt. We had just gotten stuck on a great chunk of mud that had falled across the road. There were tyre tracks across it and our bus driver had tried to launch us over it, but we did not make it. He backed the bus off this sticky clay type mud over the road and down the hill a little. Then grabbing a shovel, he climbed out to see what he could do.
Passengers from the bus walking up to and crossing over the landslide.
Many of us aboard also climbed off, into the rain. We recognised that the bus would not make it over with a full load, but with less people aboard it would get up to a faster speed and have a higher clearance, giving it a much better chance. We negotiated our way across the muddy frontier, carefully avoiding the water hidden in the shadows on the other side. There, on the other side, we waited. The rain continued to fall, wetting me completely as I realised that everyone around me was clothed in garments designed to resist the rain.
Meanwhile the driver and a couple of guys dug away at the mud, trying to clear a better passage for the bus. After about twenty minutes of work, the driver climbed back into the bus and with a great roar, raced up the road and onto the hump of mud. The bus paused for a moment, suspended right in the middle of it all, and we all held our breath. Then with another roar, it inched forward and then gained speed, making it right over and back onto the firm roadsurface where we were standing. He had made it. Our journey would continue.
The men working in the headlights and rain to make a way through for the bus.
There were no more surprises like that, but every five metres the cliff-side had collapsed onto the roadway. Some parts covered the road and other times it was just a small amount of dirt on the edge. At times whole trees and plants were relocated at the side of the road because of the subsidence from the excessive rain. The road did have some very dangerous parts where the edge had disappeared into the valley below, and other parts that were extremely unstable. Fortunately we did not know about these problems until much further on, toward the end of the journey when we stopped to warn another bus driver heading toward Entre Rios.
I arrived in Tarija at 11.30pm, happy to be safe and sound, and ready to continue my journey. Little did I know what would lie ahead for me.
Stranded by Transport Strikes
It was yesterday that I was planning on leaving Tarija. Today I am still here. I missed my bus by only 10 minutes. But that may have been a very good thing.
Buses block the road and the bus terminal so that nobody can provide a service while they are on strike.
You see, in Bolivia right now, there is a lot of turbulence and problems. The border crossing that I used to enter Bolivia is now closed and will probably remain that way for a while as the people fight to turn their region into the 10th province of Bolivia. Fortunately I do not have to worry about leaving the country just yet, and there are other ways I can get out, so I am not concerned with these problems.
Also, only a handful of days ago the national airline company was grounded and is unlikely to ever fly again. It handled over 80% of national flights and has left many thousands of people stranded. Andreas, my friend from Entre Rios is one of them. He has been waiting for almost 2 weeks to get another flight back from La Paz.
Tarija is also suffering from the recent rains which have caused land slips and ruptured three of the four gas pipes that bring natural gas into the city. As a result the entire city is experiencing power cuts as a rationing system is used to try and avoid a complete loss of gas. With cars, heating, cooking, and electricity all run off gas in this gas rich country, the complete loss of natural gas would be a serious disaster for the city.
The other major problem that has had an affect on me right now is striking transport drivers. The strikes here are as much an emotional event as they are a political one. The people gather together and if anybody tries to stop them they often get violent. I have been warned that their violence can be even stronger towards foreigners so I need to be careful. You don’t need to hear a warning like that one twice.
At the end of the day the blockades were virtually over and cars were able to get through without too many problems.
Yesterday, I raced over to the bus station in the afternoon in a taxi to discover that I had missed most of the buses that go to Potosi. There was one remaining bus leaving at 6pm but I had only 10 minutes to get to the YWAM base and return with my bag. It was unlikely, but then the buses here have never ever left on time before, so that meant I would have a realistic 20 minutes.
We headed in the direction of the YWAM base only to be cut off by protesters blockading the road with cars, buses, burning tyres, and lots of sticks and anger. All of the traffic was being diverted and we joined them. This meant that our journey would take even longer as we negotiated the thickness of the diverted traffic.
Racing past cars on the wrong lane, ducking between trucks and other moving vehicles and bouncing along the rough road that leads to the mission, we finally get there right on 6pm. I race in and grab my bag, throwing it into the boot of the taxi and giving a rushed goodbye to my hosts.
Once again we race down the roads back toward the bus terminal. We come into sight of it about 7 minutes past six and by the time we have turned around and parked, it is 6.10pm. There is no sign of the bus.
Asking at the ticket counter, where candles were burning because the electricity rationing had arrived here, we discover that the bus had left right on the dot of 6.00pm. This was extraordinary behaviour for a bus in this country. The lady explained that they were concerned for the bus that it would be stopped along the way or outside of Potosi because national transit strikes were organised to start at midnight until midnight the next day (today).
These blockades were placed all over the city and at every main city entrance, strangling public and private transport.
As we returned to the YWAM base once again, at a much more relaxing pace, both the taxi driver and I contemplated the situation. We decided that it was probably a much better thing that I had not caught the bus, since if there was a road blockade along the main route – something that the news is saying will happen – then the bus would have been stranded in the middle of the journey with nowhere to go for the entire 24hrs.
Furthermore was that Potosi experiences temperatures well below zero most of the time, and I have not got any warm clothes yet (about to go shopping shortly). This may have meant that the situation would have been even worse for me, if I had been trapped on that bus.
Instead, I have food and a bed and friends around me. One more day won’t cause too many problems with my schedule… I hope.
Chiquicamata Open Cut Mine
Our visit to the Chiquicamata mine, the worlds largest open cut mine, was a little confused. We arrived late for the tour according to the faithful guide book for travellers, The Lonely Planet. It was the latest book for this area of the world, but was published back in 2003. It was wrong.
The size difference between our everyday cars and the mining trucks is incredible.
Visiting the Las Lomas Community
I was planning on getting the 6pm bus out of Entre Rios to Tarija. It was already 5pm and the flooding had reduced enough to allow the buses to start travelling the route again so there was a good chance I would make it.
The road to Las Lomas.
Just before leaving however, Pepe wanted to show me around a little. He felt that it would be wrong if I had come to Entre Rios and not had the opportunity to venture into the country even a little bit. So we climbed aboard the Landrover and headed out to “Las Lomas” a small community not too far from Entre Rios.
A lady walks on, forcing us into the deeper mud this time.
Bus to Cochabamba
I have just arrived in Cochabamba after a 17hr bus trip that should have been 9hrs and it cost me (and everyone else) 100 Bolivianos instead of the normal season price of 30 Bs. Yowch.
Trapped on the mountain for 7 hours.
Not only that, but I left Santa Cruz to come here so that I would meet up with a man from the States who was here until tomorrow but when I get here I am advised that he is now back in the States. Left last night because they were going to cancel his flight if he didn’t leave when he did.
Food kiosks like this are located at every stop point along the way.
With a nasty bout of the flu and a lingering cough, I have had an injection to try and stem it and continue to carry medication around with me. Energy levels are almost zero, but I refuse to do nothing, although desire to take photos is also very low and I have taken hardly anything lately.
Travelling slowly up the mountain.
But I am here now, and about to go searching for this orphanage that I came here to visit.
A nearby stream provides a peaceful setting to wait for hours on the mountain.
We finally reach the blockage on the hill and have to wait another hour.
Passengers and drivers arguing with the gate keeper for the roadworks to let them through. It does not work.
A fern growing on top of a roadsign along the way.
Many earthmoving equipment were in use even as we passed them.
Passengers on the other side of the roadworks, also waiting many hours to pass.
Looking back on the road we have climbed towards Cochabamba.