Travel – Page 10

March 7, 2006

Time to Celebrate – Almost

Well, after so many weeks of fighting, running around, paying fees, and seeking solutions, I finally have the receipt to say that it is now all over. Of course, it is not completely over yet, but the worst of it certainly is. Now comes the wait. At the office they told us that it is normally 60 days, others have told us that it will take up to 3 months, while there is some hope that it will take less than 30 days as some other bikes have been returned within such a short time frame.

A receipt for all of my work
The end product of all of my hard work. A receipt in triplicate.

This receipt that provides me with the proof that I have finished all of the hard work is all I need to travel around on my bike. Of course I also need the authorization from Sergio to drive, but ironically his name does not appear on any of the documents at all.

One of the most amazing things that happened to us today was in the final processing of all the documents. We took everything to the registry office of Motor-vehicles but were told that we had filled out one of the forms wrongly. My heart sank as I thought about lining up for yet another half an hour wait once we had fixed the document again… something that would take yet another day or two. That was when both Sergio and I were surprised. The guy attending us told us that he had one of those forms and we could fill it out then and there.

stamp rack filled up
One of a number of stamp racks that sat on the desks for completing the paperwork.

This was absolutely incredible for this place. Most people would move us on for even a simple or small error, so to be given such an immediate and complete solution to our problem was fantastic. Well, fantastic for us. The half an hour that it took us to fill out and finish all of the forms then and there also added to the waiting time of everyone else present in the office, but most seemed not to be too upset about it all.

So with the help of this friendly attendant we completed our paperwork and received the all important receipt. When it is ready we then swap the receipt and the old paperwork for new number plates and new documentation. At that point the entire process is completed and the bike is officially Sergio’s. We are very close now.

To celebrate the completion of so much paperwork, I took off down to the riverside to enjoy the sunset. Just because I could. In the process I took a couple of photos, and one with my bike in it to prove that I was there.

bike by the bridge
My bike by the Corrientes-Resistencia intra-provincial bridge.

A lone fishing boat fights against the strong river current.

fishermen on the rocks
Fishermen try their luck from the rocks next to a beach.

Sunset behind the bridge.

Fishermen preparing their nets for the night.

the bridge to resistencia
Looking down the bridge as it travels over toward Resistencia.

March 7, 2006

The Paperwork Saga Continues

Starting early in the morning, Sergio and I raced into town intent on finishing all of the outstanding paperwork on my Siambretta motorscooter. We had prepared our paperwork the evening before and could see that we were now very close. So at around 8.30am in the morning we walked into the main government building armed with our paperwork.

Sergio armed with mate
Sergio getting into the car armed with yerba mate and thermos.

The Bad News
The first thing that was needed was to line up and pay two different taxes. The line only had about 8 people in it so it did not take long before we were at the counter. Here, the lady punched in numerous items on her keyboard and eventually presented us with two papers, one a bill for $3.50 and the other was for $7.00 pesos. We could not pay these here however, but had to go instead to the cashiers and line up to pay there.

It was a new employee working at the cashiers who served us. A superior officer with his thermos and yerba mate in hand, was standing behind guiding him. To pay the fee we passed over a $20 peso note after our bills were scanned, and the new man was instructed to key this amount into the computer system and then press enter.

At that point, the experienced officer leaned over and pointed out how the system had worked out the change owing and was now displaying this on the screen. "Look at that!" He exclaimed. "Isn’t that marvelous! It tells you exactly what you need to give them." And he shook his head with wonder at the incredible power of this technologically driven system.

a shop with a photocopier
Waiting in line in a shop to photocopy documents. Virtually every shop has a photocopier, probably a result of paperwork sagas.

Having obtained our last outstanding paper we went to the required desk where we needed to present them all. The lady received us and looked through our paperwork. She stopped on the way through, pointing out one of our photocopies. "This must be certified as a true copy." She said. We were told that there is no other way around it.

Solving the Problem
Deflated, we headed out of the building and straight to the office of our Escribana who can do these sorts of things. Unfortunately she was not there yet, and a call to her mobile phone revealed that she would be another half an hour. So we pulled out our mate and sat down on the side of the road to wait. While we waited, I taught Sergio some of the essentials about taking photos, knowing that he was soon going to receive his very first camera.

sergio waiting
Showing Sergio how to take surreptitious photos of people.

We watched the cars, bikes, motorbikes and horses and carts wander by as we enjoyed our yerba mate and chatted about all sorts of things. Before long a whole hour had passed by and there was still no sign of our Escribana. After calling her cell phone once again we discover that she was already in her office. Somehow she had arrived without us seeing her.

Our escribana could not sign the papers directly, as she was not at the level that allowed her to do that, and yet we needed these papers signed as soon as possible. So we asked her if it was possible to get them done immediately, and she kindly agreed.

Enjoying yerba mate while we wait for our Escribana.

We traveled in Sergio’s car to her normal place of work and then waited by the car while she went up to the office. She returned empty handed. There was nobody present that could sign the papers until midday. This was a great disappointment, and we explained our dilemma to her, asking if there was any other way of getting the papers signed. She agreed to visit some of her original employers who also may be able to help.

On visiting this new location, our Escribana returned with our papers signed and ready to hand over. We thanked her profusely (even though I will have to pay for that privilege anyway), dropped her back at her office, and returned to the main governmental office to finish our paperwork.

The main government office that we have visited countless times.

Returning Prepared
What we were about to do was finalize almost two weeks of waiting and paperwork. All of this paperwork and waiting was actually just to get one more paper for our primary objective of transferring the motorbike over to Sergio’s name. It has been a lot of work for one piece of paper.

Walking back into the building, the lines of waiting people stretched for almost half of the building length. We were now very familiar with all of the sections, desks, offices, lines, cashiers, and other places that had occupied our time during this whole process, and walked directly to the place we needed to be. There was no line here. Our paperwork was complete now, and we knew it. We handed it over to the lady at the desk and she carefully looked through it all once again. Yes, it was complete.

Are We Done Yet?
We were then handed another form to fill out. My heart sank, but then I realised that this form was something that we were to fill out here and now. Sergio filled in the form, signed it just as he had signed dozens of other forms before it, and handed it back to the lady. It was done. She accepted it.

kids on horse and cart
One of the horses and carts that passed us while we were waiting.

With this piece of paper we will then be able to continue the main process and hopefully finish today. We watched as she put all of our papers together on a pile of mounting paperwork, presumably containing dozens of similar papers. She then reached into her folder and pulled out a small strip of paper, tore it in half and handed us one part. "Come back on Friday," she tells us.

Once again the paperwork saga drags on. Perhaps on Friday I will be able to get that paper, or perhaps there are more steps yet. Each list that we are given only gives us a little bit of information. Sometimes those steps listed can take a long time to achieve and hide within themselves dozens upon dozens of other steps. So far what I have learned about doing things here in Argentina is that you must have patience. Lots of patience.

And time. Lots of time.

March 5, 2006February 15, 2017

I never left Saenz Peña, But Maybe Tomorrow

Today was the day. I had all my parts together now. They only needed to be assembled I would be on my way. Perhaps even by midday. It was good to know that things were now going well. I checked out of my hotel and wandered down to Pipa’s workshop with the parts and proudly placed them on the bench.

pipas workshop
Arriving at Pipa’s Workshop first thing in the morning.

Andre, the guy that works the lathe, looked over them and frowned. The parts that I had were not enough. They would not work. A crank pin, the pivotal point of the engine (literally), needed to be exact but the one I had was too short. This would cause some serious problems later. So Andre grabs the bits and takes off down to the parts store on the corner in search of one that could work.

Andre frowning at my parts
Andre looking over the parts I had layed before him.

The crank pin that he comes back with is considerably larger than needed, but is the only likely candidate. Made of hardened steel, when he puts it on the lathe it takes hours of work to get it down to size. The most important thing is that he does not make it too small or else the bike will self-destruct within a short period of time.

the crank pins and crank arm
(L) Pin supplied by me. (M) Pin being fabricated. (R) Original old pin.

I wait and watch the process for two hours, but other work is also pressing and am told to return at 4pm when it should all be done. The preparation of this pin is taking a long time, but I feel confident that it will be successful in the end. To bide my time while I am waiting, I stop by the thermal pool complex touted as the best in the country and discover that it is all presented in standard bathtubs.

green pool of algae
The algae green pool outside.

The large pool outside is unused and green with algae as a result, and inside the complex is similar to a hospital with private rooms holding the baths. The people there give me some information about the place and a handful of tourist information brochures for Chaco, the province that I am currently in.

me at the hairdressers
Trying to smile, aim the camera and do it all before the lady returns.

After a haircut at a local hairdressers, I grab my hotel room for the afternoon only, and seize the opportunity to catch up on missed sleep, then wake in time to visit Pipa’s at 4pm. When I get there the place is closed. Some whistling behind me alerts me to Andre sitting on the other side of the road, waiting for the shop to open. He was planning on working through the siesta, but upon his return from an early lunch the shop was shut tight leaving him stranded outside.

Andre working the pin
Andre working the crank pin to a highly exact size.

Starting with the crank pin yet again, Andre works it on the lathe, bringing it closer and closer to the size it needs to be. There are no guides to help him, it is just trial and error. Cutting into it a little more and then checking to make sure it is not too much. I wait once again. Watching the process and wondering, as the hours tick by, when it will be ready.

Finally he gets the pin right, but it is a little too long and needs cutting. A hacksaw seems to work, but takes another half an hour of effort to finally get through the hard steel. Next comes the assembly which also consumes considerable time.

Cutting the pin with a hacksaw.

As the hours roll around to 6pm I start to wonder if I will get the bike together today, but determine myself that I will. Going up to Victor’s workshop I advise him of my intentions to finish the bike today. When he informs me of some missing parts I make sure that I get them on my way back to Pipa’s.

Back at Pipa’s, the crank is done, and the cylinder has just been bored out 0.20″ and is looking great. I wait around for Andre to finish the replacement piston, cutting material off it until it fits neatly into the new cylinder size. With that completed, the entire job is done. I have everything I need.

turning the piston
Andre working on the piston for my engine.

Grabbing a cab and telling the guy I am in a rush I head back to Victor’s workshop to re-assemble the bike. My instructions to the cab driver have not seemed to got through. We are still moving along as if we were in a Driving Miss Daisy film, casually moving across the roads at a comfortable 30 kms/h. Rather than fight it, I decide to enjoy it, and sit back and watch the world go by (slowly). We will get there eventually anyway.

At Victor’s workshop I find Victor and his helper working on my bike. He has not got too far on it yet, so I hand him the new parts and give them a hand. We are working in a frenzy, trying to get everything done tonight. It does not work. Soon enough we come to a part that does not want to go together, leaving us stuck.

a parts shop
Getting a needed seal from a local bearing shop.

Rather than fight the issues then and there, it seemed wiser to call it quits now, starting in the morning again. Then I could bring my Siambretta book with all of the details of how things go together, to ensure we were doing it right.

That meant however, that I would be staying another night, and my hotel was fully booked so I did not have a room there. Instead, I looked for a hotel closer to Victor’s. The only one I found that had rooms left was the International Hotel, which was a bit of a hovel. It had no single rooms left, and the double I paid for cost more than my room at the Presidente Hotel and was much less of a room. Very disappointing.

posters on Pipa's walls
Posters of Pipa’s winning streak in Racing on his workshop walls.

I never left Saenz PeÃ±a, but maybe tomorrow.

March 5, 2006

She Broke Down Again

It was a perfect day yesterday with beautiful blue skies. I was cruising along the main highway towards home with Jorge, the leader of the YWAM base in Puerto Madryn, on the back of my bike when suddenly there was no more power left. By the time we pulled to a slow stop along the edge of the route, we had almost reached the turnoff to my suburb. But the motor had stopped and there was no way I was going to be able to start it again.

The bike in which I am putting so much confidence.

So putting Jorge on the bike as my guest, I pushed the now dead bike with him steering it, all the way back home. Running. Barefoot because my flip-flops would not stay on my feet. Through the patches of mud that had not yet dried up. Through the broken glass scattered across the street. Past the rougher part of our area. Over the slight rise and back down the other side. Block by block, pushing, pushing, pushing.

We arrived in silence with no motor to announce our presence. The engine was dead, without any compression to give it life. One of the gaskets that seal the joints had broken and left me stranded. So on Monday it is back to old Mr Verdun for repair. How do I get it there? Oscar, one of my friends with a newer motorbike will be pulling me along with a rope.

Until then, with blue skies and two days off, I am stranded without transport. There are only two weeks left now before I leave for Salta on this bike. That is a 10 hour journey. But as Oscar said to me, it is better that all of the problems occur now than in the middle of the desert near to nothing while I am traveling along on my large journeys. I have to agree.

March 4, 2006

Football Match in Entre Rios

It is Sunday today, and upon my arrival in the bus, I search out Guido, a good friend from the mission. He is down at the church, where the service has just finished, and I find him farewelling his parishoners. After greeting and catching up a little on where life has taken us since we last met, we both head off down the road chatting. I did not know where we were going, but after a couple of blocks we reach the main town field where everybody is gathering.

Guido
My friend Guido just before the match starts.

Guido tells me that there is about to be an official match here. A competition between his team, the Taxistas (taxi drivers) and the Constructores (builders). All locals to the town and although friends off the field I am soon to find out that they are the greatest of rivals during the game.

Baldy
The guy known only as “Baldy.”

It takes longer for the game to start than expected. The Constructores understood that the game started several hours later and had to be searched out from their houses where they were enjoying lunch. So from the start there was disputes. Once this issue was settled, the game began, and over half of the town was there to watch it.

man watching game
All present watched the game intently, giving their ideas of how it should have been done.

Mostly it was men that watched the game, sitting or standing along the sidelines of the field watching intently. Although the women were generally occupied in other work, some of the women selling their wares in the Sunday market would crane their necks to see the game through the spectators blocking their view.

Guaranies watching the game. Their hair is never cut so it is curled up under their hat and the material around their head stops the sweat from running down.

Continue reading “Football Match in Entre Rios”

March 3, 2006

Off to the Mechanic

Earlier this morning Oscar and I connected our bikes together with rope and he towed me along to my mechanic. It took only 15 seconds for my mechanic to work out the problem and he did not look very excited that it had happened.

Being towed along just near the point that my engine died yesterday.

Apparently it will be ready for me tonight. So in faith I will be climbing onto a bus for the 50 minute journey to town, with another 20 minute walk down to the workshop in the expectation that the bike will be ready for me when I get there.

riding back with Oscar
Riding back home on Oscar’s bike.

UPDATE: Well, I returned at 7.30pm and when I got there the bike was ready to go. Not only had old Mr Verdun replaced the head gasket that was broken, but he also fixed up the oil leak for me too. So I am back on the road again with my head-turning super-medium-fast almost-antique motorscooter once again. And it is good.

The blown head gasket that caused all of my woes.

March 2, 2006

Plumbing in Entre Rios

When I got to the mission here in Entre Rios, I was first shown to my room and then shown how to use the shower. It was not that the shower was hard to understand at all, just that there was no water in the shower. To get water for the shower I needed to go outside and turn on the mains tap.

chipping away concrete
Making a path through the concrete for the pipe.

After inquiring about why the situation was like this, I was told that there is a great amount of water being lost underground through the pipes. This could be seen clearly by the amount of water pouring out of the ground and pipes at the lower part of the building on the downhill side.

Rather than live with things as they were, I offered to help out with the re-plumbing of the place. I told them that I was a qualified plumber by virtue of one of my good friends being a plumber (just as I am a qualified electrician because my cousin is an electrician – runs in the family you see). Also having re-plumbed my house also helped.

The original tap that needed to be opened to take a shower.

All of the materials were present, and a small portion of the pipes had already been joined, although were not in place. With a bit of planning and work, and help from Guido, we had almost the whole place plumbed within two days. After this, there were only a couple of extra things to do, such as running water to another small bathroom that is hardly used and fixing the kitchen tap.

During the last few days there has been a leadership teaching running all day which has limited what I have been able to do. There are a couple of leaks still to be corrected, and some burst pipes that I have managed to fix too, including one that filled the storage room within seconds. Putting in some taps here and there to be able to cut off the water to different sections and fixing the leaking taps and toilets are also on the list.

toilet with burst pipe
The pipe on this toilet burst, filling the dining room with water.

dining room floor
The dining room filled with water.

Even now the place is tremendously better than it was before. One of the ladies came up to me and thanked me tremendously for what we had just done with the plumbing. She told me that the plumbing had been in disrepair for a whole year. They had been getting so desperate that they were considering paying a plumber to fix the problem – something that was far beyond the meagre budget of this small mission.

finished product
The pipes in place and finished (the old tap no longer works).

When things like this happen and I am able to help out, I often consider it as though God had placed me in this place for that very reason. Perhaps not, but in any case I have been able to help these people in a very practical way.

burst pipe
The pipe that burst, filling the storage room within moments.

March 2, 2006

Return to Entre Rios

It has been a long time since I was last here. August 2004 during the practical part of my YWAM Discipleship course I came here to Entre Rios, a small town in the middle of a long winding journey between two cities of Bolivia. That was with a team of people, and we helped the local mission in any way we could. This included evangelism, working with the church, children, and visiting distant churches and people living in the mountains, walking over 12 hours at times to reach them. I have come in response to a promise I made to return, and because I believe that God has called me to return during this time.

A man in typical Bolivian dress sits outside the town hotel.

Frozen In Time
Today is my second day here. The town appears to have been frozen still in time. Everything is still the same. The old guy with a missing leg still sits outside his home serving cold drinks to people passing by. The roads and houses even down to the signs and writing are all just as I remember them from last time. In the mission are all the same faces, and the building has not altered in any way. Even the motorbike lying against the wall remains there, unfixed.

the plaza
The recently finished town plaza.

There have been a couple of changes though. The plaza, still under repair when I was here, is now fixed and looking pretty. There are a couple of American girls working here, the first foreign faces that I have seen here outside of the mission. And the most significant change is that there is now Internet. It is slow, cuts in and out, and can be frustrating at times, but it exists.

Fruit and vegetables for sale direct from the farmer.

Somehow I feel right at home here. A slow pace of life, everybody knowing each other, limited selections of goods, limited communications, fresh air, beautiful mountains, and a relaxed atmosphere are all part of life here. I love dropping into a local restaurant and ordering from the selection of chicken leg or chicken wing for something to eat. I love seeing the same people over and over. Watching the paranoid man peek out of his old door and slam it again as I walk past. Watching the ladies in their Bolivian dress prepare their goods to sell. It feels like home. But it isn’t.

pig in arms of boy
A boy holds his pig, recently untied from the roof of the bus he was travelling in.

young girl in doorway
A young girl playing in the doorway of her home.

horse pulling bull
Towing an unwilling bull through town.

A side street leading down to the main route to Tarija.

main street
One of the busiest streets in the entire town.

Local bus
This old bus carries people out to the outlying settlements and towns in the mountains.

March 1, 2006

The Journey To Entre Rios

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.

bus station at Tarija
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.

break down
The men under the bus working on fixing it.

waiting for broken bus
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.

sick boy
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.

road following creeks
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.

local house
Most houses here are build with mud bricks.

subsistence farm
Many of the houses farm sufficient crops for themselves and only sometimes do they try to make a tiny amount of extra money.

sheep in yard
The house yard is used as an animal pen as well as for the family and children.

continuing curves
The road continues to wind without end.

Passing children
Children travelling along the road squeeze between the bus and the cliff edge.

more winding road
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.

March 1, 2006

Arriving in Tarija, Bolivia

Well, I have just stepped off the bus from Bermejo at the Bolivian border with Argentina. The bus ride took about four hours and involved a range of obstacle courses. I managed to sleep for some of the journey, making up for the lost sleep on the Argentine section of the trip where I only managed 3 hours sleep.

Crossing the border bridge during early morning.

Going through customs was a standard procedure, after waking the Bolivian officers from their slumber, but unfortunately I missed a bus that was heading for Tarija because of it. Instead I needed to catch a taxi to the bus terminal and board one of the buses heading there at a later time.

Waiting for a bus to be ready
On arrival at the terminal, a lady grabs my bag and races off with it, while another grabs me by the arm and says, "hurry, the bus is already set to leave but we are holding it for you." The bus was not set to leave at all. The driver was sitting in his seat for show. It was 6.30am when I purchased that ticket thinking that I was leaving straight away. In fact, I was one of the very first that had purchased a ticket.

Ticket sellers soliciting people even before they get out of the car.

The ladies assured me that they were leaving at 7.00am now, which was only a short time later. But as the minutes ticked onward this seemed less likely. Every taxi that arrived received the same treatment of a swarm of ladies all trying to sell tickets on their bus. I guess I had become accustomed to the politeness of Argentina, and forgotten about the randomness that happens here in Bolivia.

As more and more people purchased tickets for the bus, there became more people hanging around waiting for it to leave. The driver had long since gotten out and gone somewhere else. Not a soul was seated on the bus. Soon the sign saying 7.00am was changed for one that said 7.30am. This was Bolivia. Schedules here are very flexible.

Waiting for the bus
People waiting around for the bus to leave.

Eventually I realised that the delay had nothing to do with time, but revolved around how many passengers they had for the journey. Once there were enough passengers then we would be leaving. I started to relax, wandering over to a newly established breakfast stall. The lady had some Aji brewing (red thick liquid with a funky taste) and made torta-fritas to order (deep fried pastry/bread), all for $1 peso AR.

After enjoying breakfast and wandering lazily around the terminal, I noticed that people had started to climb aboard the bus. More interestingly was that the driver was now back in his seat again. I wandered over to climb aboard and was confronted with a young girl demanding another $2 pesos BOL which she called a boarding fee. It turned out to be a tax imposed by the terminal on all passengers.

The winding road that we travelled along.

The Winding Journey
We finally left a little after 8.00am. There had been a lot of rain recently, causing the roads to be cut by falling rocks and mud slides everywhere. It had all been cleared enough to make room for traffic again but the rain had started again last night.

Our road wound its way along the edge of the River Bermejo, coming dangerously close to the edges at times. We passed a truck that had tipped onto its side when its wheels sunk into the soft mud on the edges of the road, and a car that had been written off in an accident along a straight section of road. Most of the journey was not always as entertaining.

Smashed car being retrieved.

One time, I was woken from my sleep when the bus stopped and shut off its engine. Ahead of us was another bus and a small truck. The road was cut and there was no way through, but an earthmover was working on the problem. Within moments of getting off the bus there comes a shout and everyone runs toward the bus. It has been declared passable, so we are going to try.

The bus races forward at an ever increasing rate as our gung-ho driver tries to gain the momentum he needs to carry him over the slippery mud section. In negotiating his way, he neglects to allow for the drift that this mud causes. Suddenly our bus lurches wildly toward the cliff edge. Everybody aboard instantly leans back toward the road, hoping that we survive this moment. We do.

The land slip that stopped our bus.

As we pass the earthmover driver, safely back on the road surface again, I see him shake his head. He too looked just as worried as we all had been. Our journey continues, through tunnels, up mountains, into the clouds, and back down into river valleys again. The muddy waters of the swollen Bermejo river raging wildly against its edges below us in its gorge.

Occassionally our bus blares its horn and brakes wildly, with a sharp swerve here and there. It is animals roaming on the roads. Pigs, cattle, donkeys, goats, or dogs. All get in the way, and our bus driver does not like to slow down very much. The rain falls consistently until we reach Tarija, and then mercifully stops.

Climbing into clouds
Our journey takes us up the mountains and into the clouds.