Tuesday, July 27, 2010
quick update
We've started our PSE experience in sweaty hot Phnom Penh, all is cool here in Cambodia. No worries!
July 5th: Horse lovers are stable people, right?
Horsing around
Yesterday, on a whim, Blandine splurted out that she'd really love to go horseback riding in the surrounding Valley of Death, so in true adventurers spirit we booked ourselves a little tour for this morning. We wake up early and hurry along the main street to make it in time to the travel agency for our 9:30AM rendez-vous. Chileans don't seem to like to wake up too early, except for the ever-permanent stray dogs the town is completely deserted. By 9:45AM the agency itself is still locked up and we abandon our waiting. We place a note on the door and go hunt ourselves some breakfast, not an easy task. The friendliest of Chileans serves us a nice cup of instant coffee and even makes us some take-out sandwiches. At 10:15, we head back to the agency, worried that we've been scammed. The office is just being opened. We explain our situation and hear that there was this incredible mix-up, where one cowboy picked up the guests of the other one, and the second cowboy didn't realise, bla bla bla....we've heard it all before. We ask for our money back because starting the tour now means we won't make it back in time for the afternoon tour of the surroundings we booked as well. With unexpected cash burning in our pockets we gallup over to the nearest internet cafe, to see what has happened to our email inboxes since we left on the Salar tour.
Proper touring, proper dining
The afternoon tour to Valle de la Muerte (this IS the world's dryest place after all) and Valle de la Luna are nothing short of spectaculat. Rinkydink buses are nowhere to be seen, we do this in a proper, airconditioned tourbus, with a tourguide who is actually very knowledgeable and takes time to explain everything properly. OK, Bolivia had some of that (Salar tour, downhill adventure, etc.), but every part of my body tells me this is much closer to the European tour experience we had in our minds before we left. OK, we pay more more European-like prices for this service, but I guess you can't have your cake and eat it too. When we arrive back in town, we book ourselves a horseback tour with another company, and pray to the horse-god that we can saddle up tomorrow morning. It'll be our last day in S.P. de Atacama, so there will be no other choice to do this.
In the evening we walk around town to find a reasonably priced dining experience and settle for a place just off the main drag. An open fire is burning in the inner courtyard, a common set-up for this town, but Blandine is feeling a bit cold so we sit inside and the friendly staff makes us a romantic open fire in the fire place next to our table instead. We decide on a local meat fondue with cañar, some type of local nut that tastes like caramel. A nice bottle of white Chilean wine come with the fondue, to seal the deal. We're on top of the world, baby.
Yesterday, on a whim, Blandine splurted out that she'd really love to go horseback riding in the surrounding Valley of Death, so in true adventurers spirit we booked ourselves a little tour for this morning. We wake up early and hurry along the main street to make it in time to the travel agency for our 9:30AM rendez-vous. Chileans don't seem to like to wake up too early, except for the ever-permanent stray dogs the town is completely deserted. By 9:45AM the agency itself is still locked up and we abandon our waiting. We place a note on the door and go hunt ourselves some breakfast, not an easy task. The friendliest of Chileans serves us a nice cup of instant coffee and even makes us some take-out sandwiches. At 10:15, we head back to the agency, worried that we've been scammed. The office is just being opened. We explain our situation and hear that there was this incredible mix-up, where one cowboy picked up the guests of the other one, and the second cowboy didn't realise, bla bla bla....we've heard it all before. We ask for our money back because starting the tour now means we won't make it back in time for the afternoon tour of the surroundings we booked as well. With unexpected cash burning in our pockets we gallup over to the nearest internet cafe, to see what has happened to our email inboxes since we left on the Salar tour.
Proper touring, proper dining
The afternoon tour to Valle de la Muerte (this IS the world's dryest place after all) and Valle de la Luna are nothing short of spectaculat. Rinkydink buses are nowhere to be seen, we do this in a proper, airconditioned tourbus, with a tourguide who is actually very knowledgeable and takes time to explain everything properly. OK, Bolivia had some of that (Salar tour, downhill adventure, etc.), but every part of my body tells me this is much closer to the European tour experience we had in our minds before we left. OK, we pay more more European-like prices for this service, but I guess you can't have your cake and eat it too. When we arrive back in town, we book ourselves a horseback tour with another company, and pray to the horse-god that we can saddle up tomorrow morning. It'll be our last day in S.P. de Atacama, so there will be no other choice to do this.
In the evening we walk around town to find a reasonably priced dining experience and settle for a place just off the main drag. An open fire is burning in the inner courtyard, a common set-up for this town, but Blandine is feeling a bit cold so we sit inside and the friendly staff makes us a romantic open fire in the fire place next to our table instead. We decide on a local meat fondue with cañar, some type of local nut that tastes like caramel. A nice bottle of white Chilean wine come with the fondue, to seal the deal. We're on top of the world, baby.
Monday, July 26, 2010
July 4th: Salar Day 3 + 1st day in Chile!
Wake up little snoozy, wake up
Ok, it was freezing cold in our dorm room, but I slept relatively good, thanks to the warm water bottle. Dale was not lying about his middle-aged man's bladder problems: throughout the night I heard him wake up and make his way to the bathrooms at the other end of the building in his pajamas 1...2...3...4 times. We wake up at 4AM, as planned, because we have a packed schedule and must make it to the Chilean border by 11AM, or miss our transfer to San Pedro de Atacama.
A steamy encounter
We have no breakfast until later, we must hurry to see the geysers before the day starts, they spout higher druing the night, when it's colder. Yes, even COLDER than it is right now. The car climbs for 25 minutes, then as the darkness of the night starts wearing off we stop next to our first fountain of gas. We're near 5000 metres and it's only -10C according to Christian, who says it can go over -20C at times. Most of us are too sleepy and cold to get out of the warm jeep, but I do it anyway. The geyser we're next to spouts continually and halding your hand in it is nice and warm. I take a runnng start and jump through it, the hot steam momentariliy crawling through all layers of my clothing. The smell is another story: The lava that powers geysers is so unversally stinky that people with sensitive noses in Pompei must have died before the lava got the better of them.
Thermal bathing at 4000 metres
After a few more camera snaps we jump back in the car and we start making our way down to the "Laguna Verde", where we'll have breakfast. Before that, the real adventurers amongst us (read: crazy carps) will have a chance to bathe in the heated pools just outside, while watching the sun come up. We arrive at the site first, but while I consider giving in to Blandine's urging me to get into the pool (It is a once-a-lifetime opportunity, Jan!), Felipe and Hannah have already plunged in and are enjoying themselves. They're both WAY under 30 and really skinny, so no big deal for them. I on the other hand am toying with the idea whether to show off my more mature, marble-coloured love handles to the onslaught of jeeps that is now pulling up to the breakfast site. English girls with rasta hair and colourful bathing suits jump in, as well as slender Japanese bodies in equally slender and plain swim wear, not to speak of big bearded middle-aged men with curly, bushy chest hair. The place is swamped before I my thoughts have time to crystallize. Nothing to prove here anymore, so I walk off.
Through the steamy fumes coming off the hot river-water downstream I spot a flock of birds walking on the iced-over river. The sun is trying to get over the mountain range in the distance, providing for one of the most spectacular sunrises I've ever witnessed in my life. Time to pull out my camera!
When I come back I see the cold mountain wind having heaps of fun cooling warmed-up bodies rising out of the hot water. The enjoyment of suspending your body in hot water after two days of cold water and freezing nights is short-lived, the frowns and shivers on the bathers who try to dry themselves in record time doesn't lie. Pictures of these shrivelled up bodyparts wols provide excellent blackmail material, if only I knew anybody left in the water. Disappointed, I make my way up to the restaurant, where a huge homemade fruit cake awaits me. Wilma's really outdone herself, and I see the envious eyes of all the other tourists on the tables around us lure at it. So I cut myself a huge slice and eat it ostentatiously, commenting on its supreme taste. Hannah comments how hot it is inside this room, she's all warmed upnow that she's come out of the water. Felipe tells in his best Brazilian-Spanish about the pool experience, his eyes glisten. Blanca smiles and listens, Dale is too tired to chat and concentrates on his tea instead. It's the last meal we'll have together.
Feeling Chili
After breakfast we drive up to the Chilean border, a cold, barren mountain-top in the middle of nowhere. We say goodbye to everybody but Dale, as he is traveling to Chile as well. Felipe gives us his email address and invites us over to Brazil any time we want. That's really sweet. We walk in to the customs office, the cold wind sneering around our ears. The Bolivian customs officer tells me that he's out here for a month, and tells us we're a 24-hour bus ride away from La Paz, where he lives. Poor guy.
Within 15 minutes the bus we have tickets on shows up, and we make our way down to San Pedro de Atacama, at 2400 metres above sea level. The 40-minute trip from the border crossing to the customs office in San Pedro de Atacama is comfortable, it's asphalted road and - just like our stress levels - going seriously downhill. Dale sits a few seats ahead of us and has found a new audience: a Dutch-English couple are amused by his introduction and stories. I eavsdrop a bit because I have nothing else to do: They're the same stories he's told us over the last few days. I look at Blandine and grin. She apparently heard him tal as well and mutters under her breath: "No more contact with Dale!" I know, I know. He's a nice guy, but neither of us have a need to hear more about his blatter. I concentrate on the amazing landscape instead.
San Perro de Cacatama
This cute little village is like a cute version of a frontier town. The main street has a big saloon-like feel to it, though the sand-blown streets are filled with wild dogs rather than wild horses. Dog turds are scattered around, waiting for shape themselves after an innocuous tourist shoesole. Not mine, I keep my eyes locked to the street as much as possible. Any moment I expect a guy to jump out of one of the bars, guns out of his holster, challenging me to an OK Corral reprise. But the sun is climbing and even the dogs don't flinch when two Europeans carrying huge backpacks walk by. There must be more dogs than people in this place. Blandine whistles at all dogs, but when they finally come over, she shoes them off, scared to get a disease. Women!
We finally decide on a hostel on the outskirts of town, still in shock at the huge price hike on accomodation. The hostel room costs easily 3 times what we paid for a hostel room in Bolivia. Is it because we're in the middle of the desert and everything must be imported? Who knows. Until now we've been good and stayed under budget, but Chile may just smoke our good spending intentions. You can tell we've arrived in Chile, down to the smallest details. The toilets have toilet paper, the bathrooms have heavenly hot water. We decide to rest a bit, the early morning wake-up has knocked the wind out of our sails.
SPACE, the final frontier...for comedy!
When we wake up it's 4PM, time to explore our new surroundngs a bit more. Within an hour we have eaten a 3-course meal (the best option is to go for the daily menu, in this case 5000 pesos per person) and booked ourselves on the SPACE tour (San Pedro de Atacama Celestial Explorations).
The fancy SPACE tour bus takes us outside town, to what seems like a provate residence. We are greeted by an English woman, who introduces us to her French husband. He's an astronomer in the truest sense of the word, very knowledgeable about space. Okay, I must take that back, because he also has a good sense of humour. He takes us outside and with the help of a laser pointer that seems to go all the way to the stars that he wants us to focus on, he makes us explore the celestial sky of the southern hemisphere. The tour is a success, though Blandine gets rather cold and we decide to make it back inside the house for a welcome cup of hot chocolate. At the end of the tour, the astrologer opens the floor for questions. A girl frm the audience asks: "So, erhm, how can we best prepare for the impact of a metronome?". The host graciously states Ah, you must mean a meteorite", then launches into a 15 inute explanation, before the audience has a chance to explode into laughter. It's the most humourous mistake I've heard all day, it even tops the girl I overheard this afternoon, saying You know like, my mom is a bit clueless, you know. She just wished me a good time in the desert of Anaconda....Mothers, I tell you!
Ok, it was freezing cold in our dorm room, but I slept relatively good, thanks to the warm water bottle. Dale was not lying about his middle-aged man's bladder problems: throughout the night I heard him wake up and make his way to the bathrooms at the other end of the building in his pajamas 1...2...3...4 times. We wake up at 4AM, as planned, because we have a packed schedule and must make it to the Chilean border by 11AM, or miss our transfer to San Pedro de Atacama.
A steamy encounter
We have no breakfast until later, we must hurry to see the geysers before the day starts, they spout higher druing the night, when it's colder. Yes, even COLDER than it is right now. The car climbs for 25 minutes, then as the darkness of the night starts wearing off we stop next to our first fountain of gas. We're near 5000 metres and it's only -10C according to Christian, who says it can go over -20C at times. Most of us are too sleepy and cold to get out of the warm jeep, but I do it anyway. The geyser we're next to spouts continually and halding your hand in it is nice and warm. I take a runnng start and jump through it, the hot steam momentariliy crawling through all layers of my clothing. The smell is another story: The lava that powers geysers is so unversally stinky that people with sensitive noses in Pompei must have died before the lava got the better of them.
Thermal bathing at 4000 metres
After a few more camera snaps we jump back in the car and we start making our way down to the "Laguna Verde", where we'll have breakfast. Before that, the real adventurers amongst us (read: crazy carps) will have a chance to bathe in the heated pools just outside, while watching the sun come up. We arrive at the site first, but while I consider giving in to Blandine's urging me to get into the pool (It is a once-a-lifetime opportunity, Jan!), Felipe and Hannah have already plunged in and are enjoying themselves. They're both WAY under 30 and really skinny, so no big deal for them. I on the other hand am toying with the idea whether to show off my more mature, marble-coloured love handles to the onslaught of jeeps that is now pulling up to the breakfast site. English girls with rasta hair and colourful bathing suits jump in, as well as slender Japanese bodies in equally slender and plain swim wear, not to speak of big bearded middle-aged men with curly, bushy chest hair. The place is swamped before I my thoughts have time to crystallize. Nothing to prove here anymore, so I walk off.
Through the steamy fumes coming off the hot river-water downstream I spot a flock of birds walking on the iced-over river. The sun is trying to get over the mountain range in the distance, providing for one of the most spectacular sunrises I've ever witnessed in my life. Time to pull out my camera!
When I come back I see the cold mountain wind having heaps of fun cooling warmed-up bodies rising out of the hot water. The enjoyment of suspending your body in hot water after two days of cold water and freezing nights is short-lived, the frowns and shivers on the bathers who try to dry themselves in record time doesn't lie. Pictures of these shrivelled up bodyparts wols provide excellent blackmail material, if only I knew anybody left in the water. Disappointed, I make my way up to the restaurant, where a huge homemade fruit cake awaits me. Wilma's really outdone herself, and I see the envious eyes of all the other tourists on the tables around us lure at it. So I cut myself a huge slice and eat it ostentatiously, commenting on its supreme taste. Hannah comments how hot it is inside this room, she's all warmed upnow that she's come out of the water. Felipe tells in his best Brazilian-Spanish about the pool experience, his eyes glisten. Blanca smiles and listens, Dale is too tired to chat and concentrates on his tea instead. It's the last meal we'll have together.
Feeling Chili
After breakfast we drive up to the Chilean border, a cold, barren mountain-top in the middle of nowhere. We say goodbye to everybody but Dale, as he is traveling to Chile as well. Felipe gives us his email address and invites us over to Brazil any time we want. That's really sweet. We walk in to the customs office, the cold wind sneering around our ears. The Bolivian customs officer tells me that he's out here for a month, and tells us we're a 24-hour bus ride away from La Paz, where he lives. Poor guy.
Within 15 minutes the bus we have tickets on shows up, and we make our way down to San Pedro de Atacama, at 2400 metres above sea level. The 40-minute trip from the border crossing to the customs office in San Pedro de Atacama is comfortable, it's asphalted road and - just like our stress levels - going seriously downhill. Dale sits a few seats ahead of us and has found a new audience: a Dutch-English couple are amused by his introduction and stories. I eavsdrop a bit because I have nothing else to do: They're the same stories he's told us over the last few days. I look at Blandine and grin. She apparently heard him tal as well and mutters under her breath: "No more contact with Dale!" I know, I know. He's a nice guy, but neither of us have a need to hear more about his blatter. I concentrate on the amazing landscape instead.
San Perro de Cacatama
This cute little village is like a cute version of a frontier town. The main street has a big saloon-like feel to it, though the sand-blown streets are filled with wild dogs rather than wild horses. Dog turds are scattered around, waiting for shape themselves after an innocuous tourist shoesole. Not mine, I keep my eyes locked to the street as much as possible. Any moment I expect a guy to jump out of one of the bars, guns out of his holster, challenging me to an OK Corral reprise. But the sun is climbing and even the dogs don't flinch when two Europeans carrying huge backpacks walk by. There must be more dogs than people in this place. Blandine whistles at all dogs, but when they finally come over, she shoes them off, scared to get a disease. Women!
We finally decide on a hostel on the outskirts of town, still in shock at the huge price hike on accomodation. The hostel room costs easily 3 times what we paid for a hostel room in Bolivia. Is it because we're in the middle of the desert and everything must be imported? Who knows. Until now we've been good and stayed under budget, but Chile may just smoke our good spending intentions. You can tell we've arrived in Chile, down to the smallest details. The toilets have toilet paper, the bathrooms have heavenly hot water. We decide to rest a bit, the early morning wake-up has knocked the wind out of our sails.
SPACE, the final frontier...for comedy!
When we wake up it's 4PM, time to explore our new surroundngs a bit more. Within an hour we have eaten a 3-course meal (the best option is to go for the daily menu, in this case 5000 pesos per person) and booked ourselves on the SPACE tour (San Pedro de Atacama Celestial Explorations).
The fancy SPACE tour bus takes us outside town, to what seems like a provate residence. We are greeted by an English woman, who introduces us to her French husband. He's an astronomer in the truest sense of the word, very knowledgeable about space. Okay, I must take that back, because he also has a good sense of humour. He takes us outside and with the help of a laser pointer that seems to go all the way to the stars that he wants us to focus on, he makes us explore the celestial sky of the southern hemisphere. The tour is a success, though Blandine gets rather cold and we decide to make it back inside the house for a welcome cup of hot chocolate. At the end of the tour, the astrologer opens the floor for questions. A girl frm the audience asks: "So, erhm, how can we best prepare for the impact of a metronome?". The host graciously states Ah, you must mean a meteorite", then launches into a 15 inute explanation, before the audience has a chance to explode into laughter. It's the most humourous mistake I've heard all day, it even tops the girl I overheard this afternoon, saying You know like, my mom is a bit clueless, you know. She just wished me a good time in the desert of Anaconda....Mothers, I tell you!
Friday, July 23, 2010
July 3rd: Salar Day 2
Sun = life
Human life revolves around the sun, something that is accentuated throughout our travels in Bolivia. And even more when traveling through desert-like plains at high altitude. Nights are freezing cold (yesterday lows were around -5), yet Bolivian don't complain about this, or the lack of heating in their houses. Days are relatively hot. All life wakes up when the sun decides, and when she retires, Bolivians do as well. Very different from the city life we lead in Europe.
The earliest of morning light peers through our curtainless bedroom windows and tickles my eyelids. Time to rise from our concrete beds and heat our hands around a mug of coca infusion, piping hot water poured over fresh coca leaves. We'll have coca tea for breafast lunch and dinner here, it's an integral part of life. I decide to live on the wild side and be different from the rest of the group: I'm having instant coffee with instant milk powder instead. And a thick stack of fresh pancakes that Wilma has cooked up for us.
Flippin' Dale
It's early, but Dale is in top shape already, piercing the day-break silence with enthusiastic Canadian blabber about his life, not sparing his audience any personal details. "Do you know I have bladder problems? I had to wake up several times this night to relieve myself. It wasn't too cold last night, was it? etc, etc." Yesterday morning Dale took the initiative to introduce himself and got conversations started, in the afternoon everybody knew most everything about his life, yesterday night the novelty had started wearing off. This morning, when I hear some of his stories for the second time around, I consider that his talking is a disease, he NEEDS to tell everybody around him whatever comes up right away. Everything is still "amazing" and "exciting", silence is not an option. For the record, I'm not alone in thinking this, the others have stopped stopped asking him questions as well, but that doesn't stop him.
Volcanoes and lakes in all colours of the rainbow
By 8 we've got all our stuff on top of the jeep again, and are ready to start bumping around again. I intend to take a seat in the back and fold my legs behind my ears. Then Christian saves the day and says there's no way I'll fit, so I get to stay on the front bench, together with Dale and Blanca. Yes, baby, sometimes it pays to be really tall!
Today we'll stay above 4000 meters and drive South, roughly parallel with the Chilean border, on the other side of the cordillera to our right. The first stop is at the base of the Ollague volcanoe, then we'll see a variety of differently coloured lakes and have lunch (grilled chicken and local tubers). In the afternoon we pass by the "Arbol de Piedra" and finish at the "Laguna Colorada", right before the sun sets. We spend most of the day inside the car, listening to IPOD music as the landscapes change dramatically around us. Here and there we jump out of the jeep to take pictures in the sometimes blazingly cold wind, then huddle up inside the warm vehicle again while our trip through this geaography atlas continues. When he's not taking pictures from inside the vehicle, Dale keeps yapping away to nobody in particular, afraid to have more than 10 minutes of silence.
Last night a BJ (bottle job) saved my life
We arrive at our refuge for the night, and have a hot soup to warm us up. Dale has purchased a bottle of wine to celebrate our last together with the rest of the group. We'll be dropped of by the Chilean border tomorrow, the rest of the group will return to Uyuni. Local kids sing us songs while we eat "Pique a lo macho", a thick layer of french fries, mixed with beef, sausage/hot dogs, onions, hard-boiled egg and pretty much anything else you want, cooked in a gravy-like sauce. Loads of calories to keep us warm in the coldest night of the trip, it will be around -10 tonight.
The sleeping bags are put on top of our dorm-style single beds (a concrete bottom, with a mattress on top). I won't be able to warm up Blandine, the fleece blanket we bought in Sucre will come in very handy. As I brush my teeth, Christian pulls me in the kitchen: he's prepared hot-water bottles for all of us, he's our saviour!
Human life revolves around the sun, something that is accentuated throughout our travels in Bolivia. And even more when traveling through desert-like plains at high altitude. Nights are freezing cold (yesterday lows were around -5), yet Bolivian don't complain about this, or the lack of heating in their houses. Days are relatively hot. All life wakes up when the sun decides, and when she retires, Bolivians do as well. Very different from the city life we lead in Europe.
The earliest of morning light peers through our curtainless bedroom windows and tickles my eyelids. Time to rise from our concrete beds and heat our hands around a mug of coca infusion, piping hot water poured over fresh coca leaves. We'll have coca tea for breafast lunch and dinner here, it's an integral part of life. I decide to live on the wild side and be different from the rest of the group: I'm having instant coffee with instant milk powder instead. And a thick stack of fresh pancakes that Wilma has cooked up for us.
Flippin' Dale
It's early, but Dale is in top shape already, piercing the day-break silence with enthusiastic Canadian blabber about his life, not sparing his audience any personal details. "Do you know I have bladder problems? I had to wake up several times this night to relieve myself. It wasn't too cold last night, was it? etc, etc." Yesterday morning Dale took the initiative to introduce himself and got conversations started, in the afternoon everybody knew most everything about his life, yesterday night the novelty had started wearing off. This morning, when I hear some of his stories for the second time around, I consider that his talking is a disease, he NEEDS to tell everybody around him whatever comes up right away. Everything is still "amazing" and "exciting", silence is not an option. For the record, I'm not alone in thinking this, the others have stopped stopped asking him questions as well, but that doesn't stop him.
Volcanoes and lakes in all colours of the rainbow
By 8 we've got all our stuff on top of the jeep again, and are ready to start bumping around again. I intend to take a seat in the back and fold my legs behind my ears. Then Christian saves the day and says there's no way I'll fit, so I get to stay on the front bench, together with Dale and Blanca. Yes, baby, sometimes it pays to be really tall!
Today we'll stay above 4000 meters and drive South, roughly parallel with the Chilean border, on the other side of the cordillera to our right. The first stop is at the base of the Ollague volcanoe, then we'll see a variety of differently coloured lakes and have lunch (grilled chicken and local tubers). In the afternoon we pass by the "Arbol de Piedra" and finish at the "Laguna Colorada", right before the sun sets. We spend most of the day inside the car, listening to IPOD music as the landscapes change dramatically around us. Here and there we jump out of the jeep to take pictures in the sometimes blazingly cold wind, then huddle up inside the warm vehicle again while our trip through this geaography atlas continues. When he's not taking pictures from inside the vehicle, Dale keeps yapping away to nobody in particular, afraid to have more than 10 minutes of silence.
Last night a BJ (bottle job) saved my life
We arrive at our refuge for the night, and have a hot soup to warm us up. Dale has purchased a bottle of wine to celebrate our last together with the rest of the group. We'll be dropped of by the Chilean border tomorrow, the rest of the group will return to Uyuni. Local kids sing us songs while we eat "Pique a lo macho", a thick layer of french fries, mixed with beef, sausage/hot dogs, onions, hard-boiled egg and pretty much anything else you want, cooked in a gravy-like sauce. Loads of calories to keep us warm in the coldest night of the trip, it will be around -10 tonight.
The sleeping bags are put on top of our dorm-style single beds (a concrete bottom, with a mattress on top). I won't be able to warm up Blandine, the fleece blanket we bought in Sucre will come in very handy. As I brush my teeth, Christian pulls me in the kitchen: he's prepared hot-water bottles for all of us, he's our saviour!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
July 2nd: Salar - Day 1
Rocky Error Picture Show
As soon as I wake up I check the computer: the repair program still hasn't finished and I hear a click-click-click sound every 10 seconds or so. Major disappointment. I turn this miserable piece of machinery off and on again, now it cannot find the boot device (our hard disk). Our netbook = R.I.P. We'll need some serious praying to get this puppy fixed, but that's something we cannot worry about until we're finished with the salar tour that starts in an hour. That'll be 3 days from now, in Chile. I crawl back into the warm bed for another 15 minutes of sleep, the Uyuni sun has not gained enough force yet to warm up our room.
Happy trails
We've opted for the little less touristy Salar de Uyuni 3-day circuit with Oasis tours: we'll sleep in a different place the first night, then rejoin the classic tour in the afternoon of the second day again. This option costs a bit more, but will at least prevent us from driving in a jeep collonade for most of the tour. The agency comes highly reputed and at the time we booked it we were passengers "2' and "3" in the jeep. The saleswoman explained with a smile yesterday that usually couples book this tour, so we're likely going to be just 5 instead of a max of 6 tourists per vehicle. The prospect of having a chance at a bit more leg room sealed the deal for me. We're unfortunately not the only ones who make up their minds at the last minute. Meet our new insta-friends who share the jeep with us during our 3-day Salar tour:
1: Felipe, a happy coca-leaf-chewing student from around Sao Paolo, Brasil, on summer break.
2: Hannah: a young girl from Switzerland, who has worked 1 year as an assistant in a boarding school in Santa Cruz and is now spending her last days touring western Bolivia.
3: Dale, a chatty, 50-something Canadian arts teacher who likes to travel the world.
4: Blanca, a well-traveled Mexican woman, who speaks a bit of French.
5: Christian, our friendly local driver.
6: Wilma, his wife, and our cook throughout the tour.
Reflect on this, baby!
The Salar is a must-do tour, I could give somewhat of an impression about the variety of landscapes imprinted on my retina during this adventure, but pictures are about the only way to do this experience some kind of justice. We start off with a visit to a freight train graveyard. A series of first-generation trains have accepted their last assignment: fight against rusting away in the desert while dealing with hundreds of graffiti-hungry tourists who are seemingly oblivious to their fate. I take a few pictures and make it back to the jeep within 15 minutes, we've got loads more cool stuff to see.
Within an hour we stop for a quick visit to a few corny gift-and-trinket shops that border the salt plain, together with 15 other tourist jeeps. In true Bolivian style, all 20 stands sell exactly the same (knitted gloves, hats, necklaces, salt carvings, you get the picture). Christian pulls us into the back of one of the shops, where to my great surprise, I'm looked down upon by what must be the biggest lama ever built in salt. We hop back in the 4x4 to make it onto the salt plain before the 14 other jeeps. The car radio accepts Blandine's IPOD and on general request we play Manu Chao hits as the jeep bumps and grinds onto the salar. Wow, wow, WOOW! Within minutes our sunglasses reflect white salt as far as the eye can see, fringed only by a series of volcanic mountains. I take my shades off for a minute in a feeble attempt to orient myself a bit in this immense white sea of nothingness. Squint, squint...it's no use, the unforgiving sun forces my shades back onto my face.
Isla Inkahuasi, a large piece of rock, is the only earth warrior that resists the blinding white tyranny of the salt. Lunch is served here, on a table made of – you guessed it – salt, in front of - you can't guess this one - enormous cacti! We digest our delicious beef and vegetables during a self-imposed photo shoot with Godzilla (you HAVE to see our pictures), then crawl back into the salt shaker. The rear bench leaves little space to be confortable, I wonder how I'm going to squeeze into the back of this vehicle and live through hours of bumpy road. We'll find out about that tomorrow.
Just before sunset we arrive at San Juan a little village where we'll stay overnight. It will be the first of 2 freezing nights, though we're told that the house is built in adobe style, to preserve a maximum of heat. Before dinner we explore the town and have a few beers with the locals who are celebrating “San Pedro”, a major party. We dance in our thickest clothing, lama-woollen gloves and hats included. Felipe decides to join the locals again after dinner, until the wee-hours of the night, in what will turn out to be a huge free-for-all coca-leaf and drinks fest, but the rest of us fear the freezing night. Blandine and I build our layered nest and read a bit before we fall asleep.
As soon as I wake up I check the computer: the repair program still hasn't finished and I hear a click-click-click sound every 10 seconds or so. Major disappointment. I turn this miserable piece of machinery off and on again, now it cannot find the boot device (our hard disk). Our netbook = R.I.P. We'll need some serious praying to get this puppy fixed, but that's something we cannot worry about until we're finished with the salar tour that starts in an hour. That'll be 3 days from now, in Chile. I crawl back into the warm bed for another 15 minutes of sleep, the Uyuni sun has not gained enough force yet to warm up our room.
Happy trails
We've opted for the little less touristy Salar de Uyuni 3-day circuit with Oasis tours: we'll sleep in a different place the first night, then rejoin the classic tour in the afternoon of the second day again. This option costs a bit more, but will at least prevent us from driving in a jeep collonade for most of the tour. The agency comes highly reputed and at the time we booked it we were passengers "2' and "3" in the jeep. The saleswoman explained with a smile yesterday that usually couples book this tour, so we're likely going to be just 5 instead of a max of 6 tourists per vehicle. The prospect of having a chance at a bit more leg room sealed the deal for me. We're unfortunately not the only ones who make up their minds at the last minute. Meet our new insta-friends who share the jeep with us during our 3-day Salar tour:
1: Felipe, a happy coca-leaf-chewing student from around Sao Paolo, Brasil, on summer break.
2: Hannah: a young girl from Switzerland, who has worked 1 year as an assistant in a boarding school in Santa Cruz and is now spending her last days touring western Bolivia.
3: Dale, a chatty, 50-something Canadian arts teacher who likes to travel the world.
4: Blanca, a well-traveled Mexican woman, who speaks a bit of French.
5: Christian, our friendly local driver.
6: Wilma, his wife, and our cook throughout the tour.
Reflect on this, baby!
The Salar is a must-do tour, I could give somewhat of an impression about the variety of landscapes imprinted on my retina during this adventure, but pictures are about the only way to do this experience some kind of justice. We start off with a visit to a freight train graveyard. A series of first-generation trains have accepted their last assignment: fight against rusting away in the desert while dealing with hundreds of graffiti-hungry tourists who are seemingly oblivious to their fate. I take a few pictures and make it back to the jeep within 15 minutes, we've got loads more cool stuff to see.
Within an hour we stop for a quick visit to a few corny gift-and-trinket shops that border the salt plain, together with 15 other tourist jeeps. In true Bolivian style, all 20 stands sell exactly the same (knitted gloves, hats, necklaces, salt carvings, you get the picture). Christian pulls us into the back of one of the shops, where to my great surprise, I'm looked down upon by what must be the biggest lama ever built in salt. We hop back in the 4x4 to make it onto the salt plain before the 14 other jeeps. The car radio accepts Blandine's IPOD and on general request we play Manu Chao hits as the jeep bumps and grinds onto the salar. Wow, wow, WOOW! Within minutes our sunglasses reflect white salt as far as the eye can see, fringed only by a series of volcanic mountains. I take my shades off for a minute in a feeble attempt to orient myself a bit in this immense white sea of nothingness. Squint, squint...it's no use, the unforgiving sun forces my shades back onto my face.
Isla Inkahuasi, a large piece of rock, is the only earth warrior that resists the blinding white tyranny of the salt. Lunch is served here, on a table made of – you guessed it – salt, in front of - you can't guess this one - enormous cacti! We digest our delicious beef and vegetables during a self-imposed photo shoot with Godzilla (you HAVE to see our pictures), then crawl back into the salt shaker. The rear bench leaves little space to be confortable, I wonder how I'm going to squeeze into the back of this vehicle and live through hours of bumpy road. We'll find out about that tomorrow.
Just before sunset we arrive at San Juan a little village where we'll stay overnight. It will be the first of 2 freezing nights, though we're told that the house is built in adobe style, to preserve a maximum of heat. Before dinner we explore the town and have a few beers with the locals who are celebrating “San Pedro”, a major party. We dance in our thickest clothing, lama-woollen gloves and hats included. Felipe decides to join the locals again after dinner, until the wee-hours of the night, in what will turn out to be a huge free-for-all coca-leaf and drinks fest, but the rest of us fear the freezing night. Blandine and I build our layered nest and read a bit before we fall asleep.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Quelques heures imprevues a Auckland
Ce sont les risques et les joies souvent des voyages: les imprevus! A cause d'un retard sur le vol en provenance du Chili, nous avons rate notre correspondance vers le Vanuatu, alors nous voici "coinces" a Auckland, la capitale de la Nouvelle Zelande, pour 24 heures... nous essaierons d'en profiter, surtout que c'est une belle journee (d'hiver ici).
Afin de nous preparer aux beautes sous-marines du Vanuatu, nous avons opte pour la visite d'un aquarium. Quelle decouverte!
Ma "rencontre" avec les raies gigantesques - plus de 2,50m d'envergure, je n'exagere pas! - m'a laisse un fort souvenir. J'observais tranquillement le fond d'un bassin, quand soudain j'ai vu s'approcher cette enorme masse noire, qui se mouvait dans l'eau de maniere gracieuse, toute en modulation. Je me suis precipitee, vers la vitre du bassin d'ou j'ai clairement pu distinguer les yeux et la bouche de la raie, qui semblait me sourire (je plaisante pas!!).Waow, quel spectacle! En passant par le tunnel sous-marin, on pouvait encore mieux prendre conscience de leur taille... ainsi que de celle des quelques requins, avec qui les raies cohabitent. Il y avait aussi des bassins separes avec differents habitants du monde sous-marin. Mes preferes: les fragiles hippocampes, prisonniers d'un monde aquatique auquel rien ne semble les preparer.
Afin de nous preparer aux beautes sous-marines du Vanuatu, nous avons opte pour la visite d'un aquarium. Quelle decouverte!
Ma "rencontre" avec les raies gigantesques - plus de 2,50m d'envergure, je n'exagere pas! - m'a laisse un fort souvenir. J'observais tranquillement le fond d'un bassin, quand soudain j'ai vu s'approcher cette enorme masse noire, qui se mouvait dans l'eau de maniere gracieuse, toute en modulation. Je me suis precipitee, vers la vitre du bassin d'ou j'ai clairement pu distinguer les yeux et la bouche de la raie, qui semblait me sourire (je plaisante pas!!).Waow, quel spectacle! En passant par le tunnel sous-marin, on pouvait encore mieux prendre conscience de leur taille... ainsi que de celle des quelques requins, avec qui les raies cohabitent. Il y avait aussi des bassins separes avec differents habitants du monde sous-marin. Mes preferes: les fragiles hippocampes, prisonniers d'un monde aquatique auquel rien ne semble les preparer.
Escapade a Santiago
Peu de choses a dire sur la capitale chilienne ou nous n'avons passe qu'une journee, avant notre vol vers le Pacifique.
J'ai eu l'impression d'une ville “humaine” (malgre ses 10 millions d'habitants) car les maisons et immeubles sont assez bas (tremblements de terre frequents oblige), et les arbres nombreux le long des ruelles et des boulevards. En arriere plan, les sommets enneiges de la Cordilles des Andes sont omnipresents.
Facile de se deplacer en metro, tres propre par ailleurs. Marrant: des televiseurs diffusent des clips video pour faire passer l'attente. Beyonce et Lady Gaga: ca change de la musique d'ascenseur habituelle!
Notre petit tour dans le quartier boheme de Bellavista avec ses boutiques artisanales m'a aussi laisse une impression sympathique.
Notre duree de sejour etant limitee, nous avons opte pour la visite des caves de Concha y Torro, la domaine viticole le plus celebre du Chili qui concurrence les vins francais – hors de France bien entendu... euh, faudra peut-etre revoir ca, car les vins qui nous ont ete offer en degustation ne m'ont absolument pas convaincu; sans etre une experte, je peux dire que ce n'etait pas du vin de qualite!
La visite des caves n'avait rien d'exceptionnel sauf la petite histoire concernant les bouteilles labellisees “Casillero del diablo”, les plus cheres de la Maison.Le Fondateur a eu l'idee d'entreposer les precieuses bouteilles dans une artere de la cave qu'il a nomme “la maisonnette du diable” afin de dissuader les ouvriers, tres superstitieux, d'aller chipper une part du tresor... et ca a marche: la peur du diable, ca marche a tous les coups!!
J'ai eu l'impression d'une ville “humaine” (malgre ses 10 millions d'habitants) car les maisons et immeubles sont assez bas (tremblements de terre frequents oblige), et les arbres nombreux le long des ruelles et des boulevards. En arriere plan, les sommets enneiges de la Cordilles des Andes sont omnipresents.
Facile de se deplacer en metro, tres propre par ailleurs. Marrant: des televiseurs diffusent des clips video pour faire passer l'attente. Beyonce et Lady Gaga: ca change de la musique d'ascenseur habituelle!
Notre petit tour dans le quartier boheme de Bellavista avec ses boutiques artisanales m'a aussi laisse une impression sympathique.
Notre duree de sejour etant limitee, nous avons opte pour la visite des caves de Concha y Torro, la domaine viticole le plus celebre du Chili qui concurrence les vins francais – hors de France bien entendu... euh, faudra peut-etre revoir ca, car les vins qui nous ont ete offer en degustation ne m'ont absolument pas convaincu; sans etre une experte, je peux dire que ce n'etait pas du vin de qualite!
La visite des caves n'avait rien d'exceptionnel sauf la petite histoire concernant les bouteilles labellisees “Casillero del diablo”, les plus cheres de la Maison.Le Fondateur a eu l'idee d'entreposer les precieuses bouteilles dans une artere de la cave qu'il a nomme “la maisonnette du diable” afin de dissuader les ouvriers, tres superstitieux, d'aller chipper une part du tresor... et ca a marche: la peur du diable, ca marche a tous les coups!!
Vive les Belges!
Aujourd'hui c'est la fete nationale belge, alors une petite pensee speciale pour ma patrie d'adoption et celle de mon cheri! On nous a bien precise que le pays existait encore (merci Alfredo pour l'info), alors y a pas de risque a dire: vive la Belgique (unie et solidaire, je precise) ! et vive les Belges (surtout les grands de Koolstraat a Mechelen!)!!
Valparaiso, la ville arc-en-ciel
Quelle belle surprise que la ville de Valparaiso, toute en couleur, toute en hauteur et en contours... je m'y suis sentie bien des la premiere minute,comme si j'y etais dejas un peu chez moi. Tres pittoresque avec sa baie en demie-lune, classee au patrimoine de l'humanite. Des maisons verticales et etroites aux couleurs vives et variees sont baties sur lesdizaines de 'Cerros", ces collines qui entourent la baie, tel un amphitheatre romain, dont la scene est... la mer. Sous le ciel bleu azur, c'est comme un arc-en-ciel urbain: du bleu, du rouge, du jaune, du vert!
Nous avons pose nos bagages sur le Cerro Allegre, dans une petite auberge de routards dont nous etions les seuls clients: cette vielle maison au plancher qui craque et avec vue sur la baie depuis le salon commun pour nous tous seuls: le luxe!!
Valparaiso,c'est auss une galerie d'art contemporain geante. L'art urbain s'est infiltre partout, et comme piece maitresse: le graffiti! Je parle de graffiti artistique mis en valeur et protege (pas de mauvas tags et autre vandalisme de petits cons frustres). Pour les decouvrir au mieux, nous avons suivi le parcours du musee a ciel ouvert, qui nous a mene de ruelles en ruelles au gre des graffitis geants, qui jouxtent les maisons colorees, dans une belle harmonie. Un regal pour les photographes amateurs que nous sommes!
Nous avons visite la maison secondaire du poete chilien Pablo Neuda, baptisee la Sebastiana en hommage a son architete fou qui a concu cette batisse comme quatre cubes empiles de travers, perchee sur une colline d'ou l'on peut admirer toute la baie. On apprend un peu de la vie tumultueuse de l'artiste et de l'homme politique mais on apprecie surtout son gout prononce pour la decoration d'interieur et les collections en tout genre. Une des pieces invraisemblables dans cette maison, c'est la carte de l'Amerique Latine, datatnt du milieu du 17e siecle (en francais). J'ai pris quelques photos a la derobee, car interdit; histoire de lui piquer quelques idees de deco!
Plaisir des papilles aussi a Valparaiso, ou l'on a deguste d'excellents crustacees et fruits de mer, aux noms exotiques: loco, macha...Nous avons pousse la decouverte culinaire jusqu'au village de pecheurs de Concon (et non, ca ne s'invente pas) a 1h de bus de Valparaiso, ou l'on nous avait recommande l'excellent restaurant “la Gatita de Concon”. On n'aurait pas pu deviner que dans cette banale baraque de bord de mer se cachait un veritable tresor pour les estomacs des amoureux des produits de la mer. On s'est regale! Et rien que d'y repenser, j'en ai l'eau a la bouche!!
En plus, le lieu est le repere d'une armee de pelicans majestueux... et certains plutot enormes, car bien nourris par les restaurants avoisinants (pas bete, les betes!). La cote est aussi superbe, assez accidentee, avec des bouts de rochers plantes dans la mer. Ce jour la mer etait bien agitee, c'etait magnifique!
Entre Valparaiso et Concon se situe la station balneaire de Vina del Mar, une sorte de Palavas chilien, qui comme sa contrepartie francaise n'offre pas grand chose d'interessant: des boutiques, encore des boutiques, et biensur des plages, mais bordees de barres d'immeubles sans ame. Nous avons vite fait demi-tour... pour retrouver la belle Valparaiso.
Un vraie coup de coeur pour cette ville, que j'espere revoir un jour...
Nous avons pose nos bagages sur le Cerro Allegre, dans une petite auberge de routards dont nous etions les seuls clients: cette vielle maison au plancher qui craque et avec vue sur la baie depuis le salon commun pour nous tous seuls: le luxe!!
Valparaiso,c'est auss une galerie d'art contemporain geante. L'art urbain s'est infiltre partout, et comme piece maitresse: le graffiti! Je parle de graffiti artistique mis en valeur et protege (pas de mauvas tags et autre vandalisme de petits cons frustres). Pour les decouvrir au mieux, nous avons suivi le parcours du musee a ciel ouvert, qui nous a mene de ruelles en ruelles au gre des graffitis geants, qui jouxtent les maisons colorees, dans une belle harmonie. Un regal pour les photographes amateurs que nous sommes!
Nous avons visite la maison secondaire du poete chilien Pablo Neuda, baptisee la Sebastiana en hommage a son architete fou qui a concu cette batisse comme quatre cubes empiles de travers, perchee sur une colline d'ou l'on peut admirer toute la baie. On apprend un peu de la vie tumultueuse de l'artiste et de l'homme politique mais on apprecie surtout son gout prononce pour la decoration d'interieur et les collections en tout genre. Une des pieces invraisemblables dans cette maison, c'est la carte de l'Amerique Latine, datatnt du milieu du 17e siecle (en francais). J'ai pris quelques photos a la derobee, car interdit; histoire de lui piquer quelques idees de deco!
Plaisir des papilles aussi a Valparaiso, ou l'on a deguste d'excellents crustacees et fruits de mer, aux noms exotiques: loco, macha...Nous avons pousse la decouverte culinaire jusqu'au village de pecheurs de Concon (et non, ca ne s'invente pas) a 1h de bus de Valparaiso, ou l'on nous avait recommande l'excellent restaurant “la Gatita de Concon”. On n'aurait pas pu deviner que dans cette banale baraque de bord de mer se cachait un veritable tresor pour les estomacs des amoureux des produits de la mer. On s'est regale! Et rien que d'y repenser, j'en ai l'eau a la bouche!!
En plus, le lieu est le repere d'une armee de pelicans majestueux... et certains plutot enormes, car bien nourris par les restaurants avoisinants (pas bete, les betes!). La cote est aussi superbe, assez accidentee, avec des bouts de rochers plantes dans la mer. Ce jour la mer etait bien agitee, c'etait magnifique!
Entre Valparaiso et Concon se situe la station balneaire de Vina del Mar, une sorte de Palavas chilien, qui comme sa contrepartie francaise n'offre pas grand chose d'interessant: des boutiques, encore des boutiques, et biensur des plages, mais bordees de barres d'immeubles sans ame. Nous avons vite fait demi-tour... pour retrouver la belle Valparaiso.
Un vraie coup de coeur pour cette ville, que j'espere revoir un jour...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Le Chili et San Pedro de Atacama, pour commencer
Apres 3 semaines en Bolivie, c´est au tour du Chili de nous emerveiller... passé le choc de la différence de prix. (Aouch, ca fait mal: du simple au quadruple sans crier gare!). Les visages sont moins affectueux de ce cote de la frontiere; mais ca, c´est un effet reconnu du developpement economique, n´est-ce pas: plus on est riche, plus on tire la tronche!
Le Chili, faut voir ca sur la carte pour se rendre compte: 4300km de long sur 180km de large. Inutile de preciser donc que dans la grosse semaine que l´on passera dans ce pays, on ne verra pas grand chose... et a mon regret, ni la Patagonie et ni la Terre de Feu (Ushuaia) au Sud que je reve de voir un jour... ce sera pour un prochain voyage!
On arrive donc a San Pedro de Atacama, une grosse bourgade, a la frontiere bolivienne, qui est le point de depart des excursions dans la regionm geologiquement commune avec la Bolivie. Ici aussi on trouve des salars, des geysers, des volcans, des deserts... sauf que l´on est un peu moins haut, dans les 2500m... ca se sent dans le fond de l´air et ca fait enormement de bien!!!
On ne veut pas revoir les memes choses alors on table sur une excursions dans la vallée de la Mort et la vallée de la Lune, des sortes de canyons desertiques qui offrent des vallonnements "tres graphiques" (comme dirait mon frangin). Forcement, c´est bien nommé, on a vraiment l´impression d´etre sur la lune... d´ailleurs les americains sont venus ici tester les vehicules qu´ils ont emporte avec eux sur la lune! Notre guide est passionne par la geologie et des mouvements tectoniques: ils nous fait des tas de dessins dans la sable avec des fleches, et tout... Ce que j´en ai retenu, c´est que meme le dernier tremblement de terre dans la region de Concepcionm au Sud de Santiago, de magnitude de plus de 9 sur l´echelle de Richter, c´est peanuts! Les experts predisent que ca va peter fort dans le Nord du Chili, dans cette region superbe, et heureusement peu peuplee, car la plaque tectonique sur laquelle elle est installee n´apas bouge depuis un bail alors que les autres si.... du coup, ca commence a coincer... ca joue des coudes... bref, je suis soulagee que tout cela ne se soit pas produit en ma presence, meme si je le souhaite a personne de toute facon.
Apres avoir visite le site en minibus, on refera une partie a cheval. Superbe facon de profiter differement de ces magnifiques paysages (et de manger encore plus de poussiere), du haut de Trago (ca veut dire alcool!!), mon beau cheval blanc... mais un cheval qui adore copier ce que ces collegues chevaux font plutot que d´ecouter son maitre (euh... moi, en l´occurence!). Alors quand les deux Bresiliennes qui nous accompagnent en ballade decident de mener leurs chevaux au galop, eh bien, moi aussi, j´ai droit a mon petit tour de galop inattendu... finalement, c´est chouette, je me prend pour Calamity Jane... et la pire des calamites qui pourrait m´arriver, ce serait de tomber dans le sable, puisqu´il n´y a que de ca ici!!!
Apres 3h, je suis quand meme contente de retrouver la terre ferme... et de decouvrir de nouveaux muscles!!!
Nous avons passe une soiree le nez dans les etoiles, comme dirait Jacques, a l´observatoire astronomique du coin, dirige par un astronome francais, qui nous a regale de tas d´info... En fait, il a essaye de nous faire comprendre qu´il fallait cesser de se croire le centre de l´univers... oui d´accord, mais tous ses arguments font quand meme un peu peur: on n´est qu´une petite planete, gravitant autour d´une seule etoile (le soleil, pour ceux qui cherchent...), dans une seule galaxie (la voie lactee) alors que l´univers compte de chacune de ces choses la, des millions!!! brrr.... je prefere regarder les etoiles comme une fresque et ne pas penser a tout ca, les extra-terrestres et tout et tout... une fresque donc, sauf que fresque en mouvementm qui brouille les pistes... Par exemple, d´ici on ne pouvait pas bien discerner la Grande Ourse (la seule que je repere dasn la nuit europeenne), et on ne verra jamais l´etoile polaire. Par contre, il nous a appris a trouver la Croix du Sud et le Scorpion. Il nous a montre d´autres signes du zodiac tout en tapant sur le dos des astrologes, qui sont forcement des charlatans aux yeux des astronomes scientifiques. Ce court apprentissage etait bien sympatique meme si refrigerant, car les nuits restent fraiches meme ici.
Un mot sur San Pedro de Atacama, le village: Il nous a bien plu, avec ces maisons basses en adobe, ces ruelles de terre (aucun macadam) et sa petite eglise toute blanche, a l´Andalouse. C´est quand meme essentiellement un village de tourisme ou les agences d´excursions, restos et magasins de souvenirs s´enchainent. Un signe distinctif cependant: dans ce village, il doit y avoir plus de chiens que d´habitants; c´est juste hallucinant le nombre de toutous qui se balladent librement. Certains portent des colliers, des bandanas... et meme des cravattes... mais certains sont clairement a l´abandon. La nuit, on les entend jusque tard aboyer a la lune.... A nous deux on a donc rebaptise le village San Perro de Atacama - les hispanophones apprecieront le jeux de mot ;-)
De San Pedro, on prendra un transfert vers l´aeroport le plus proche a Calama pour rejoindre Santiago en 2h, et d´un coup de bus, atterir a Valparaíso, a 2h de route au Nord de la capitale.
Le Chili, faut voir ca sur la carte pour se rendre compte: 4300km de long sur 180km de large. Inutile de preciser donc que dans la grosse semaine que l´on passera dans ce pays, on ne verra pas grand chose... et a mon regret, ni la Patagonie et ni la Terre de Feu (Ushuaia) au Sud que je reve de voir un jour... ce sera pour un prochain voyage!
On arrive donc a San Pedro de Atacama, une grosse bourgade, a la frontiere bolivienne, qui est le point de depart des excursions dans la regionm geologiquement commune avec la Bolivie. Ici aussi on trouve des salars, des geysers, des volcans, des deserts... sauf que l´on est un peu moins haut, dans les 2500m... ca se sent dans le fond de l´air et ca fait enormement de bien!!!
On ne veut pas revoir les memes choses alors on table sur une excursions dans la vallée de la Mort et la vallée de la Lune, des sortes de canyons desertiques qui offrent des vallonnements "tres graphiques" (comme dirait mon frangin). Forcement, c´est bien nommé, on a vraiment l´impression d´etre sur la lune... d´ailleurs les americains sont venus ici tester les vehicules qu´ils ont emporte avec eux sur la lune! Notre guide est passionne par la geologie et des mouvements tectoniques: ils nous fait des tas de dessins dans la sable avec des fleches, et tout... Ce que j´en ai retenu, c´est que meme le dernier tremblement de terre dans la region de Concepcionm au Sud de Santiago, de magnitude de plus de 9 sur l´echelle de Richter, c´est peanuts! Les experts predisent que ca va peter fort dans le Nord du Chili, dans cette region superbe, et heureusement peu peuplee, car la plaque tectonique sur laquelle elle est installee n´apas bouge depuis un bail alors que les autres si.... du coup, ca commence a coincer... ca joue des coudes... bref, je suis soulagee que tout cela ne se soit pas produit en ma presence, meme si je le souhaite a personne de toute facon.
Apres avoir visite le site en minibus, on refera une partie a cheval. Superbe facon de profiter differement de ces magnifiques paysages (et de manger encore plus de poussiere), du haut de Trago (ca veut dire alcool!!), mon beau cheval blanc... mais un cheval qui adore copier ce que ces collegues chevaux font plutot que d´ecouter son maitre (euh... moi, en l´occurence!). Alors quand les deux Bresiliennes qui nous accompagnent en ballade decident de mener leurs chevaux au galop, eh bien, moi aussi, j´ai droit a mon petit tour de galop inattendu... finalement, c´est chouette, je me prend pour Calamity Jane... et la pire des calamites qui pourrait m´arriver, ce serait de tomber dans le sable, puisqu´il n´y a que de ca ici!!!
Apres 3h, je suis quand meme contente de retrouver la terre ferme... et de decouvrir de nouveaux muscles!!!
Nous avons passe une soiree le nez dans les etoiles, comme dirait Jacques, a l´observatoire astronomique du coin, dirige par un astronome francais, qui nous a regale de tas d´info... En fait, il a essaye de nous faire comprendre qu´il fallait cesser de se croire le centre de l´univers... oui d´accord, mais tous ses arguments font quand meme un peu peur: on n´est qu´une petite planete, gravitant autour d´une seule etoile (le soleil, pour ceux qui cherchent...), dans une seule galaxie (la voie lactee) alors que l´univers compte de chacune de ces choses la, des millions!!! brrr.... je prefere regarder les etoiles comme une fresque et ne pas penser a tout ca, les extra-terrestres et tout et tout... une fresque donc, sauf que fresque en mouvementm qui brouille les pistes... Par exemple, d´ici on ne pouvait pas bien discerner la Grande Ourse (la seule que je repere dasn la nuit europeenne), et on ne verra jamais l´etoile polaire. Par contre, il nous a appris a trouver la Croix du Sud et le Scorpion. Il nous a montre d´autres signes du zodiac tout en tapant sur le dos des astrologes, qui sont forcement des charlatans aux yeux des astronomes scientifiques. Ce court apprentissage etait bien sympatique meme si refrigerant, car les nuits restent fraiches meme ici.
Un mot sur San Pedro de Atacama, le village: Il nous a bien plu, avec ces maisons basses en adobe, ces ruelles de terre (aucun macadam) et sa petite eglise toute blanche, a l´Andalouse. C´est quand meme essentiellement un village de tourisme ou les agences d´excursions, restos et magasins de souvenirs s´enchainent. Un signe distinctif cependant: dans ce village, il doit y avoir plus de chiens que d´habitants; c´est juste hallucinant le nombre de toutous qui se balladent librement. Certains portent des colliers, des bandanas... et meme des cravattes... mais certains sont clairement a l´abandon. La nuit, on les entend jusque tard aboyer a la lune.... A nous deux on a donc rebaptise le village San Perro de Atacama - les hispanophones apprecieront le jeux de mot ;-)
De San Pedro, on prendra un transfert vers l´aeroport le plus proche a Calama pour rejoindre Santiago en 2h, et d´un coup de bus, atterir a Valparaíso, a 2h de route au Nord de la capitale.
Friday, July 9, 2010
July 1st: Potosi - Uyuni
Today´s a travelling day, again. We´ve bought tickets on the noon bus to Uyuni. We´ll spend 6 hours in the bus, so I´ll use some time to write out a blog entry or two. The scenery is brilliant and leads us through dusty cowboy canyon-like landscapes to mountains where lamas graze along cactuses, to big desert plains. When we get back on the bus from a quick pitstop about halfway, I can´t get the netbook started again. Rats, that´s the the electronic heart of our trip, our blog post provider, our banking tool, our photo storage! It must be a fluke, the bus must be too shaky to allow for writing. I´ll try to get the netbook going again in Uyuni.
We arrive in Uyuni after an amazing desert sunset, then check into a cheap hotel. Uyuni is a desert town, hot in the sun, cold in the shadows, and freezing at night. It´s got little charm and is organized in square blocks, much like a classic North-American town. The whole town lives off the salar (salt plain) and its tourists, it´s really just a start-off point. All we need to do is book the Salar tour, tomorrow we´ll be off for 3 days into the wilderness. Once we have the hotel with woarm water sorted, we walk down the main strip to find a decent Salar tour agency. We go with Oasis Tours, an agency that charges a bit more, but with a tour that follows a (bit) different parcours from the classic one. Oasis Tours comes highly recommended by our guide, and we like the presentation in the agency, so we book with them. Only 1 person has confirmed on tomorrow´s departure, so with a bit of luck we´ll be fewer than 6, which is the maximum amount in a tour jeep. That would give us a bit more leg space. We´ll see what happens.
A pizza will hit the spot before we go out camping tomorrow. I have the Uyuni pizza in a local restaurant: lama meat strips and corn. Pretty good stuff and not too expensive. In fact, the whole of Bolivia is cheap by European standards. We´re well within budget these first 3 weeks. During dinner I run the windows 7 repair routine on the netbook: The computer suggests to check the hard disk for errors, an operation that may take over an hour. When we finish dinner, it hasn´t finished running, so I let it run overnight. Hopefully our computer will work again after the repair routine, tomorrow we´ll know more. I change into my Longjohns and a longsleeve T-shirt, then dive under the bed sheets. These longjohns are tight and feel like a male ballerina outfit, but I´ll be very warm. It promises to freeze tonight, and even here there´s no heating in the room (what´s up with that, Bolivia??), so comfort easily wins over fashion.
We arrive in Uyuni after an amazing desert sunset, then check into a cheap hotel. Uyuni is a desert town, hot in the sun, cold in the shadows, and freezing at night. It´s got little charm and is organized in square blocks, much like a classic North-American town. The whole town lives off the salar (salt plain) and its tourists, it´s really just a start-off point. All we need to do is book the Salar tour, tomorrow we´ll be off for 3 days into the wilderness. Once we have the hotel with woarm water sorted, we walk down the main strip to find a decent Salar tour agency. We go with Oasis Tours, an agency that charges a bit more, but with a tour that follows a (bit) different parcours from the classic one. Oasis Tours comes highly recommended by our guide, and we like the presentation in the agency, so we book with them. Only 1 person has confirmed on tomorrow´s departure, so with a bit of luck we´ll be fewer than 6, which is the maximum amount in a tour jeep. That would give us a bit more leg space. We´ll see what happens.
A pizza will hit the spot before we go out camping tomorrow. I have the Uyuni pizza in a local restaurant: lama meat strips and corn. Pretty good stuff and not too expensive. In fact, the whole of Bolivia is cheap by European standards. We´re well within budget these first 3 weeks. During dinner I run the windows 7 repair routine on the netbook: The computer suggests to check the hard disk for errors, an operation that may take over an hour. When we finish dinner, it hasn´t finished running, so I let it run overnight. Hopefully our computer will work again after the repair routine, tomorrow we´ll know more. I change into my Longjohns and a longsleeve T-shirt, then dive under the bed sheets. These longjohns are tight and feel like a male ballerina outfit, but I´ll be very warm. It promises to freeze tonight, and even here there´s no heating in the room (what´s up with that, Bolivia??), so comfort easily wins over fashion.
Wednesday, Jun 30th: Ain't no friend of mine
The main attraction of Potosí is Cerro Rico, a mountain that housed some of the richest silver veins in this world´s history and claimed the lives of countless coca-chewing indigenous slaves. Nowadays the mine yields hardly anything anymore: 100 ton of material dragged out of the mountain yields only 1 ton of minerals. Part of that is pyrite, known as fools gold, worth two times nothing. I´m curious to experience the mining tour, I hope it will give me an idea of the life miners had in Bolivia as well as in Belgium. Blandine will not join me on this tour, she´s not going to pay to crawl into tiny dark spaces.
It´s early and tonight it has frozen, so I´m warmly dressed. It´s only 8:30, but I find myself on a bus with 5 equally excited tourists: two German girls travelling together, two really friendly Canadian girls, and a Japanese guy who is also very excited, in a Japanese way: he smiles nervously when you ask him questions. Once we have our mining overalls, hard hats with lights, and rubber boots on, we´re off to the miniers market. Here we buy dynamite, coca leaves and lemonade to give to independent miners. I let the Japanese guy buy the lemonade and buy the dynamite myself, because really, how many times in your life do you come out of a store with a bag full of dynamite? We´ll even get to blow some up ourselves (I´ve got the video to prove it, muhahahaha)!
I walk into the mine singing "Got a one way ticket, one way ticket to the mine", while holding the stick of dynamite I just bought. It´s Belgian humour not appreciated by the Canadian girls in front of me, exactly the kind of stuff that puts a smile on my face. The tour itself is breathtaking, literally. We´re at almost 4800 metres and within minutes of going into one of the mine shafts the temperature rises uncomfortably to 30C. Being 2 metres tall doesn´t help either: the whole time in the mine I cannot properly stand up, and I must duck for pipes that transport pressurised air for the power drills used by the big companies.
The statue of Tío, the god of the miners is our first stop. He´s in an tunnel that requires some crawling, about 10 minutes after entering the mine, but only 4 of us go greet him: One of the German girls is not feeling great and so is one of the Canadian girls. They head back out of the mine in search of fresh air. We crawl to the statue and offer him some coca leaves for good luck. I´ve gotten used to the heat, the dark and the lack of oxygen, but things are about to get worse. On the way to an independent miner the mine shafts get smaller and we must crawl on all fours over wooden support beams. There´s dust everywhere, that´s why we´re wearing a cover over our mouth, but breathing gets so difficult that I have to remove it to get enough oxygen in my lungs.
It´s a family affair
The group finally reaches the independent miner. He crawls backwards out of a hole that´s just big enough for his own body, covered in beads of sweat. We crawl to the area where he relaxes with his 14 year-old son. The kids isn´t going to school, because dad needs him to help out in the mine, that saves having to hire a person against payment. In the rest area, father and son drink from the soda bottles we offer them, then dad pops in a new ball of coca leaves to suppress hunger and sleep. In the days of Spanish conolisation slaves were forced to chew coca so they could work up to 24 hours without food our drink, luckily those days are over. The Spanish have gone, but it´s the lack of mnerals that´s pushing miners to stay in the mine longer now. They only get paid for the minierals they bring out. I feel sick about this situation. The life of this kid is like the soda bottle he´s drinking. Soon it will be empty, and lay on the bottom of a mine shaft, crushed flat and covered with dust. Miners aren´t ecologists, they don´t bring their trash back out of the mine, but I can´t blame them, and nobody´s going to do anything about it any time soon. Time to climb, crawl, do whatever necessary to get out of this place. It takes ages to see the sunlight again, 25 minutes to be more precise.
When I come out of the mine, I´m panting heavily, I´ll never be a miner. The whole experience was physically tiring, but even heavier on the mental front. The removal of the dust cover from my mouth has cost me as well: my vocal cords are covered with so much dust that I sound like Darth Vader. Could I impress young girls with this voice? yes. Do I feel great? Absolutely not. Within a matter of a few hours of being underground I feel the toll of being in a mine already seriously. I consider what 20 years in this hell hole would do to me, then, before I come to a conclusion, the tour leader announces we´re going to blow up the remaining stick of dynamite. Cool! After seeing Alfred Nobel´s invention in action we head back to the hotel. It´s been a really draining morning.
Pottering around in Potosí
I run into Blandine in the afternoon, so we have lunch together, then walk around the center of Potosí, a far cry fro the cruelties that have been going on four centuries inside the mountain that dominates it´s view. The mint is nearby, but neither of us is really willing to spend the next few hours looking at inanimate objects behind glass cases for the next few hours. We spend the rest of the afternoon taking snaps of the city centre, then have a simple dinner and watch a movie in our room.
It´s early and tonight it has frozen, so I´m warmly dressed. It´s only 8:30, but I find myself on a bus with 5 equally excited tourists: two German girls travelling together, two really friendly Canadian girls, and a Japanese guy who is also very excited, in a Japanese way: he smiles nervously when you ask him questions. Once we have our mining overalls, hard hats with lights, and rubber boots on, we´re off to the miniers market. Here we buy dynamite, coca leaves and lemonade to give to independent miners. I let the Japanese guy buy the lemonade and buy the dynamite myself, because really, how many times in your life do you come out of a store with a bag full of dynamite? We´ll even get to blow some up ourselves (I´ve got the video to prove it, muhahahaha)!
I walk into the mine singing "Got a one way ticket, one way ticket to the mine", while holding the stick of dynamite I just bought. It´s Belgian humour not appreciated by the Canadian girls in front of me, exactly the kind of stuff that puts a smile on my face. The tour itself is breathtaking, literally. We´re at almost 4800 metres and within minutes of going into one of the mine shafts the temperature rises uncomfortably to 30C. Being 2 metres tall doesn´t help either: the whole time in the mine I cannot properly stand up, and I must duck for pipes that transport pressurised air for the power drills used by the big companies.
The statue of Tío, the god of the miners is our first stop. He´s in an tunnel that requires some crawling, about 10 minutes after entering the mine, but only 4 of us go greet him: One of the German girls is not feeling great and so is one of the Canadian girls. They head back out of the mine in search of fresh air. We crawl to the statue and offer him some coca leaves for good luck. I´ve gotten used to the heat, the dark and the lack of oxygen, but things are about to get worse. On the way to an independent miner the mine shafts get smaller and we must crawl on all fours over wooden support beams. There´s dust everywhere, that´s why we´re wearing a cover over our mouth, but breathing gets so difficult that I have to remove it to get enough oxygen in my lungs.
It´s a family affair
The group finally reaches the independent miner. He crawls backwards out of a hole that´s just big enough for his own body, covered in beads of sweat. We crawl to the area where he relaxes with his 14 year-old son. The kids isn´t going to school, because dad needs him to help out in the mine, that saves having to hire a person against payment. In the rest area, father and son drink from the soda bottles we offer them, then dad pops in a new ball of coca leaves to suppress hunger and sleep. In the days of Spanish conolisation slaves were forced to chew coca so they could work up to 24 hours without food our drink, luckily those days are over. The Spanish have gone, but it´s the lack of mnerals that´s pushing miners to stay in the mine longer now. They only get paid for the minierals they bring out. I feel sick about this situation. The life of this kid is like the soda bottle he´s drinking. Soon it will be empty, and lay on the bottom of a mine shaft, crushed flat and covered with dust. Miners aren´t ecologists, they don´t bring their trash back out of the mine, but I can´t blame them, and nobody´s going to do anything about it any time soon. Time to climb, crawl, do whatever necessary to get out of this place. It takes ages to see the sunlight again, 25 minutes to be more precise.
When I come out of the mine, I´m panting heavily, I´ll never be a miner. The whole experience was physically tiring, but even heavier on the mental front. The removal of the dust cover from my mouth has cost me as well: my vocal cords are covered with so much dust that I sound like Darth Vader. Could I impress young girls with this voice? yes. Do I feel great? Absolutely not. Within a matter of a few hours of being underground I feel the toll of being in a mine already seriously. I consider what 20 years in this hell hole would do to me, then, before I come to a conclusion, the tour leader announces we´re going to blow up the remaining stick of dynamite. Cool! After seeing Alfred Nobel´s invention in action we head back to the hotel. It´s been a really draining morning.
Pottering around in Potosí
I run into Blandine in the afternoon, so we have lunch together, then walk around the center of Potosí, a far cry fro the cruelties that have been going on four centuries inside the mountain that dominates it´s view. The mint is nearby, but neither of us is really willing to spend the next few hours looking at inanimate objects behind glass cases for the next few hours. We spend the rest of the afternoon taking snaps of the city centre, then have a simple dinner and watch a movie in our room.
Tuesday, June 29th: Sucre - Potosí
Morning: Paraguay - Japan: watched it in an almost empty Florin cafe, together with 1 Japanese girl.
Afternoon: Spain - Portugal, watched it in a mutch more packed Florin cafe, while Blandine worked on the blog and uploaded photos. A much more interesting game to watch.
Tumbo is a delicious fruit and makes GREAT juice. I have it, together with a serving of Fricasé, another local dish. We take the 4PM bus to Potosí, it´s dark and cold when we arrive. Potosí is considerably higher than Sucre. The Koala Den will be our base for the next two days.
Afternoon: Spain - Portugal, watched it in a mutch more packed Florin cafe, while Blandine worked on the blog and uploaded photos. A much more interesting game to watch.
Tumbo is a delicious fruit and makes GREAT juice. I have it, together with a serving of Fricasé, another local dish. We take the 4PM bus to Potosí, it´s dark and cold when we arrive. Potosí is considerably higher than Sucre. The Koala Den will be our base for the next two days.
Monday, June 28th: A sucky day in Sucre
Blandine has got a terrible headache and the weather is crap, so we decide to just take it easy. I watch Holland beat Slovakia, one of the most boring games I´ve seen to date. I walk out of Florin, a Dutch-owned WI-FI cafe, after the first half to go do other stuff. It´s filled with people in Orange shirts, but there´s no atmosphere whatsoever. Even the Dutch can´t be happy about how their team is playing.
We´ve only got one more day in Sucre, so the planned excursion to see dinosaur tracks in the region will have to be postponed to our next visit. It takes a whole day and tomorrow we have to take the bus to Potosi in the late afternoon. You just can´t see it all, unfortunately. I take a look at the central market, where I have a portion of Mondongo, a local dish, then head back to see how Blandine is doing. Her headache isn´t much better, but we decide to see the town together. The cathedral is closed and a cold wind blows through the Sucre streets, so we make it a very short excursion. No need to push it, I don´t want Blandine to get worse than she is.
We´ve only got one more day in Sucre, so the planned excursion to see dinosaur tracks in the region will have to be postponed to our next visit. It takes a whole day and tomorrow we have to take the bus to Potosi in the late afternoon. You just can´t see it all, unfortunately. I take a look at the central market, where I have a portion of Mondongo, a local dish, then head back to see how Blandine is doing. Her headache isn´t much better, but we decide to see the town together. The cathedral is closed and a cold wind blows through the Sucre streets, so we make it a very short excursion. No need to push it, I don´t want Blandine to get worse than she is.
Sunday, June 27th: La Paz to Sucre
Flying out of our room
Blandine wants to sleep late after the exhausting trek, but I´m awake early and want to write our blog a bit. The England - Germany game starts at 10:00AM, so I head down to Sol Y Luna again. I´m not going to comment on the game, mainly to protect my friendship with my English friends.
Blandine comes running in right after the game: she´s woken up at 11:00AM by a phone call from the hotel reception to be reminded it´s check-out time, so she´s just thrown all the stuff into our bags as fast as you could. Then she was called two more times within the next 5 minutes to hurry up. Needless to say she´s not in the best of moods. she hs breakfast, writes a few emails and we make our way to the airport. We´re catching the 2PM flight to Sucre, this will save us from a gruelling 12 hour bus ride.
Flying to Sucre
The wait to get on the plane is not too long, and is shortened by the world cup. Argentina is beating Mexico 2-0 when we need to get on the plane.
Bolivia looks even more impressive from the air, throughout the flight there are mountain peaks just everywhere. When we land, a hot breeze welcomes us. That´s the first real heat we encounter, and it´s quite welcome. We check in to Casa de Huéspedes Finita, a guesthouse in a quiet area, run by a doctor and his wife. Their kids have left the house and they host both students who take Spanish classes and the odd world travellers like ourselves. It´s got a real homely feel. Blandine´s not feeling very well, so we make it an early night. We have dinner at nearby Munay Pata, the only restaurant with local Bolivian specialities that´s open on Sunday night.
Pour un Sourire du Bolivie
While zapping around, Blandine spots familiar faces on TV! It´s a documentary about PSE, the organisation for which we are going to volunteer in Cambodia. The Spanish went a bit fast, but the images showed pretty much the whole center and its activities. And it reminded us we need to organise activities for these kids pretty fast. We´ll figure it out soon.
Blandine wants to sleep late after the exhausting trek, but I´m awake early and want to write our blog a bit. The England - Germany game starts at 10:00AM, so I head down to Sol Y Luna again. I´m not going to comment on the game, mainly to protect my friendship with my English friends.
Blandine comes running in right after the game: she´s woken up at 11:00AM by a phone call from the hotel reception to be reminded it´s check-out time, so she´s just thrown all the stuff into our bags as fast as you could. Then she was called two more times within the next 5 minutes to hurry up. Needless to say she´s not in the best of moods. she hs breakfast, writes a few emails and we make our way to the airport. We´re catching the 2PM flight to Sucre, this will save us from a gruelling 12 hour bus ride.
Flying to Sucre
The wait to get on the plane is not too long, and is shortened by the world cup. Argentina is beating Mexico 2-0 when we need to get on the plane.
Bolivia looks even more impressive from the air, throughout the flight there are mountain peaks just everywhere. When we land, a hot breeze welcomes us. That´s the first real heat we encounter, and it´s quite welcome. We check in to Casa de Huéspedes Finita, a guesthouse in a quiet area, run by a doctor and his wife. Their kids have left the house and they host both students who take Spanish classes and the odd world travellers like ourselves. It´s got a real homely feel. Blandine´s not feeling very well, so we make it an early night. We have dinner at nearby Munay Pata, the only restaurant with local Bolivian specialities that´s open on Sunday night.
Pour un Sourire du Bolivie
While zapping around, Blandine spots familiar faces on TV! It´s a documentary about PSE, the organisation for which we are going to volunteer in Cambodia. The Spanish went a bit fast, but the images showed pretty much the whole center and its activities. And it reminded us we need to organise activities for these kids pretty fast. We´ll figure it out soon.
Saturday, June 26th: Apolobamba Trek Day 4
Sickness and health
Okidoki, yesterday things weren´t looking very good for me: I was wearing all the clothes I had, had all the blankets of the whole dorm room on top of me and my teeth were still chattering. The Chacarapi host was a little annoyed that we weren´t interested in hiking up an hour from Chacarapi alongside a packed lama, to go deliver some goods to a neighbour. As a side activity, for fun. Erhm, no thanks, not even while in good health, mister!
In the middle of the night I started feeling really hot, a sign of my fever breaking, and during the (cold) night the layers of blankets have come off, one by one. By the morning I´m feeling great. Miracle recovery? Only if you believe in health blessings.
Tourist breakfast
Breakfast is about the only constant in our trip. Every day we each get:
- 1 bread roll
- 1 portion of preserves/jam
- 1 portion of butter
- 1 cup of coffee or tea
- optionally an egg
This breakfast is served throughout Bolivia, and we pretty much had the same kind of breakfast last year, during our trip to Madagascar. This formula may very well be universal! Without fail Blandine gets tea, I drink "cafe con leche".
Tea? Leaf it up to me!
Today I don´t want to push things, my stomach is still feeling a bit wussy, so I want to drink an infusion. There are no tea bags on the table, so I run into the adjacent kitchen and ask for "maté". To my great surprise, the indigenous woman points to the bunch of wilting flowers and plants in the middle of the table. OMG, they´re to be used for infusions, they´re NOT a lame attempt to smurk up the surroundings! How come nobody told us??? How come our silly city minds didn´t figure it out before?? Duh! Anyway, I grab some F-R-E-S-H camomille, stuff it in my cup, pour hot water and a bit of sugar over it and VOILA, the best camomille infusion I ever had is ready!
Down to Charazani
After breakfast, we go up to the corral that holds all the lamas and take a group picture. I tried to pet the lamas, but they´re not so happy about Belgians. The lama-leader walks up to me and gives me an intense stare. He´s about to spit at me for trying to pet his girlies, so I stop trying to pet him. Blandine keeps encouraging me from outside the corral, but I´m sure she just wants a picture of my face covered in lala-spit. And I´m not interested in getting my ass kicked by a cross between a sheep and a wild giraffe, so I give up.
Chacarapi is known for it´s medecine lab, where natural medecine is produced from the plants found in the surrounding hills. Normally we get to see how the lb works, but the medecine-maker (pharmacist?) is out and the lab is closed. No luck, so we´ll have to do with a look at the local museum, which explains the relationship between the Quechua and the plants found in this area. I buy some herbal tiger balm (made from local herbs, not made from local tigers), who knows when that could come in handy during the trip =P
The hike to Charazani, our end destination, is supposed to take 4 hours. It´s almost 8:30 AM and we want to eat before we´re supposed to hop on the 2PM bus back to La Paz. That´s the ONLY bus back, we can´t miss it, so we start making tracks right away. 8:30AM is a late start for mountain people anyways, they´re usually drinking their first coffee at 4:30AM already. Blandine´s a bit nervous, but we turn out to be a better-than-average couple of hikers: we walk into Doña Sofia´s restaurant, the end point of the trek, after no more than 3.5 hours. After a pleasant lunch we walk to the bus stop and get on the bus. The nights were cold, the days hot, the people more than friendly, this trip was fantastic!
Drinking on Dutch Defeat
In the evening we check back into hotel Fuentes and have dinner in Sol y Luna, the best Dutch WI-FI spot in La Paz. Blandine heads to the hotel right after dinner (the altitude makes her seriously sleepy), I stay for drinks with the cook, Luc Ceuppens, who´s from a town near Antwerp. He´s bet with the Dutch owner for a serious amount of money that Holland will NOT win the worldcup. Sounds like money in the bag, baby, Holland haven´t convinced me that much, and they´ll play Brazil next. We´ll HAVE to drink to that. After a few "Cuba Libres", Luc receives a visit from a beautiful Ecuadorian who seems only interested in talking to him, so I head back to the hotel.
Okidoki, yesterday things weren´t looking very good for me: I was wearing all the clothes I had, had all the blankets of the whole dorm room on top of me and my teeth were still chattering. The Chacarapi host was a little annoyed that we weren´t interested in hiking up an hour from Chacarapi alongside a packed lama, to go deliver some goods to a neighbour. As a side activity, for fun. Erhm, no thanks, not even while in good health, mister!
In the middle of the night I started feeling really hot, a sign of my fever breaking, and during the (cold) night the layers of blankets have come off, one by one. By the morning I´m feeling great. Miracle recovery? Only if you believe in health blessings.
Tourist breakfast
Breakfast is about the only constant in our trip. Every day we each get:
- 1 bread roll
- 1 portion of preserves/jam
- 1 portion of butter
- 1 cup of coffee or tea
- optionally an egg
This breakfast is served throughout Bolivia, and we pretty much had the same kind of breakfast last year, during our trip to Madagascar. This formula may very well be universal! Without fail Blandine gets tea, I drink "cafe con leche".
Tea? Leaf it up to me!
Today I don´t want to push things, my stomach is still feeling a bit wussy, so I want to drink an infusion. There are no tea bags on the table, so I run into the adjacent kitchen and ask for "maté". To my great surprise, the indigenous woman points to the bunch of wilting flowers and plants in the middle of the table. OMG, they´re to be used for infusions, they´re NOT a lame attempt to smurk up the surroundings! How come nobody told us??? How come our silly city minds didn´t figure it out before?? Duh! Anyway, I grab some F-R-E-S-H camomille, stuff it in my cup, pour hot water and a bit of sugar over it and VOILA, the best camomille infusion I ever had is ready!
Down to Charazani
After breakfast, we go up to the corral that holds all the lamas and take a group picture. I tried to pet the lamas, but they´re not so happy about Belgians. The lama-leader walks up to me and gives me an intense stare. He´s about to spit at me for trying to pet his girlies, so I stop trying to pet him. Blandine keeps encouraging me from outside the corral, but I´m sure she just wants a picture of my face covered in lala-spit. And I´m not interested in getting my ass kicked by a cross between a sheep and a wild giraffe, so I give up.
Chacarapi is known for it´s medecine lab, where natural medecine is produced from the plants found in the surrounding hills. Normally we get to see how the lb works, but the medecine-maker (pharmacist?) is out and the lab is closed. No luck, so we´ll have to do with a look at the local museum, which explains the relationship between the Quechua and the plants found in this area. I buy some herbal tiger balm (made from local herbs, not made from local tigers), who knows when that could come in handy during the trip =P
The hike to Charazani, our end destination, is supposed to take 4 hours. It´s almost 8:30 AM and we want to eat before we´re supposed to hop on the 2PM bus back to La Paz. That´s the ONLY bus back, we can´t miss it, so we start making tracks right away. 8:30AM is a late start for mountain people anyways, they´re usually drinking their first coffee at 4:30AM already. Blandine´s a bit nervous, but we turn out to be a better-than-average couple of hikers: we walk into Doña Sofia´s restaurant, the end point of the trek, after no more than 3.5 hours. After a pleasant lunch we walk to the bus stop and get on the bus. The nights were cold, the days hot, the people more than friendly, this trip was fantastic!
Drinking on Dutch Defeat
In the evening we check back into hotel Fuentes and have dinner in Sol y Luna, the best Dutch WI-FI spot in La Paz. Blandine heads to the hotel right after dinner (the altitude makes her seriously sleepy), I stay for drinks with the cook, Luc Ceuppens, who´s from a town near Antwerp. He´s bet with the Dutch owner for a serious amount of money that Holland will NOT win the worldcup. Sounds like money in the bag, baby, Holland haven´t convinced me that much, and they´ll play Brazil next. We´ll HAVE to drink to that. After a few "Cuba Libres", Luc receives a visit from a beautiful Ecuadorian who seems only interested in talking to him, so I head back to the hotel.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Friday, June 25th: Apolobamba Trek Day 3
It´s all downhill
Today we´ll hike down to Chacarapi, at 4100 metres. During breakfast we ask if we could buy some bottled water. Not possible, this hamlet has no store, so we drink as much tea as possible before we take off. After breakfast, Eulogio shows us his “Centro de interpretación”, an interesting month-to-month look into the year of the Quechua farmer. We ask to visit the school while in session. The teacher is happy to have vistors, and even happier to receive a whole bunch of pens for his students. Then we´re off to hike to an Inka site in the neighborhood. It´s got no name, but is spectacular nevertheless. We´re really thirsty by now, and Eulogio offers us some kind of wheat drink. Tasty, but it´s no water. Within 3 hours we gain sight of Chacarapi, the smell of fresh wild mind ticles our nose off and on during the hike. Until now it´s been level or downhill walking, this last part is a steep hike up to the village. A good sip of wheat drink and we´re on our way. It´s sunny but windy, and our lungs remind us that we´re still up really high, but we arrive in town in one piece. Eulogio, charming as ever, leaves us in the hands of the Chacarapi host.
Feeling chilly in Chacarapi
We´re happy to have made it, but exhausted all the same. Chacarapi is a bigger than Kaluyo, it´s got a football field and a basketball field. The foodtball pich is maintained by grazing lamas. We get offered a fresh minty drink, which we finish in a second. More than ever I feel thirsty for water. Bad luck, the only store in town is closed, the owner has gone shopping in Charazani and won´t be back until tomorrow. We won´t have water until Charazani, the end of the trek.
We agree to rest, because I´m feeling a bit chilly. Things get worse in the afternoon and I get cold fever. I´ve never felt so cold in my life, amd must cancel all afternoon activities, as well as dinner, to the great dismay of our host. Blandine assures me that the Alpaca meat dinner is excellent, but I can´t stomach a thing, I´m sick. The Kalawaya good health blessings were short-lived.
Today we´ll hike down to Chacarapi, at 4100 metres. During breakfast we ask if we could buy some bottled water. Not possible, this hamlet has no store, so we drink as much tea as possible before we take off. After breakfast, Eulogio shows us his “Centro de interpretación”, an interesting month-to-month look into the year of the Quechua farmer. We ask to visit the school while in session. The teacher is happy to have vistors, and even happier to receive a whole bunch of pens for his students. Then we´re off to hike to an Inka site in the neighborhood. It´s got no name, but is spectacular nevertheless. We´re really thirsty by now, and Eulogio offers us some kind of wheat drink. Tasty, but it´s no water. Within 3 hours we gain sight of Chacarapi, the smell of fresh wild mind ticles our nose off and on during the hike. Until now it´s been level or downhill walking, this last part is a steep hike up to the village. A good sip of wheat drink and we´re on our way. It´s sunny but windy, and our lungs remind us that we´re still up really high, but we arrive in town in one piece. Eulogio, charming as ever, leaves us in the hands of the Chacarapi host.
Feeling chilly in Chacarapi
We´re happy to have made it, but exhausted all the same. Chacarapi is a bigger than Kaluyo, it´s got a football field and a basketball field. The foodtball pich is maintained by grazing lamas. We get offered a fresh minty drink, which we finish in a second. More than ever I feel thirsty for water. Bad luck, the only store in town is closed, the owner has gone shopping in Charazani and won´t be back until tomorrow. We won´t have water until Charazani, the end of the trek.
We agree to rest, because I´m feeling a bit chilly. Things get worse in the afternoon and I get cold fever. I´ve never felt so cold in my life, amd must cancel all afternoon activities, as well as dinner, to the great dismay of our host. Blandine assures me that the Alpaca meat dinner is excellent, but I can´t stomach a thing, I´m sick. The Kalawaya good health blessings were short-lived.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Thursday, June 24th: Apolobamba Trek Day 2
San Juan left-overs
Leonardo had first suggested we should be ready by 6:30AM, then during the San Juan fiesta we agreed on 8AM. By 8:30 AM he still hasn´t shown, I{m thinking he partied a bit harder than expected. At 8:40 his 16 year old brother shows and says they´ll both guide us today. Our backpack gets loaded onto a donkey (we had hoped for a lama), and after a quick breakfast Leonardo shows. He doesn´t look the fittest, but takes us to the community museum. It´s the only Aymara museum we´ll see, the other communities are Quechua. We set off to Kaluyo, at 4120 metres. The first part of the trail is up and down, so we suffer, but so does Leonardo: he hands the reigns of the donkey to his brother while telling us that we should just continue. He´ll catch up with us within minutes. Poor guy, something tells me his body has had his first encounter with alcohol, and the after-effects aren´t necessarily so pleasant.
We walk through beautiful landscapes, enjoy the sight of pristine lakes, some birds, and take loads of pictures of lamas while the brothers struggle on the downhill part with the donkey. From the initial group of 4, only three make it to Kaluyo. When we ask about Leonardo´s whereabouts 15 minutes before arrival, we find out that Leonardo has left the group and hiked back up. No notice, and if we hadn´t asked we would never have known. “Are there any other sights to see before Kaluyo?” “No”. The family is not blessed with the gift of gab. We give Leonardo´s brother a bag of coca leaves (advised to us by Sam in La Paz) upon arrival, he thanks us and starts hiking back up.
Life in Kaluyo central
Eulogio is our host in Kaluyo. Happy to see us, he sits us down for a lunch. It´s just the two of us in this big unheated room again, Eulogio and the cook have already eaten. While we wait, we notice a bouquet of wilted flowers on the table. That´s the second one, the Qutapampans had done this to us as well. Strange habit, but we don´t want to embarrass anybody, so we don´t ask. The food served is fantastic and copious.
In the afternoon Eulogio takes us for a walk around his hamlet and asks us questions about everything. He seems fascinated with elephants, and we answer as well as we can, telling him there are no elephants in Europe. We take pictures of lamas and condors, as the afternoon shadows grow. The hamlet is rather small, but has a small school, so we are curious about the amount of people that live in Kaluyo. “2”, him and his wife. The kids come from all around to attend school, some even walk several hours.
Dinner is fantastic, candles provide a romantic atmosphere. We tell Eulogio that we want to interact with the locals, that´s the kind of cultural experience we are after, and he promises to come and eat with us. We´re the first tourists ever to have asked about this. He joins us, together with another man in indigenous clothing, chewing coca leaves. It´s the kalawaya, or traveling medicine man whom will perform a good luck ceremony for us tonight. He smiles within a few minutes and even adds to the conversation.
Blessings Kalawaya style
The first part of a kalawaya blessing ceremony involves lama wool (not cotton balls as we thought they were) and an old bottle of port, and glittering things, and an egg, etc. We have our health blessed, as well as our trip, the Kalawaya asks for lots of work in 2010 (little does he know I really need LESS work), and he blesses the health of our parents. Too difficult to explain, this type of ceremony is something we´ve never experienced before. At the end of the ceremony, when we have received all the blessings, the stuff is all carefully wrapped together and we´re invited to go burn it all outside, in the freezing cold. The sneering wind has gotten under my clothes and my teeth clapper uncontrollably. After 15 minutes the egg cracks, a good sign, and we are invited back in for the finale. From the remains of the fire, the Kalawaya picks a hot coal (with his bare hands!) and uses it to create smoke. We wash our faces with this smoke, and are happy to get to our beds after that. Everything possible is blessed, except our sleep: the ceremony has lasted over 3 hours.
Leonardo had first suggested we should be ready by 6:30AM, then during the San Juan fiesta we agreed on 8AM. By 8:30 AM he still hasn´t shown, I{m thinking he partied a bit harder than expected. At 8:40 his 16 year old brother shows and says they´ll both guide us today. Our backpack gets loaded onto a donkey (we had hoped for a lama), and after a quick breakfast Leonardo shows. He doesn´t look the fittest, but takes us to the community museum. It´s the only Aymara museum we´ll see, the other communities are Quechua. We set off to Kaluyo, at 4120 metres. The first part of the trail is up and down, so we suffer, but so does Leonardo: he hands the reigns of the donkey to his brother while telling us that we should just continue. He´ll catch up with us within minutes. Poor guy, something tells me his body has had his first encounter with alcohol, and the after-effects aren´t necessarily so pleasant.
We walk through beautiful landscapes, enjoy the sight of pristine lakes, some birds, and take loads of pictures of lamas while the brothers struggle on the downhill part with the donkey. From the initial group of 4, only three make it to Kaluyo. When we ask about Leonardo´s whereabouts 15 minutes before arrival, we find out that Leonardo has left the group and hiked back up. No notice, and if we hadn´t asked we would never have known. “Are there any other sights to see before Kaluyo?” “No”. The family is not blessed with the gift of gab. We give Leonardo´s brother a bag of coca leaves (advised to us by Sam in La Paz) upon arrival, he thanks us and starts hiking back up.
Life in Kaluyo central
Eulogio is our host in Kaluyo. Happy to see us, he sits us down for a lunch. It´s just the two of us in this big unheated room again, Eulogio and the cook have already eaten. While we wait, we notice a bouquet of wilted flowers on the table. That´s the second one, the Qutapampans had done this to us as well. Strange habit, but we don´t want to embarrass anybody, so we don´t ask. The food served is fantastic and copious.
In the afternoon Eulogio takes us for a walk around his hamlet and asks us questions about everything. He seems fascinated with elephants, and we answer as well as we can, telling him there are no elephants in Europe. We take pictures of lamas and condors, as the afternoon shadows grow. The hamlet is rather small, but has a small school, so we are curious about the amount of people that live in Kaluyo. “2”, him and his wife. The kids come from all around to attend school, some even walk several hours.
Dinner is fantastic, candles provide a romantic atmosphere. We tell Eulogio that we want to interact with the locals, that´s the kind of cultural experience we are after, and he promises to come and eat with us. We´re the first tourists ever to have asked about this. He joins us, together with another man in indigenous clothing, chewing coca leaves. It´s the kalawaya, or traveling medicine man whom will perform a good luck ceremony for us tonight. He smiles within a few minutes and even adds to the conversation.
Blessings Kalawaya style
The first part of a kalawaya blessing ceremony involves lama wool (not cotton balls as we thought they were) and an old bottle of port, and glittering things, and an egg, etc. We have our health blessed, as well as our trip, the Kalawaya asks for lots of work in 2010 (little does he know I really need LESS work), and he blesses the health of our parents. Too difficult to explain, this type of ceremony is something we´ve never experienced before. At the end of the ceremony, when we have received all the blessings, the stuff is all carefully wrapped together and we´re invited to go burn it all outside, in the freezing cold. The sneering wind has gotten under my clothes and my teeth clapper uncontrollably. After 15 minutes the egg cracks, a good sign, and we are invited back in for the finale. From the remains of the fire, the Kalawaya picks a hot coal (with his bare hands!) and uses it to create smoke. We wash our faces with this smoke, and are happy to get to our beds after that. Everything possible is blessed, except our sleep: the ceremony has lasted over 3 hours.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Uyuni
Waow, Waow, Waow... ce sont les mots qui ne m´ont pas quitte pendant les 3 jours d´excursion dans la region de Uyuni au Sud de la Bolivie. Nous sommes partis avec 4 autres voyageurs, formant un groupe assez heteroclite: un bresilien excentrique de 26 ans qui essayait de se remettre de la defaite de son equipe de foot, une autrichienne timide de 20 ans qui venait de terminer une periode de volontariat en Bolivie mais dont on n'a rien pu savoir, une mexicaine de 50ans, grande voyageuse et polyglotte, et un canadien dans la soixantaine bavard comme pas permis. Nous etions accompagnes d´un sympathique chauffeur, Cristian, et de sa femme discrete, Vilma, qui nous a regale de ses bons petits plats. 3 jours ensemble coinces comme des sardines dans une jeep, et dormant ensemble en dortoir dans les refuges (sans eau courante ni electricite, cela s´entend). Une nouvelle famille improbable...
Aussi improbable que les paysages qui passaient sous nos yeux!
Des le depart, nous avons ete plonges dans l´immensite blanche du Salar de Uyuni, cette mer de sel qui se deroule jusqu`a l´infini. La surface est parfaitement lisse, blanchissime, et le ciel d´un bleu intense, flanqué du soleil sur un cote... (mais oui, c´est presque la description du maillot argentin!!). Ca craque sous nos pieds comme quand on marche sur la neige. Le Salar fait une surface de plus de 10000km2, on en voit pas la fin: impossible de s´y aventurer seuls, on s´y perdrait! Il y a 4 entrees pour les jeep des touristes et pour les camions, car le Salar est avant tout une industrie vivante et importante, d´ou l´on exporte le sel vers tous les continents. Quelque part dans cette immensite, une "ile" de cactus: des cactus de plus de 1000 ans, enormes, tres hauts. On a dejeune, la, entre sel et cactus, une experience surreelle!
Puis on a quitte la mer de sel, pour une mer de cailloux: le desert. A plus de 4000m, rien ne pousse; ce n´est que poussiere. Mais comme surgi de nulle part, un patelin ou l´on celebrait ce soir la, la fete de San Pedro et de San Pablo... donc, orchestre local et enorme sono diffusant de la musique latino rythmee sur la place de l´eglise. On a danse un peu histoire de se rechauffer avant de diner et rejoindre notre premier refuge. La batisse est construite en "adobe", avec des murs epais bien hermetiques: je n´ai pas senti le froid.
2eme jour, on reprend la route du desert, en direction des differentes lagunes nichees au pieds des volcans et des montagnes environnants dont elles font le miroir. Lagunes peuplees d´oiseaux et de fammands roses (je ne parle pas de Jan!); mais ce n´est pas la meilleure saison: nous n´avons pu voir que quelques energumenes qui avaient du rater le charter de la migration annuelle et s´offrait des vacances prolongees dans ces paysages magnifiques. A cause des mineraies qu´elles contiennent, les lagunes sont colorees: blanche, bleue, verte, rose. Incroyable vision.
La nuit en refuge par -15 sans chauffage, je l´ai pas senti, non plus! c´est l´effet magique de la couverture polaire achetee a Sucre, celle avec un enorme tigre dessus. Toute habillee, emmitouflee dans ma couverture polaire avec ma bouillote aux pieds, puis dans le sac de couchage fourni par l´agence, et sous les deux couvertures du refuge, j´ai meme eu chaud!! Il m´a fallu quitte chaussettes, polainas (jambieres en laine d´alpaca, achetees a La Paz) et bonnet!
Lever tres tot, a 4h30, le 3eme matin. Direction: les geysers, ces souffles chauds (du gaz et de la vapeur)jaillissants de la terre, qui nous rappellent que nous sommes sur une terre volcanique active; on apercoit d´ailleurs de la lave au fond de certains trous. Mais il fait encore -10 dehors, je ne mettrai le nez hors de la jeep que pour la photo!! On arrive ensuite aux abords d´eaux thermales, juste a temps pour le lever du soleil. Et c´est un paysage encore incomparable qui s´offre a nous: la terre gelee et les eaux chaudes ruisselantes de part et d´autre, fumants dans le lever du soleil. On en ai ebloui, aux sens litteral et figuratif. Des touristes courageux ont ose se deshabiller et se prelassent a present dans le bassin amenage avec une eau a 30 degres. Je serai prudente, je n´enleverai pas une seule des couches de vetements qui me tiennent chaud!
Apres le petit dejeuner pris sur place, nous continuerons la route vers la fameuse lagune verte, qui decoit un peu car en cette saison, il y peu d´eau. En route, on aura quand meme croise quelques vicunas sauvages qui tentent de survivre dans cette region aride. Puis on se retrouve au poste frontiere au milieu de nulle part: jusqu'a l´horizon, ce ne sont que des cailloux! On entend la le bus qui nous emmenera de l´autre cote, au Chili, par une belle route bitumee, des le passage de la frontiere!
Et voila, 1ere etape du voyage achevee: Adios Bolivia - pays aux paysages sensationnels, au peuple genereux et chaleureux, a la faune surprenante et aux grandes emotions!
Prochaine etape: Chili. Quelques jours dans la region de San Pedro de Atacama, a la frontiere bolivienne donc, pour continuer d´explorer cette region sauvage, puis ce seront les villes de Valparaiso et de Santiago.
PS1: pas d´accents francais sur mon clavier chilien, desolee!
PS2: notre ordinateur portable nous a lache, apres seulement 3 semaines - on est vert!!! Consequence: ce sera difficile de tenir le blog de maniere aussi reguliere et fournie, car ca voudrait dire passer des heures dans les cafes internet... et ce n´est pas vraiment ce qu´il y a de plus excitant a faire quand on voyage!
Aussi improbable que les paysages qui passaient sous nos yeux!
Des le depart, nous avons ete plonges dans l´immensite blanche du Salar de Uyuni, cette mer de sel qui se deroule jusqu`a l´infini. La surface est parfaitement lisse, blanchissime, et le ciel d´un bleu intense, flanqué du soleil sur un cote... (mais oui, c´est presque la description du maillot argentin!!). Ca craque sous nos pieds comme quand on marche sur la neige. Le Salar fait une surface de plus de 10000km2, on en voit pas la fin: impossible de s´y aventurer seuls, on s´y perdrait! Il y a 4 entrees pour les jeep des touristes et pour les camions, car le Salar est avant tout une industrie vivante et importante, d´ou l´on exporte le sel vers tous les continents. Quelque part dans cette immensite, une "ile" de cactus: des cactus de plus de 1000 ans, enormes, tres hauts. On a dejeune, la, entre sel et cactus, une experience surreelle!
Puis on a quitte la mer de sel, pour une mer de cailloux: le desert. A plus de 4000m, rien ne pousse; ce n´est que poussiere. Mais comme surgi de nulle part, un patelin ou l´on celebrait ce soir la, la fete de San Pedro et de San Pablo... donc, orchestre local et enorme sono diffusant de la musique latino rythmee sur la place de l´eglise. On a danse un peu histoire de se rechauffer avant de diner et rejoindre notre premier refuge. La batisse est construite en "adobe", avec des murs epais bien hermetiques: je n´ai pas senti le froid.
2eme jour, on reprend la route du desert, en direction des differentes lagunes nichees au pieds des volcans et des montagnes environnants dont elles font le miroir. Lagunes peuplees d´oiseaux et de fammands roses (je ne parle pas de Jan!); mais ce n´est pas la meilleure saison: nous n´avons pu voir que quelques energumenes qui avaient du rater le charter de la migration annuelle et s´offrait des vacances prolongees dans ces paysages magnifiques. A cause des mineraies qu´elles contiennent, les lagunes sont colorees: blanche, bleue, verte, rose. Incroyable vision.
La nuit en refuge par -15 sans chauffage, je l´ai pas senti, non plus! c´est l´effet magique de la couverture polaire achetee a Sucre, celle avec un enorme tigre dessus. Toute habillee, emmitouflee dans ma couverture polaire avec ma bouillote aux pieds, puis dans le sac de couchage fourni par l´agence, et sous les deux couvertures du refuge, j´ai meme eu chaud!! Il m´a fallu quitte chaussettes, polainas (jambieres en laine d´alpaca, achetees a La Paz) et bonnet!
Lever tres tot, a 4h30, le 3eme matin. Direction: les geysers, ces souffles chauds (du gaz et de la vapeur)jaillissants de la terre, qui nous rappellent que nous sommes sur une terre volcanique active; on apercoit d´ailleurs de la lave au fond de certains trous. Mais il fait encore -10 dehors, je ne mettrai le nez hors de la jeep que pour la photo!! On arrive ensuite aux abords d´eaux thermales, juste a temps pour le lever du soleil. Et c´est un paysage encore incomparable qui s´offre a nous: la terre gelee et les eaux chaudes ruisselantes de part et d´autre, fumants dans le lever du soleil. On en ai ebloui, aux sens litteral et figuratif. Des touristes courageux ont ose se deshabiller et se prelassent a present dans le bassin amenage avec une eau a 30 degres. Je serai prudente, je n´enleverai pas une seule des couches de vetements qui me tiennent chaud!
Apres le petit dejeuner pris sur place, nous continuerons la route vers la fameuse lagune verte, qui decoit un peu car en cette saison, il y peu d´eau. En route, on aura quand meme croise quelques vicunas sauvages qui tentent de survivre dans cette region aride. Puis on se retrouve au poste frontiere au milieu de nulle part: jusqu'a l´horizon, ce ne sont que des cailloux! On entend la le bus qui nous emmenera de l´autre cote, au Chili, par une belle route bitumee, des le passage de la frontiere!
Et voila, 1ere etape du voyage achevee: Adios Bolivia - pays aux paysages sensationnels, au peuple genereux et chaleureux, a la faune surprenante et aux grandes emotions!
Prochaine etape: Chili. Quelques jours dans la region de San Pedro de Atacama, a la frontiere bolivienne donc, pour continuer d´explorer cette region sauvage, puis ce seront les villes de Valparaiso et de Santiago.
PS1: pas d´accents francais sur mon clavier chilien, desolee!
PS2: notre ordinateur portable nous a lache, apres seulement 3 semaines - on est vert!!! Consequence: ce sera difficile de tenir le blog de maniere aussi reguliere et fournie, car ca voudrait dire passer des heures dans les cafes internet... et ce n´est pas vraiment ce qu´il y a de plus excitant a faire quand on voyage!
Wednesday ,June 23rd: Pacha Trek day 1
This time there is a bus, yee haa! We leave from El Alto, above La Paz around 7:20, for a 7-hour bus trip. We´re the only tourists on board, a minority, just like the chickens, or the gas canisters that block the aisle. Bolivians don´t seem to be too bothered by all the extra stuff placed on the bus: huge shopping bags, mining tools, poultry all belong to the Bolvian bus experience. Neither is the salesman who enters the bus within the first 10 minutes after we have left the “terminal”. He gladly climbs over all obstacles, standing on the armhandle wherever necessary to get his products to his new customer base. Not to us, he´s sure we don´t fall for his tricks. We´re left alone in the back of the bus, left alone so breathe in huge smoke clouds of unfiltered exhaust. The department of motor vehicles is a non-Bolivian concept: the bus huffs and puffs up the steep mountains, but will make it in the end, so who cares?
Qutapampa is not a village, it´s a hamlet inhabited by 50-odd lama herders, all happy to see us. Upon arrival we are escorted to the tourist-dorm: 8 single beds in an unheated room. Even here at 4,400 metres, heating is not considered important. It´s sunny, but not more than 12 degrees Celsius, and locals walk in open toes sandals. They´re used to it. It´s a pedicure´s wet dream: dark, dust-encrusted square-like toes, completely callussed to provide more protection in this harsh environment, seem to have grown into the sandals. No need to eat coca leaves to cut the appetite.
The locals are a reserved, but friendly bunch. After the welcome tea, Ruben, the local tour organiser introduces himself and quickly goes over the next 3 days.
We relax a bit then get served our first local meal: a delicous vegetable soup, followed by lama-meat fried in trout fat, accompanied by a variety of different potatoes. Lama-meat with trout flavour is an interesting combination, but we´re not sure if this was really intended. I probably won´t try to make this at home. While we finish off the mandarins we got for desert, we figure out which layers we´ll put on for the afternoon walk: we´re going to see vicuñas, the wild cousin of the lama.
Leonardo, an 18-year old kid with baseball hat is appointed as our guide. It´s his fist time and when you look up the word “shy” in the dictionary, you might very well find his picture next to the explanation. He knows the region like the back of his pocket, but if you want to know something, you have to ask him. And be happy with a “Yes” or “No”. We´re too high up to play this game for long, but just when I´m about to get really frustrated and give up, I catch his interest. He´s a footballer, so a few questons about the teams he plays in warms him enough to create the beginning of a bond. We learn that if you´re caught killing a vicuna, you get fined and face 5 years of prison. We decide to shoot all the vicuñas we encounter, with our camera. We´re far above the tree-line: scattered shrubs decorate the sandy-rocky landscape, as far as we can see. The views are breath-taking in every sense of the word: we climb a tiny hill and find ourselves gasping for air as we spot vicuñas in the distance. It´s a dry, wind-blown land of wide open spaces, a land where few fight a constantly uphill battle against the laws of nature, the laws of life itself. A predominantly beige land where a lukewarm sun highlights the tiniest little victories. A photographer´s dream. Upon our guide´s suggestion we head back after about an hour´s walk. Clouds are forming (beneath us!) and they will cool us down considerbly if we get swallowed in them.
A delegation of locals is waiting for us upon our return, they want to show us their local dance and music before the sun sets, so we sit down at the only bench. 5 musicians playing the flute for just the two of us, it´s a real weird feeling. As I get up to take a few pictures of the performance, the Aymara village chief appears, all smiles, and staggers over to Blandine´s table. Tonight is San Juan, the biggest party in this hamlet, and he´s visibly taken a head start on the alcohol consumption. When I join the table again, he´s in deep political discussion: teeth are missing and a huge ball of coca leaves prevent proper pronunciation of most words, but it´s easily understood that he´s proud of his president: he plugs “Evo Morales” in his conversation more than Sonia Morales plugs her own name in her songs. The president is great, yet he explains the descent in the price of lamas, the bread and butter of this community. Where they used to get USD700 for a lama, now they only get USD 450. No worries though, tonight is party time and he expects us to dance and make merry with the locals.
After a bit of chill-out, we get picked up to join the party. We´re wearing almost all the clothing we have brought with us, it´s below freezing point. As we make our way down into the dark village, we hear the village elders play the local music. In the light of a car I see Andean hats, their owners sat against the front of their house, beer bottle in one hand. They´re happy to see us, the ones that haven´t fallen asleep. To my great consternation they´re still only wearing sandals! Their women have rolled themselves in blankets and taken up stands in the middle of the plaza, a few candles illuminate their wares. Our flashlight guides us to the community center, also not heated. The locals in he center are in party mood: on one side men are playing drums and flutes, on the other side more women are sat with their children wrapped in big blankets, gossiping about which man is already the drunkest. The village chief welcomes us and offrs coca leaves and home-brewed alcohol. I pour some of my cup on the groun in honour of Pachamama, the way the locals do it, and put my lips onto the plastic cup. It´s not too bad, it tastes like a very minty cough medicine. The locals laugh as blandine refuses. A sigarette-smoking man whisks her away from the group of men, she´s off to dance with him. Within 20 minutes we´ve completed our official visit of the party and make our way back through the dark. Our beds are waiting for us. The party will continue all night long and the next day. Luckily our guide doesn´t drink alcohol.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Sucre et Potosi: escales urbaines
Petites escales urbaines, après les randonnées dans les grands espaces. D’abord la ville de Sucre, que l’on a atteint d’un coup d’avion afin d’éviter les 13 heures de bus… Grosse bourgade au charme colonial ; officiellement encore la capitale de la Bolivie… enfin, je n’ai pas tout compris : depuis des décennies, il y a une concurrence féroce entre La Paz et Sucre pour le titre de capitale, et aujourd’hui je crois que La Paz est capitale administrative et Sucre, capitale constitutionnelle… quoique cela veuille dire… Sucre est la ville aux 4 noms ; les espagnols l’avaient d’abord nommé La Plata, à cause des mines d’argent qui ont fait la richesse de la ville. Puis on l’a rebaptisé Sucre, du nom d’un général valeureux, sympa ! On l’appelle encore aujourd’hui la ville blanche, car en effet, c’est ce qu’elle est : une ville de maisons blanches, une ville propre, nette, élaborée sur un plan quadrillé ; impossible de s’y perdre... et d’innombrables églises et clochers blancs biensûr. Ça rappelle l’Andalousie, la canicule en moins. Il est sensé faire plus chaud ici, dans les 18°, mais nous avons eu droit aux gros nuages. La couleur du ciel reflétait ma petite forme : un moment de faiblesse physique généralisée qui m’a fait passer une grosse partie de la 1ère journée au lit. Comme on logeait chez l’habitant, ça m’a donné un moment l’illusion d’être à la maison !
Malgré tout, j’ai bien apprécié cette coquette et dynamique ville qui est aussi le plus gros centre universitaire du pays : ça se comprend vite à la vue du nombre incalculable de boutiques de photocopies ! Si je devais me décider à faire un cours intensif d’espagnol, je reviendrais bien ici.
Après Sucre, nous nous sommes rendus à 3 heures de route de là, à Potosi, qui fût la plus grande ville d’Amérique Latine de l’époque coloniale, à cause des mines d’argent encore : les pièces d’argent de la couronne espagnole venait de là ! La mine reste une industrie majeure pour la ville et est présente partout: les graffitis et symboles des mineurs sur les murs, les drapeaux des coopératives, les gueules noires certes débarbouillées dans les rues… Les conditions de travail des mineurs ne se sont pas améliorées depuis l’époque coloniale car ils doivent creuser toujours plus profond, avec la menace permanente que la montagne trouée comme un gruyère s’écroule. Les mineurs tiennent grâce à la coca, qui les embrument un peu et leur font oublier la faim et la chaleur (ça monte jusqu’à 40° dans les tunnels les plus profonds). C’est Germinal, pas plus, pas moins, au 21ème siècle en Bolivie.
La mine est devenue une attraction touristique : des tours opérateurs embarquent les touristes dans les tunnels, guidés par d’anciens mineurs, des Etienne Lantier reconvertis. Les touristes peuvent ainsi se rendre témoin du travail ingrat des mineurs défiant leur dignité d’homme... et contre quelques petits cadeaux (feuilles de cocas, cigarettes, bâtons de dynamite – oui, oui), ceux-ci raconteront leur histoire aux touristes. Des touristes qui en majorité ressortent de là éprouvés physiquement et moralement. Jan sera de ceux-là. Moi, je décline ; je veux pas y aller. En plus d’être claustrophobe, j’ai encore en tête mon expérience horrible dans la mine de souffre à ciel ouvert, dans le cratère d’un volcan sur l’île de Java en Indonésie, qui se visite aussi comme une attraction touristique. J’y avais vu venir ma dernière heure lorsque le vent s’était brusquement retourné et nous avait plongé dans le noir et les vapeurs toxiques qui nous piquaient les yeux et la gorge. Des mineurs bienveillants, qui subissent ce genre de phénomène quotidiennement, nous avait alors collé contre la paroi de la pierre, pour qu’on essaie de capter les bulles d’oxygène encore emprisonnée… Nous étions restés comme ça peut-être 10 minutes jusqu’à ce qu’un mineur nous crie de remonter, une fois le nuage un peu dissipé. Ce fût les 10 minutes les plus longues de ma vie et ma remontée d’un cratère la plus rapide aussi. Cette expérience personnelle, plus la vision de ces pauvres mineurs qui travaillaient avec leurs mains et leurs pieds nus dans le souffre toxique, m’avait retourné le cœur – Roberta avec qui je voyageais s’en souvient aussi bien que moi ; jusqu’à aujourd’hui, j’en ai les larmes aux yeux. Hors de question donc de me replonger dans cette tristesse-là. Je serai lâche, et pendant que Jan se porte témoin volontaire, je fais le tour de la ville.
Potosi donc, jolie petite ville colorée, à 4600m d’altitude. La couleur ocre domine et irradie sous le soleil d’hiver. Population moins sophistiquée qu’à Sucre, et visages moins souriants et chaleureux qu’à La Paz ; on sent qu’on n’a pas la vie facile ici. Mais ville plaisante, chargée d’histoires, avec de jolis bâtiments coloniaux et une splendide cathédrale en pierre, en cours de restauration.
La prochaine étape, c’est le Salar de Uyuni : le désert de sel… encore une raison pour laquelle j’ai inscrit la Bolivie tout en haut de ma liste de pays à visiter. On a acheté une couverture polaire en prévision des -20° qu’on devra affronter la nuit ; ça promet d’être… amusant ??
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
