Bolivia Part III (Oruro)

Here's Part III of Bolivia... I was so happy to leave Uyuni. It was torture staying there an extra day and night. The train car was decent...of what I could see. Because it was 3:30am they couldn't turn on the lights becaue people were sleeping so I had to fumble my way through to find my seat. Found it. Crashed. Woke up at 10:30am or so to the tune of Beverly Hills Cop III on the tv. Kind of funny watching Eddie Murphy speak Spanish. Watched that as I chowed down on breakfast...two slices of bread and rubbery piece of mozzarella. Mmmm...goodie. First class all the way. Didn't really see much of the countryside but by this time mountains were old hat to me.

Arrive in Oruro. See Cap'n America. This is a guy who I met in Salta, AR briefly in a coffee shop on top of a mountain, when I was traveling with Andre and the others. He talked in a monotone voice, kind of like Buddy from Seinfeld..you know Elaine's boyfriend. He was also about 6ft 4" and 240lbs. The guy was built like a brick shithouse. He clearly stood out. His trademark were his sunglasses.....blueblockers...http://www.blublocker.com/gallery/countryduo.html. Actually, blueblockers are the rage in Argentina right now...along with spikey mullets. I guarantee the craze is going to hit North America soon...again...watch. Compton, good thing you held onto your blueblockers from 1986. He heard us speak English and asked us where we were from...after giving me his laundry list of all the countries that he had visited since June (he must have named 25) he asked where we were going next. I say Bolivia, blah, blah, blah. I'm thinking I will never see this creep again. Total conversation time 1 minute.

In Humahuaca, who do I see having a cup of espresso on some side street? Buddy. In Tupiza, who do I see getting into a jeep on the way to the salares with my friends? Buddy. And now in Oruro. So I talk to him. "Hey Cap'n". "Oh hey, Canadian guy right". "Right". "You going to La Paz"? "Yeah". "Too bad. There is a bus strike. All buses in Bolivia are on strike right now. I am checking into this hotel up the street. See you later". What the *#$%&*!!! Of all people to be the bearer of bad news...Buddy.

Make my way to the bus terminal. Look around as I walk through the street markets. I am the ONLY cracker around. 90% of Oruro's 200,000 inhabitants are pure Amerindian..they call themselves "armadillos". Don't ask me why. Anyway, Oruro is famous for being grungy (its surronded by mineral-rich hills and mountains), dangerous and the La Diablada (The Devil) parade. Even Bolivians only come here for the parade. Right. Reminded me of Villazon...not the prettiest town but not THAT bad.

Reach the terminal. Yep, no buses in the terminal and that entrance gates are closed. Good times. I am STARVING, tired (didn't get much sleep because the train was too dry), and smelling REALLY gooood. Decide to get a hotel room (60Bs) near the terminal and stay the night. Don't know how long the strike will last so the next day I will try to find a ride out of here.

Shower up and look for a place to eat. I need to splurge. Pick the "best" restaurant in town run by "celeb" chef Don Roberto a.k.a. Mr. Potato Head. I eat my meal, enough to feed me for a week. Check out the pic. It is called Colita del Cordero or Tail of Lamb (50Bs with drink or $6). The house specialty. I'm thinking I get a piece of the backside..which is really tender...not the WHOLE backside with the tail included. Upon seeing the tail, I cringe. Well, I've always said I will try anything once as long as it doesn't kill me or make me sick. I tore into it. It was actually really good except that feckin little tail kept on winking at me. Don, Mr. Potato Head, comes over, "You speak English". "Yeah". "Where you from"? "Canada". "Oh yeah, Vancouver"? "No, Toronto". "Oh, that's too bad. Vancouver is the best". "Oh yeah, do you know Canada"? "Of course, I have been all over, Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal...Toronto is ok but Vancouver and Montreal are the best". Oh yeah, well Oruro is a shithole and so is your restaurant a-hole.

Stuffed to my eyeballs, I head back. See Nadia and Benoit..they opted on the bus instead of the train to get to La Paz sooner...but were stuck as well. I'm feeling sick. Feckin, Mr. Potato Head. I go back and crash. Wake up to the tune of "Oooooo-yoooo-neeeeee" (Uyuni, BL) at 2am. This insanity is going on every 5 mintues. Because my window is right in front of the terminal, I can hear everything. I look outside. It's dark and people seem to be running everywhere. Huge traffic jams. Looks like chaos. I go back to sleep.

Wake up. Look out my window. Still chaos except it's daylight now. What to do, what to do. How do I get out of here? Run out. Ask first cabbie I see, "How much to La Paz". "US$100" or 800Bs. D'ohkay! The ride normally costs 15Bs. Fecker. Still hear that annoying woman chanting Uyuni every 5 minutes...grrrrr...I now hear "La Paz, La la la la Paz". It's a micro (tiny bus that all the locals use...the gringos like me use the big charter buses to get between towns). I ask how much. 20Bs. Money. Grab my monchilla and hop on.

Of course I'm the only cracker on the bus. Sit next to this old dude. 65 and has done it all, farming, construction, mining, running a business, etc. We're all jammed like sardines. It's a happy family. We have a guy selling Chinese Herbal Tea (supposed to cure everything because it's from China), a chola selling potato patties and another one selling fried bananas and drumsticks (sorry, they don't use Subway sandwich gloves here). I passed on everything but it did look good. Seriously. I have a chola beside me the entire way. One would get dropped off and another one would hop on. They always wanted to sit beside me. They seemed to think that I liked getting swatted by their musty shawls or having their big butts in my face. I smiled. What can you do? So I talk to the ol man. We have a good chat about everything...growing up in Oruro, living in La Paz, his family, my family, politics and economics in Bolivia, etc. He even gives me a remedy to cure my headache (some lemony smelling leaves called cedron which I end up clenching in my fist and whiffing away...it worked), a remedy for sore throat (warm coca cola...not boiled...and a shot of whiskey), and a remedy for altitude sickness (chew coca leaves or drink coffee with a few drops of lime).

Bus ride turns into 4 hours...supposed to be 3 except the chola musical chairs puts us over the top. We reach El Alto which is on the outskirts of La Paz. The place is one of the fastest growing cities in South America. Looks like more chaos to me. Bus stops. I say good-bye to my friend and look out the window to make sure my stuff isn't getting swiped. Onto La Paz...