Stayin Alive - Bolivia Part I (Villazon, Tupiza)

I'm in Hong Kong right now. The shopping mecca of the far east....perhaps of the world for that matter. Who knows. Je no care because I am not about to drop $800 for a Hermes belt. Got my $8 belt from Buenos Aires thank you very much. So let me explain how I got here...

Oad and I crossed the border from La Quiaca, Argentina to Villazon, Bolivia without a hitch. It was hot and dry and we were both exhausted. Didn't want to spend the night in the Tiajuana of South America (Villazon) so we kept on trucking to the train station...only another 17 blocks away (in total I think we walked 2km just to get to the train station). I always had a picture in my mind of what Bolivia may look like...upon arriving I wasn't too far off. We saw an amazing spectacle of worker ants carrying goods on their backs into Bolivia (think Les Voyageurs). It was a a never ending river of people. Hundreds. It just never stopped. Old, young, women and children. Didn't matter. We had reached Bolivia. Wish I took a picture but at this point I was being over precautious. My camera was stuffed down my pants along with my passport and credit card. I wasn't about to say hey amigo, me gringo...me wanna take a photo of you-o so I can show-o me other gringo friends-o breakin your back-o. You dig?

We exchanged our Pesos and Dollars for Bolivianos (8 Bolivanos = US$1, 2.55 Bolivianos = 1 AR Peso). I was starving. Oad was taking forever. This is a guy who was worried about getting mugged and he exchanges US$400. Me? US$25. He's checking each 100 note and holding it up to the light. Man, is this guy for real. Why don't you just hand your money over. It would be a lot easier. I gotz to eat. I spot a chola. Well, actually I spot a lot of cholas. There are all over the place. A chola is a staple of Bolivian culture. Not hard to miss. They are indian and mestizo women that still follow a dress code decreed by an 18th-century Spanish king. Cholas wear various layers of skirts and bowler hats on top of their braided hair. Whatever works, right? I mean, I can't really complain since my dress code is "backpacker"... decreed by the great Tree Hugging king from Vancouver??? Aaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooh Anyways, I flip the chola a Peso (they still call the currency Peso here although it changed to the Boliviano in 1987) for a bag of styrofoam-looking sugar crisps called pasankalla. Mmmm...can't get enough of that sugar crisp. It kills my hunger. We make it to the train station for a 3:30pm train to Tupiza. The train is late....three hours. Feck.

We walk back another kilometer to the bus station. Grab the menu del dia for lunch as we wait for the bus at the restaurant across the street. Lunch is great. The beer sucks (Huia which tastes like Heinekin which tastes like skunk pee...not that I have had skunk pee..). Had a fun time swatting away house flies during my meal. Mosquitos aren't a problem in Bolvia. It's house flies. Don't bring repellant. Bring a fly swatter. Comes in handy for annoying backpackers too. We grab the bus. Hmmm, that's funny. The bus doesn't look anything like its advertised. No washrooms either which is the norm.

Off we go...to Tupiza, a town of 25,000, 3000 metres above sea level. Surronded by rainbow coloured moutains, canyons and rivers. The ride to Tupiza was a bumpy and dusty one. Bolivia does not really have many paved roads. 35% of the country is made up of National Parks. I never ate so much dust. At one point I just started laughing. Felt like I was on a Disney ride. The mountains were really out of this world. I had paid $100 over 3 days in Argentina to see the same thing for $1.50 in Bolivia. Bumpity bump bump....look at the gringos go....bumpity bump bump bumpity bump bump...over the hills of dirt???

Check into Valle Hermoso Hostal or Little Israel. Israelis love to travel...they will tell you why. "So why do Israelis come to South America in droves...is it the language, the food, the culture"? "What do you think...it's cheap". More on Israelis later. We stay although Oad didn´t want to hang with his fellow Israelis. I guess it's kind of how I run away from Canadians although I am getting better. Holla! Checked out the town. It was pitch black. The town didn't really have much in the way of street lamps but I ventured out anyway. Lots of people just having fun. Drinking, eating, playing...there was even a parade at around 10pm that evening. Any problems? None. Bolivia hs a bad rap. The country is safe.

Went for a run the next day around the surronding area. Ran into some more goat and sheep herds...and dogs that wanted to hump my leg and/ or bite me. F*ckin dogs. I wanted to see where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were shot and buried but that would have put me behind 3 days. Check out the movie http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0064115/ if you are suffering from insomnia.

Went horseback riding instead for five hours ($10). Our guides were 13 and 8 years old. Dario, the elder (who I think was really 18) kept on harrassing me about the tip. Not even riding 10 minutes and he's mentioning how all the gringos flip him 20s etc. Riiiiiight. Well, if you call me gringo, I'll flip you the finger. His little buddy was affectionately known as Moco or booger. He had his own pony and was so short he had to get up on a rock and run and jump to mount his horse. I felt bad for these kids and I felt like a jackass for paying for the trip. I think it is wrong how these kids are exploited. I thought we would be joined by an older and more experienced guide at some point but it didn't happen. Two girls joined me...Deanna from Australia and Oozie from Switzerland. Not sure how to spell Oozie's name. Let's call her Pickie. You'll see why.

The ride was fun at the beginning but dragged on towards the end, because hello these kids weren't guides... "There's a mountain. Here is canyon. Here is a canyon called the Devil's mouth". K, thanks for the insight. Highlight was hearing Oozie scream every five minutes as we were galloping...aaaaaaaaahhhhhh...as she hung on for her life. I know I shouldn't have laughed but it was funny...

I tipped Dario and Moco although the girls didn't want to contribute. I think I could spare $3 (20 Bs). Ragged out the agency for using kids as guides. Freddy at the agency didn't get it. He wanted to fire the poor kids. I wanted to fire Freddy. This country needs more role models not hustlers.

That night, Oad joined us for dinner although I wanted to ditch Pickie Ickie. Nope the Gremlin wanted to come. Most of the items on the menu were of course not available. In Bolivia, when you order food, expect to wait a little longer or be disappointed because they cook what is ordered...not what they think will be ordered. No wasting here...which is good I guess. I had a steak with a fried egg on it and rice below it. French fries on the side. Mmmm, healthy. It was a tiny table and the Gremlin kept on getting in my zone. Number of words spoken between her and I...one..."hello". After dinner, the Gremlin started picking her feet at the table which is always a nice way to send off. Went back to the hostal to sleep and pack. Knock knock. Guess who? Oh yay! The Gremlin and the Aussie want to keep talking. I just want to go to sleep. And guess who decides to sit on my bed and pick her feet? And her arms, and her head...what was she looking for? But at least she did attempt to flick whatever she was pickig into the waste basket...she missed. Who does that??? Anyway, called it a night after two hours of more torture. I was heading for the salt plains in Uyuni the next day...