They only had the cheap seats left!

Alas ours were missing the last 20 degrees compared to the fully  reclining ones upstairs. It is quite the task in South America, trying to weigh up cost vs standard of bus before a journey (including what to believe from all you've been told about standard of said bus); however you soon learn that comfort on a journey is not all about the seat. One thing that is also apparent in South America is that no-one can afford headphones, having no doubt spent every last penny on their phone. However, whilst the youth of the UK often rate their phones on how big the screen is, how many megapixels they have, how quick they can get to facebook etc, there seems to be only one thing worth testing on your prize purchase here...how loud the speaker goes! So this journey was yet another where no sooner had we settled into our seats, our eardrums were abused by our neighbour's phone, rattling out tinny music. And seriously, the stuff they listen to is just not good!  Then it isn't long before the guy behind decides jigging his feet constantly against the back of your seat is a really good idea. Then there is the TV on the bus playing bizarre pimped-up traditional music (think panpipes vs electric guitars, brightly coloured woven textiles and traditional dancing vs 'seductive' close-ups of young girls' bare legs and pant-lines as they twirl their skirts, etc.) And of course you get bumped regularly by anyone who walks past. What fun the travelling part of travelling really is!

"That will blind you. Permanently".

Welcome to the jungle! Strictly speaking I think we were in primary rainforest, the jungle being when the canopy disappears and lets enough light through so a dense undergrowth can develop.  There was definitely a canopy, as one member of our group will attest, after they were hit on the head by fruit thrown by a pesky monkey from said canopy!  This specific piece of Amazon rainforest was in a private reserve called Serera, run by local eco-activist Rosa Maria.  She has done a massive amount of work in the nearby Madidi National Park, trying to protect and develop the reserve, whilst encouraging the local communities to welcome tourism to help continue a sustainable way of life.  She is now working to regenerate Serera, putting all proceeds from the lodge back into the community, currently aiming to employ more full time guards to protect against poaching and logging.

So 'that' was the residue from a beetle hiding under a leaf; fortunately it was our guide Gilda (pronounced Hilda) who brushed against it and could calmly explain the latest peril to us before very carefully washing his fingers. The number of dangers in the rainforest is extraordinary. Aside from the obvious such as snakes and spiders, you have to avoid grabbing branches incase a poisonous caterpillar is lurking or perhaps fire-ants. Even the trees themselves pose a threat, some with an armour of spikes, others containing sap of which one drop would knock you out cold (traditionally used by hunters to fell animals with darts). On the animal front, there isn't much danger from wild cats during the day, it's the wild pigs you have to watch out for as they hunt in huge packs and can circle humans and make their charge; the only escape is up a tree and people have lost their rear ends by not climbing high enough in time...good luck to the gringoes!

We were constantly shuffled away from some danger or other by Gilda, mostly ants to be fair that would just give you a nasty nip, but on one occasion even our unflapable and smiling guide displayed a worrying look of concern. Our path was leading us close to a nest of wasps, and I don't think we were talking your common or garden wasp you find back home, that will just smart a bit if you're gotten; I can't remember the exact strain but I'm sure the word 'killer' appeared in the name.  Gilda quickly abandoned his original plan to pass one by one at two minute intervals, as even that might rile them too much, and we went the long way round, pushing our way through thicket and presumably taking a calculated risk with all the other (less) deadly perils!

Reassuringly the rainforest will as happily save you as kill you. It was fascinating to learn about each of the many plants that have medicinal properties. There are literally hundreds that the locals have used for years to treat all manner of conditions and only very recently have we caught on to the possibilities that Amazon plantlife may hold. Now it is big business for drug companies as they plough funds into research; this yields one hope that people will realise there is value in the rainforest beyond the price of timber or cattle and perhaps what little that is left can be saved.

Our adventure into the Amazon had started the moment we left La Paz as we climbed into our teeny little plane, having to crouch to get down the aisle. Not long after take-off the pilot let us know we could see Cotopaxi, a 6000m volcano, just to our left...and he really meant 'just' to our left as we skirted the peak! An hour or so later we touched down in a field surrounded by green mountains, feeling very happy to be out of the city. Our lodge was a 3 hour boat ride down river, bobbing over the odd rapid enroute and dodging giant trees felled by the strength of the river as it gushed down from the Andes.  Immediately off the boat we got our first sight of spider monkeys as they leapt among the branches high above us; a promising start. A 30 minute walk brought us to our home for the next 2 nights, and we were delighted to find our bed separated from the flora and fauna by no more than the netting surrounding our stilted huts.

The sound of the rainforest at night is quite something, cicadas chirping incessantly, bats flitting about and the rustle of anteaters and other nocturnal predators all around. Strangely this all becomes the norm so quickly that we possibly slept better because of it. By day, maybe the most incredible sound of all is that of the howler monkey; difficult to describe but at first I thought there were heavy chainsaws operating nearby, or dirt bikes racing around...perhaps imagine a deep haunting wind eerily sending chills down your spine. It doesn't sound animal in any case!

 
It didn't seem long at all until we were back in La Paz, time really does fly when you're having fun. Fortunately the memories will last a little longer and whilst we've still to see the elusive anteater, we've photos of monkeys, snakes, spiders, tropical birds and a 3 metre black caiman to remind us...and a few dozen mosquito bites!

We didn't pay any extra for the legroom!

Well at least compared to everyone else...this journey was only 90 mins but cost almost as much as our Bolivian night of purgatory!  It sums up Chile though, with much higher prices but at least you get what you pay for.  As soon as we crossed the border we jumped into a flash minibus and sped down a pristine paved road to St. Pedro, a dusty little town nestled in the Atacama desert, at the foothills of 6000m volcanoes and surrounded by extraordinary valleys reminiscent of the moon's surface.  OK, so it is a bit of a tourist trap but deservedly so, with a really pleasant feel to it and a handful of really cool bar/restaurants.  We only stayed a couple of days but it is the sort of place you could get stuck in and while away many a day.  Trying to choose from the endless list of activities and trips could get exhausting (pony treks through moon valley, sandboarding giant dunes, star-gazing trips in the pitch black desert skies, scaling enormous peaks, visiting geysers, volcanic hot springs, flamigo spotting etc etc...it's tiring just listing a few!) so we opted for simply pedalling out to Death Valley and on to Moon Valley for the sunset.  Both were spectacular and well worth the effort (no little effort slogging up hills on sandy trails in the burning sun, with a 15km return in the dark and chilly desert!)  So with a little sadness we boarded our posh bus to head north, but still smiling expecting more of the same for a few days before venturing back into Bolivia.

Uyuni to San Pedro

Uyuni is a grey, climatically challenged town a long way from the nearest civilised place in southern Bolivia, where we really didn´t fit in (the average number of alpaca wool garments per traveler is at least 3, we averaged nil).
Q: So why were we there?
A: To get to San Pedro de Atacama in Chile.

To get to St Pedro you have spend three days crammed in a jeep with strangers (an argumentative Dutch girl in our case, but the two young Danish guys were cool and the Spanish woman was pleasant enough), bouncing along rough tracks, staying in freezing cold brick huts with banging headaches from the high-altitude and enduring food classed as average at best.  And that is after the formidable challenge of choosing your tour operator from the plethora of choices, decipher truth from sham etc etc.
Q:  So why did we want to do that?
A:  Well, let us show you...

Our next adventure starts in Uyuni...or does it?

Being a "newbie traveller", I'd blocked out the sensible part of my brain telling me of the hardships that we'd have to endure on our travels: getting up at 5am, having a cold shower, dragging yourself to the early bus, then roasting in the midday sun with no air-con and gathering mouthfuls of dust through the windows (whether purposefully open or permanently so!)  On our journey from Sucre to Uyuni it all became clear why we were on another Bolivian death bus, with no leg room, a bladder ready to burst and overly familiar fellow passengers (the aisles are very narrow and the roads windy!)...the scenery was out of this world.  I had a picture in my mind of our forthcoming tour across the salt flats from Uyuni, but I hadn't imaged we'd find such extraordinary countryside on our way there.  We weaved round desolate hills and through ghost towns, watching grazing Alpaca with brightly woven braids, and mountain ridges rose magnificently before our eyes, delightfully coloured by various layers of mineral deposits, before descending towards Uyuni with the sun beginning to set across the nearby salt flats; a landscape you couldn't paint so perfectly.  Do we really need to go on our jeep tour now?!

Quien es la musica?

I have two memories of my last visit to Sucre with my brother back in 2003: the first was the dinotruck, the less than subtley painted transport out to a site of dinosaur footprints, most interesting for the eccentric guide who explained the history with plastic figures (and memorable for the obligatory bright orange hard hats); the second a great little bar that served an amazing traditional stew and where you ladelled your beer from a fishbowl.  This time around, neither of us were bothered about the dinosaurs, but Angela humoured me in search of a bar who's name or location I did not recall and that more than likely had bitten the dust in the last 8 years, as I'm sure many Bolivian haunts do.  So with only the knowledge that it was on the left hand side of a street, off we went.  It didn't help that I only really remembered the interior, and on sunday evening most places were shut!  However, after a couple of chimes of 'it must be this street...', I was sure I had found it, but sure enough its doors were locked and a glimpse through the dark window couldn't confirm my suspicions.  We passed it again the next afternoon and I was delighted it was the same place, with the same dish on the menu.  So needless to say I was gutted to return at dinner time and it was shut again!  Panic ye not, it was just a litte too early so later we returned and although we decided we weren't in the mood for a whole fishbowl of beer, the place was still really cool and had great music, as it had so many years before (a story that will only mean anything to my brother - we tried and unsurprisingly failed in our pigeon spanish to find out who was playing that night).  And of course there was the Pique, an absolutely delicious and mountainous plate of beef, sausage, onions, peppers and tomato in a thin stew served over a mound of chips...

Welcome to Bolivia!

 

We paid extra for the legroom.  A cheeky backhander to secure the best seats on the bus.  I guess the guy travelling in the luggage compartment below couldn't afford a bribe.  I've often found on my travels that the worst journeys turn out to be the best experiences.  I have very fond memories of a few hours spent hanging off the back of a truck, speeding along dusty roads in laos waving back at enthusiastic kids, for instance.  That after an excruciating start to the journey as more and more people and produce gradually edged me from my padded seat to a bare metal bar.  In contrast I suppose, the night on a cockroach infested boat in Indonesia had no redeeming features, my lungs probably not yet recovered from the diesel fumes!

So where does this journey sit?  Well, after crossing the border we had made it safely to Santa Cruz on the ´Death Train´, not that we know why it is named as such (possibly something to do with the food? Or the Aaron Eckhart films!)  Bolivia is also home to the ´World's Most Dangerous Road´, and whilst the one from Santa Cruz to Sucre isn't it, possibly all roads here could be up there near the top.  We weren't sure if our driver was schooled in the UK given his preference for the left side of the road.  Whilst driving round blind bends on mountain roads that is.  Our minds were probably easier once the sun set and all we could see were thousands of stars, and the occasional cactus lit against mountain silhouetes.  After a couple of hours that novelty had long worn off though, so the further 12 hours through the night were just uncomfortable, plain and simple.  Especially as the 'air-con' (open windows) stayed on all night, and it gets pretty cold in the hills.  So not going on the list of worst-but-best journeys then.  But we made it, and that's all that counts in Bolivia.

With a name like ‘Beautiful’, what do you expect…

Bonito itself isn’t much of a looker but is blessed with some of the most extraordinary natural attractions in the surrounding countryside.  So what can you do?  Well, there are crystal clear rivers to take a snorkelling safari down, ancient caves you can abseil into and take a dip in underground lakes, view hundreds of macaws as they soar up from their nesting ground in a huge crater, or simply swim with the fishes at the local outdoor pool (also a crystal clear river!)  There are several local rivers with pristine waters, so we chose the most famous (and hopefully the best), the Rio Prata.  I’ve snorkelled before in some amazing places but it is quite something else to do it in a shallow river (some places you had to suck your tummy in as the current washed you over rocks and sunken trees), lined by mangroves and surrounded by Piranhas!  To be fair, not the flesh eating variety but part of the same family; ten times the size and purple, definitely my favourite.  There were so many fish just hanging out against the flow, it was surreal to join a shoal for a while.  Other top underwater spots were a sea-snake (particularly rare due to a good camouflage) and a half-metre catfish.  We also dived down to grab some bubbling sand where springs burst from the river bed. To finish off the trip, the landing point was awash with hundreds of butterflies to welcome us ashore.  A truly great morning.

On the cave front, we were too chicken to abseil (well and it cost too much!) so opted to climb down a few hundred steps into a different cave, where we found an azure lagoon protected by thousands of stalactites, waiting to fall like daggers and punish anyone who even dips a toe in the forbidden waters.  It was impressive and we did get to wear silly hairnets under our climbing helmets; although to be honest, if you’ve seen one blue cave, you’ve kind of seen them all!  The real highlight of our time in Bonito had to be having a South American dairy cow named after me; yes, little Angela is also a fine, good-looking brunette except she has unfortunately long ears (unlike me, before anyone tries that one!)