Stage 10 - Bolivia

California to Patagonia: A Cycling Expedition
Trip Report

Stage 10 -Bolivia

17 December, 2008 to 4 January, 2009.

* Photographs from this stage of the journey can be found here.

* Route maps of the journey can be found here.

Total distance cycled: 16,456 km
Total distance in Bolivia: 968 km
Total distance on DIRT ROADS: 505 km
Days on the road: 436
Days total in Bolivia: 17
Average distance per day in Bolivia: 71.2 km
Maximum speed: 79 km/h (downhill out of Loja to Catamayo, Ecuador)
Maximum altitude: 6,310 mtrs (20,561 ft) - Mt. Chimborazo, Ecuador
Highest altitude cycled to date: 5,021 mtrs
Flat tires to date: 34

Total money spent in Bolivia: $105.40
Average daily expenses: $6.20 in Bolivia (a trip record so far!)
Savings from an illegal entry: $135!

Nights spent...
... invited to a home – 6
... camping outdoors – 8
... cheap hotels - 4

Best Day: Riding along the shores of the glassy waters of Lake Titicaca with a perfect tailwind.
Worst Day: Intense rain, mud, and headwinds (and 505 km of continuous dirt roads!) in the Sur Lipez Desert, especially that last day to the Chilean border.

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After successfully negotiating my illegal entry into Bolivian territory, Natalie and I promptly commenced on making good friends with the local street food vendors of Copacabana, a tranquil village along the shores of the magnificent Lake Titicaca – whose name, in the childhood wonder of my mind, will forever rank in that list of special places such as Timbuktu and Teotihuacan. The delicious empanadas ($0.25 each!!!) sold by the kind man at the corner of the central plaza, however, definitely ranks as the highlight of Bolivian gastronomy in my humble opinion.

Leaving tierra firma for a while, we hopped a boat across the glassy waters of the Lake to Isla del Sol, the mythical birthplace of the Inca civilization. Overhearing the tour guide spew entirely fictitious dates of settlement on the island and that the Inca capital was Macchu Pichu (haha!), we decided to part ways and ruminate on ancient origins ourselves.

The irony about places such as Macchu Pichu and Isla del Sol is that the stark beauty and mystery of the run-down ruins leaves much to the imagination; a partially constructed set of walls conjures up in our minds questions of how the people actually lived, interacted, etc. While this is all good to stir the juices of curiosity, it also breeds lots of fictitious constructions that over time, pass as pseudo-science or 'truth.' Places such as these are never short of New Age, tarot-card reading, crystal toting, millenial prophets.

Leaving the Island, we continued along the shores of Lake Titicaca towards La Paz. The route winded up and down hills along the vast watery blanket of the aqua-blue waters below. The boastful clouds tried to attract our attention as much as the 'gringo-gringo' yelling sheepherder kids along the road.

After running out of luck with the wonderful tailwind that was following us, we battled the final few kilometers into La Paz with a stiff headwind. Although I had prepared mentally for the spectacle that was the capital city of Bolivia, nothing had prepared me for the madness, the pollution, and the chaos that come with each Latin American capital.

Dodging potholes and streetkids, Natalie and I finally found our way into the heart of the city, where the contrasts between the haves and the have-nots in Bolivia were more profound than ever. We were invited to the home of a friend – nay... the place deserved to be called a fairy tale castle – in the middle of the city. Juxtaposed against this wealth, there were streetkids with long looks and their mothers reaching out their hands to businessmen clad in three-piece suits.

The holiday season in full swing, it was difficult to grasp the reality of poverty when everything about the city screamed consumerism – from toys and new clothes to fresh television sets and fancy shoes. We spent Christmas Eve just as adrift as the homeless searching for a good place to dine, but even this proved to be a depressing spectacle. Between fried chicken and french fries, we ended up settling on a greasy Chinese restaurant, which, under the circumstances, was perhaps the healthiest food around.

After we exhausted our conversations about globalization, poverty, and pollution, what remained were long sighs and the familiar pains of farewell. After nearly a month of cycling from Cuzco to La Paz, it was time to say goodbye to Natalie as she was about to start a fresh semester in college.

Cycling solo again with my handlebars pointed towards the great Altiplano due South fueled me with a newfound energy. The landscape opened up to infinity, and the villages along the side of the road disappeared slowly as big noise and crushing silence took over. The pavement also bid me farewell, and at times my thoughts focused on nothing more than the crunching of my tires beneath my feat.

In a world so entwined in the frivolousness of everyday life, solitude, I find – is the best way to really learn about oneself. When stripped down to only our thoughts, we are exposed to an essence that is at times frightening, enlightening, beautiful, disturbing.... but always, honest.

The great altiplano thus stretched into the Southern horizon, seemingly endless. Some time in the distant past, the Incas traversed this high plain to expand their empire southwards; the Spaniards came after them to re-conquer those same lands and in the process discovered the world's richest silver mines in Potosi. And after conquest and wealth seemingly became unpopular, tourists flocked to the surrealistic landscapes of the Altiplano to witness the Salar de Uyuni and the unbelievable desolation of the region. Thankfully, the tourists were like moths who flocked around the singular brightness of Uyuni, a small tourist hub where 4 x 4's buzzed around like confused bumper cars.

To those who could resist the blinding draw of organized tourism, the dirt roads in Southern Bolivia were like a dream. Despite the ass-grinding masochism, in retrospect, it was a positive experience. Zero to no traffic. And pausing for a moment, I would often realize that I was truly in the middle of nowhere. As the English explorer David Livingstone, reduced to childish simplicity during his crossing of the Sahara Desert wrote: “the mere animal pleasure of traveling in a wild, unexplored country is very great.”

A crumbling set of ancient walls abandoned in a forgotten corner, decomposing llama bones returning to the void it came from – all served as uncanny reminders of why I had come here in the first place. I was a traveler in an antique land, where my passage was perhaps just a blip in the immensity of existence.

My hopes of cycling across the Salar de Uyuni were shattered by the first winter storms. For three days and three nights, Biblical rain seemed to punish me for all my sins and wrongdoings. Instead of repenting, I watched the world's largest salt flat fill up like a swimming pool. The next day, I dipped a toe in the waters to see if I could still perhaps tread my way across.

When filled with water, the Salar de Uyuni is like a vast mirror due to its immense reflective capacity. The ground and sky seam perfectly at the horizon and the still water blurs reality. Like Jesus, I walked across the shallow water, spun around in circles and drove myself dizzy, but I still found it difficult to drag my bicycle into the salty waters.

The salt is extremely corrosive, and thus wreaks havoc to any steel machine, so I gracefully decided to return to tierra firma with Bucephalus and promised the Salar that I would be back at another time when it was dry and I could cycle across to the other side. For now, I was still stuck with the terrible dirt roads!

Three days of difficult riding against headwinds across the Sur Lipez Desert confronted me with the Chilean border. For three days, the wind howled so fiercely that it fixed a permanent soundtrack in my head, much like the plaguing rhythm of electronic music days after a festival.

When I reached the border post, my physical state was reduced to a delusion... a body so broken down by the elements that when I sheltered myself from the wind behind the wall of the customs building, it felt like a 5 star luxury. Every inch of skin and every piece of gear I had was coated with a film of dust.

Perhaps my ghostly appearance scared the Bolivian immigrations officer at the exit post, but he didn't even budge as I crawled in the wind without paying him a visit in his sheltered trailer park office. My illegal entry in the country came to a glorious full circle when I was welcomed into Chile by the friendliest immigrations officer who not only gave me an official stamp into his country, but also filled my water bottles with clean, dustless water and my stomach with a filling meal.

Chile was a welcome respite from Bolivia. Even though I still had over 200 km to go across the Atacama Desert, my spirits were lifted high enough to soar across the remaining distance.

Physical hardship and Herculian feats of endurance are not the reason why I cycle. While some people thrive on dirt roads and are attracted by difficult passages, I find that I am happiest when interacting with the people who live in the places I am traveling across. For me, the human and cultural experience, in the end, is richer than the accomplishment of extreme physical feats. Aside from the desolateness of the Altiplano, the few people I encountered in Southern Bolivia seemed very reserved and fearful of strangers, unwilling to let me into their everyday lives.

As I write this, I am glad that the difficult roads of Southern Bolivia are now behind me.

But then again, in retrospect, a small part of me winks and wants to go at it again. Can the road ahead promise anything remotely similar?

There's only one way to find out.

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Acknowledgments:

- Ricardo: thanks for your smiles and warm thoughts on the Copacabana hostel roof!
- John and Michelle: for the good vibes and conversations shared on the boat ride from Isla del Sol.
- Juliet and Sabine: thanks for the good company at Ariel's 'castle!'
- Ariel Conitzer: thanks for letting us crash in your wonderful 'castle' in the middle of La Paz.
- Natalie Stameroff: thanks for sharing all those moments on the road, and for your continuing friendship.
- Ricardo Velez: for sharing your enthusiasm and for the epic journey you're embarking on!
- Simon and Elias: thanks for the info on the route ahead between Uyuni and Ollague.
- Jean-Noel, Stephanie, and the Renard family: our roadside encounter before Oruro definitely ranks as the highlight of that day in the altiplano.
- Ricardo Rafael Hidalgo: for your well wishes and for convincing me that there are wonderful people in Bolivia.
- Franz Yucra: for the unexpected encounter in the middle of the Altiplano and the invitation for lunch!
- Sol Montechiari and Cintia Cerella: thanks for the unforgettable dinner and conversations in Uyuni, and most of all, for lightening up my spirits with your bottomless smiles!