Travel
Those of you who know me well are aware that I love a good travel story . I know too that the students I have taught over the years will remember the travel yarns I have told them, probably more than anything academic they have learned. It’s important to instill in them the idea that the world, although big, is hugely accessible, and contains many adventures for those who will only step out into it. You know, I’m talking about those things that don’t go quite according to plan; those journeys where the spontaneous overtakes the meticulously thought out. It can be frustrating or annoying, maybe scary, even terrifying, but it provides a great story after the event. So here’s my latest. It’s not as dramatic as some, but it kept me highly amused and entertained throughout.
Now the first thing to say here is that I stayed awake and watched. Others- the vast majority-slept right through what I’m going to tell you, and missed the entertainment. I’m not advocating that you don’t ever sleep and that you prop your eyes open with matchsticks through fear of missing something. I’ve learned through many years of travelling, however, that the journey to the destination is as much part of the overall adventure as the destination itself.
So, let’s begin. The journey was to be from la Paz, the capital of Bolivia, to Copacabana, not the Brazilian beach, but a resort on Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. We were due to depart fairly early, about seven in the morning, and I was psyched up, alarm set, and raring to go, on the next leg of the adventure. Then I received this email. Rather than paraphrase it, I’ve just included it here in its entirety:
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Hi Simon ! We have you scheduled to hop-on our Bolivia Hop service from La Paz tomorrow August 25th. Unfortunately, we have been informed that there is going to be blockades which will start very early in the morning and they will close the main road to Copacabana. The main reason for the blockades are because the people from Achacachi community want the government to get out of the town. The local police have informed us that the only possible chance we have to get out of La Paz is to leave La Paz very early in the morning. As a result we have updated the system for the new pick-up time and I have resent the booking confirmation to you from HOTEL ROSARIO AT 04:00 – 04:15 AM. Please note that ALL other public buses are either cancelling their service or bring it forward to very early hours…there will be no other way out of La Paz tomorrow so it’s the only option, unless you want to leave at a later date. If you would like to change your departure to another day please let me know and we can update the system as soon as possible. We are monitoring the situation and will inform you of any further changes but as it stands right now. Otherwise please respond to this email so that we know you have read it and will be waiting in reception for this early departure. The bus will have to leave on time so we can’t have the bus held up waiting for people. |
So , there we have it: more demonstrations. From the day I arrived at La Paz airport in El Alto, I had become used to protests, but this one seemed to be a bit heavier. I couldn’t really postpone departure because I’d already sorted accommodation in Copacabana and the following stop, Puno. The only option was to reset the alarm for 3:30. To further complicate things, it was decided that I should get picked up from a different location as my hotel was a bit off the beaten track and would delay everything. I would need to get up even earlier and take a taxi to a central pickup point.
So, August 25th, very little sleep, and an insanely early alarm clock later, I was stood in the middle of the less-than-safe La Paz night, trying to hail a taxi that would be both quick and reputable. Success. I arrived at the central meeting point, woke up the receptionist, who let me in to await Bolivia Hop. This arrived on time, set off on time and began to lumber up the pitch black, steep streets of Bolivia’s capital. The roads here are seriously steep. The main downtown area is ridiculously above sea level, but is surrounded by virtual mountains with houses stuck to them. To help the people who commute in and out of the city, a teleferico (cable car) was installed a few years ago, each line representing the colours in the country’s flag. We negotiated the hills and were soon in El Alto, the sprawling city where La Paz airport is. And it was here that the fun really started.
The guide on the bus had explained before we set off, that even though we were leaving early, there was a good chance we would not be able to go the main route to Copacabana.The protesters might already have barricades set up. When we pulled over in El Alto, fifteen minutes into the journey, I was convinced we had encountered a roadblock. No. The tour guide informed us that our driver, lovely as I’m sure he was, had not slept the night before and was now too tired to drive. We had pulled over to await the shipment of a slightly fresher driver. If there’s one thing you want when you are travelling in the Andes it’s a driver who is not going to fall asleep at the wheel and take you with him into an endless valley. All I could think was that this delay would give us less chance of getting through before the demonstrators arrived. And then the fun continued.
A young American (always prone to a Bowie reference!) got up out of his seat suddenly and ran off the coach into the night. I watched incredulously as he headed for the wall. I got the impression that he was desperate for a number 1 or was going to be sick but wasn’t prepared for what happened next. He literally ran straight into the wall at full speed, bounced off it and landed in a heap on the floor, seemingly unconscious. The tour guide ran over to him, grabbed him by the hand, and jerked him up. He began to stagger, fell over again, was picked off the floor again, and then ran off, away from the coach. He was hotly pursued by our guide, and an American lady who had wanted a wee in an as yet unopened public toilet. They retrieved said erratic yankee, gave him water, and pushed him back on the coach. Talking to him later, it was clear that he had just arrived into the high altitude zone, and not realised that drinking a lethal mix of cocktails will add fuel to the dehydration you will already experience. I had learned this the hard way on my first night in La Paz, when two small bottles of beer earned me the equivalent hangover of ten pints at sea level.
Next. So, with the Young American from Seattle more settled, and with a driver awake at the wheel, we set off through El Alto as it prepared for the day. Ladies setting up their roadside stalls of bread, fruit and a host of other products; wild dogs cantering along, picking at the rubbish laden streets; street cleaners reducing the dogs’ choice of food; and then ahead of us four thick lines of vehicles with hazard lights flickering, calling us to an enforced standstill. We joined the assembled cars, vans, buses and lorries and waited for a while. I’m not really quite sure what happened next but I’ll try and explain.
The sleeping driver might not have had the initiative to do this but the new one became suddenly and seemlessly possessed by the spirit of Indiana Jones. He reversed a bit, manoeuvred a little, reversed some more and then hurtled off the main road and onto a bumpy track. I say bumpy track. It was actually a farmer’s field. Remember, most people slept through this, but I stayed awake to tell the tale and had a laugh about it with an American who had also witnessed the whole spectacle. We spent the next half hour bumping up and down and from sided to side, through rivets, ditches, land both ploughed and unploughed. Cows and sheep looked on bemused as we invaded their grazing rights in an attempt to get to Copacabana. Twice we stopped at fast-flowing streams and just managed to get the momentum to cross them, the bus tipping and lolling as it went. The next half hour took us through clusters of delapidated farms, and into villages where we had to ask directions to Copacabana. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it was all over and we were back on asphalt and heading in the right direction.
These unexpected twists are the things that turn holidays into adventures, and convert the bland into something much more spicy. Try and stay awake, keep your senses heightened and alert to what is happening around you. There’s always something going on in this crazy old world.
Words and photo by Si @cre8ivation
