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Page 5 of 6
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After crossing the Pacific at the end of August, I meet Clare and Katharine in La Paz. A week of acclimatization, tea drinking and chilling out in the city, Clare flys back to the UK leaving Katharine and Matt ready to head north on to the Altiplaino towards Peru.
Our website, www.worldonwheels.info/ is updated more regularly with news and pictures (click expedition / photos), plus comment and feed back (click discussion / forum). It was awarded site of the month for Septemberby http://www.sapling.org.uk/ Cheers guys!
La Paz city is built in a deep fissure in the Altiplaino. The city itself occupies the entire canyon, houses and streets perched precariously on its steep sides, with the city centre occupying the bottom of the
canyon. In most cities the smart and expensive houses sit on the highest part of town, where there is less pollution, in La Paz the smart end is the bottom of the valley, here the air is thicker and warmer.
500m above the city centre, on the edge of the canyon is the second city, E Alto. Home to people from rural Bolivia, searching for bright lights and a better life, it is the fastest growing city in Latin America.
In parts it is little more than a shanty town and is a stark contrast to the colonial and reasonably prosperous city below it. On Sunday El Alto is buzzing with minibuses, taking people out to the villages to visit relatives.
Acclimatized and with good weather, the ride up out of La Paz is slow but steady, and by mid afternoon we are out on to the Altiplaino and heading for Lake Titicaca.
We meet a huge demonstration coming towards us and the city, banners and music make the scene seem quite friendly, however whilst we had been in La Paz there was a definite edge to the atmosphere, riot police nervously fingering shields and guns whilst guarding the civic buildings and one evening, charging at protesters, wielding tear gas guns. As we continue our travels the situation deteriorates. We had made it out of the city just in time, friends were not so lucky and spent considerable time trapped in the centre.
Our first night was spent camped on a hill above the brilliant blue lake Titicaca, a bright red sunset over the blue lake was magic, the mountains behind us vividly illuminated. The stars were bright that night, although the frost was harsh.
Lake Titicaca is famous for its reed boats and the fine trout that are farmed there. There are still a few reed boats in use on the lake, much more abundant are the brightly coloured wooden rowing boats. The trout and chips (Trucha Fritas), served in every restaurant, is delicious.
We ride the hills around the lake, through the villages. Kids stretch cassette tape across the road and scream with joy as we burst through it. We cross the lake on rickety timber rafts, laden with buses and
trucks they race each other across the narrow strait. The sun is setting as we speed down the curvaceous road into Copacobana
Its namesake in Brazil is famous for white sandy beaches, bikini clad women and glamour lifestyle, Copacobana Bolivia is cold and famous for its unique religious activities. The Church in the centre of town blesses vehicles, any vehicle, to protect them and their occupants from dangers on the road. A bus is being blessed as we ride through town. The basic ceremony appears to be that the vehicle is decorated with flowers, coloured paper, bits of tree and photos, its then driven to the church courtyard, priest does a bit of chanting, alcohol is liberally administered to the wheels and (more importantly) driver, firecrackers are let off and then its driven off at high speed in to the sunset. Convinced?
In what becomes a religious event of our own, we have a hearty meal of Pizza (famillia) each and beer.
The next couple of days on the Pervian side of the lake are equally pleasant. Great views over the lake, Trucha Fritas in a tiny village with a few bus drivers is a comedy in misunderstanding, we camp in fields and try to track down great cake shops. In Juliaca we get a hostal with a sauna, not only does it heal some of the aches and pains but also provides an uncomfortable glimpse beneath the copious layers of Altiplaino dress. In return, the kids are fascinated by our white stripes.
The Altiplaino is flat, windswept and, out of the sun, cold. Weather changes fast, one day can contain the four seasons. Sun burns, hail stings and the wind is constantly in your face. In this harsh climate the Altiplaino people have taken to bundling themselves up in layers of bright clothing and then wrapping themselves in blankets. Houses are rarely insulated and with a lack of timber, there is rarely any heating.
We cross a pass. At 4338m it is the highest of the trip so far. 10km of downhill and we hit Agues Caliente, Hot springs. We perused the promised medical benefits whilst soaking in the murky waters. With Rheumatism and Arthritis cured, we slept soundly.
Cusco, Gringo mecca, sprawling city and purveyor of fine pizzas.
The lost Inca City of Matchu Pitchu is one of the wonders of the world, a guidebook once in a lifetime experience. We discover the price of a day trip is also wondrous. We miss the guide book tick and spend the day people watching over the rim of a teacup. A lively inhabited city is far more interesting. Its an interesting mix, barefooted old ladies with bunches of sticks on their back mingling with guidebook clutching tourists dripping with cameras.
Harsh words have been written about the hilly ride from Cusco to Nazca, all are true. We locate a all you can eat breakfast to build ourselves up for the day. The hills come thick and fast with a big climb through the suburbs and out of the city. Another pass and another hilltop campsite looking over the snowy hills. The best part of uphill is of course the other side, and it takes the whole morning to race down the valleys to a bridge. The air is thick and sweet at this lowly altitude, its also infested wit tiny midges that speckle us both in bloody bites. We dont dwindle, and start heading back up the hills. It takes two days to climb back up to 4000m, we are joined by Maggie and Rick, Canadians who have been cycling for over two years through the Americas. Stories, tips and hostel info is all feely exchanged as we crawl through the mountains.
Abancay, bottom of a scorching downhill, is a brisk town in the middle of the Andes, a major road junction, but without Inca remains is rated poorly in the guidebook. We spend two days there, enforced by a stomach bug, and actually (infection aside) very pleasant.
The question of weather to go to Colombia has been on my mid since arriving in Latin America. Decision and safety situation is exacerbated by a recent kidnapping of 8 tourists and very black outlook from the FCO. I spend a lot of time thinking and researching alternative on the net. The FCO advise that cycling is considered very dangerous. Three alternatives appear, fly, boat or take a swift bus. How much risk am I prepared to take, is the nub of the question, and how much of the news is
hyped up media panic? I decide that still have a lot of time to decide.
There is another two days uphill from Abancay, Katharine is running out of time to get to Lima for her flight so we hatch a plan for her to catch the bus from a small village, and with the slim chance that I
would catch her up in Nazca. We say goodbye and I set off to Nazca as fast as I can. A few hours later an a taxi screeches to a halt in front of me, Katharine hanging out the window. The allotted bus wouldn't take her bike so in true TV style, a bevvy of folk helped her summon a taxi to track me down. She got a bus the following afternoon, jumping on to its heated luxury just before a snowstorm hit, great timing!
Katharine had a full day in Nazca before getting a bus to Lima, in that time she had to get some kind of packaging for the bike to enable the airline to take it. With help from the hotel staff and tourist
information guy a carpenter was summoned to build a wooden crate. Bike safely stowed, she had given up on me arriving in Nazca before she left, the promise of a farewell pizza and beer was too much for me to resist though..
Through the snow and the high remote moorland gave way to rolling hills and lakes. The lakes were alive with wildlife including flocks of pink flamingos, a vivid colour against the mountain backdrop. The road wound down the side of a hill and as it got dark the only place suitable to sleep was a ledge carved out ext to the road. Another star studded and frosty night out in the open. Next day an early start got me into Pouquio for breakfast, Nazca was exactly 100 miles away over another huge pass. A big day, and it was dusk as I topped the last hill and headed to town, 4000m below. The sun sank over the mountains, bathing the foothills and desert dust in a pinky glow. The ride beneath the moon and stars down switchback roads was exhilarating, Nazca shimmering brightly in the dark of the desert. Pizza and beer have not been more deserved. Katharine was chuffed Id made it as she couldn't lift the crate on her own.
Nazca is famous for the its lines, huge drawings and images laid out in the desert. Their origins and purpose of these two thousand year old shapes are a mystery, as they are only visible from a plane.
The Pan Americana snakes from the tip of Argentina right through to Alaska. It is the busiest road in Peru and the only road that connects the north an south of the country. Its big and stuffed with trucks. It runs through the arid desert, far enough away from the coast to miss the sea breeze and far enough away from the hills to miss the views. The sand is a mucky black and it is used as an impromptu rubbish dump.
Peruvians eat on average one whole chicken each per day, whole roasted and served with chips, it has to rate as the modern national dish. Pollorias adorn the streets of even the smallest villages, dishing out Pollo by the heaped plate full, washed down by liters of Inca Kola. To feed the obsession, the stretch of desert around Lima is covered in massive tents housing the doomed birds, trucks of corn in, trucks of chickens out.
So the road to Lima was grim, but movement along it was enlivened by a couple of encounters, first was the mistaken identification of a campsite. I have not seen a campsite since Romania and the thought of soft grass, water on tap and perhaps a shower, made me stop and enquire about
staying the night. A guy called Limer was the first to meet me and we wandered around a walled oasis looking for the owner. It slowly transpired that this was a Spiritual Union holiday camp, housing 30 pilgrims (?!) from the UK and an undisclosed number of street kids from Lima. It was of course, their pleasure to offer me an apartment for the night, invite me to join them for meals and pray for my safe journey. The deal is that these folk come over for a two week holiday, subsidize the street kids refuge, give them presents, then jet back to the UK feeling good about themselves. Chat was good and tea was available in large quantities, stories were swapped and it was a lively evening.
Every year Peru stages a national motor race, for 10 days rally cars race a circuit around the mountains of Peru, along the gravel, and very public roads. I had chosen the day of the final to Lima, to cycle into the capital. Whilst the road was officially closed, the Police very generously, said I could just cycle along the hard shoulder. Stuff that I thought, would they let cyclists go along the hard shoulder at Le Mans or in Monaco? I stood on the hard shoulder in amongst throngs of people, the cars raced past three abreast, the crowd parting to let them through. I was to find that this was only the start of the madness as when the road reopened, every bloke with a car tried to catch the race, manic.
The Southern suburbs of Lima at dusk are perhaps the most threatening place I have been through, it was a relief to arrive in the centre and to find Bob and Julia (friends from home) offering a beer and hearty meal. A celebration of 6 months on the road and the halfway mark, was in order.
Heres to the next 6!
Cheers
Matt
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