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| Sorry...this is the longest one yet but I just can't see a
way to cut any of this out... Ok...really been getting amongst it this week!!! When I first started here, Pedro was telling me about his grandmother who had to walk two and a half days from the nearest town the bus went to. Of course being a good 70 something this meant that Pedro could do it in a lot less but nevertheless it was pretty remote. Anyway, there was a whole host of festivals going on there this week (In Bolivia it seems there is any excuse for a party and they know how to do it here!) and loads of them in this area so I managed to convince Pedro to take me along for the weekend…not that he needed much convincing, it had started snowing here and was crazily cold with an icy blast of wind to add to the pleasure! So, Saturday morning, bright and bloody early we set off to Llallagua, an 8 hour journey from here, another mining town, without the tourism and where the miners are not ashamed to walk around with their equipment after work. The next day when we went to enquire about the bus to San Pedro it was full and so we had to jump on board a Camion, a great big truck used for transporting goods and campesinos which was fine and exciting until I realised it would be another 8 hour journey in an open topped truck...bloody freezing! Pedro and I ploncked our bags down to reserve ourselves spaces and hung out until the camion left...on time, Bolivian time that is, an hour later than we were told. Sitting on a sack of spuds we waited while more and more campesino women piled their huge bags of potatoes, blankets, children and chickens on board. At one point I was stuffed between 3 bums all in my face while the owners babbled in high pitched voices between themselves over where to put their cargo. Finally we set off and yes indeed it was cold but the journey was worth it. We stood up a lot of the way admiring the view, the mountains that went on forever, the feeling of being on top of the world and out in the open with the locals, real life. Imagine if you can, I really want to get this picture painted accurately in your heads seeing as I cant back it up with photos, a world of canyons, the biggest open space you can think of, all of it canyons, earth rising and falling immense cracks in the lower parts, far below you. A rainbow of reds browns and yellows at times coated in verdant greenery, at others merely brown velvety dimpled hills in the distance shadows growing longer in the indentations as the sun began settling across the miles of range. This was really the Andes. In San Pedro de Buena Vista we had 20 minutes to wait there Pedro wanted to run down and say a quick hello to his Uncle who lived nearby. Unfortunately no-one was answering the door and so we ran off quickly to buy food for the following day …suddenly we heard the horn honking and I ran to ask them to wait, just managing to catch it as it was moving away. I clambered onto the side of truck, the only way of entering without standing on everyone was to climb up the side and over the top into my tiny little place…but once again the truck started moving off and all the campesinos were shouting at me to get in while I was shouting at the driver to wait! Finally Pedro strolled up and off we set. From the tiny village of San Pedro the only method of transport was by camion and the only reason this one was going in any further at all was because of the festivals and thus the demand, but beyond San Pedro the route was through the river beds and therefore this was the only season in which this journey could be made. In the rainy season the chances of flash floods were huge and the rivers stayed full for the season only subsiding months later when the residents could leave their homes once again, during this season they are kept busy by farming goods to sell in the dry season and of course to eat to survive the rainy season. He himself had had to stay put a few years before when the rains had come early, stranding him for three months! The road through the river bed, made every year over again by the locals, was incredibly bumpy but the outline of the surrounding mountains and the bright moon illuminating the stars made the journey an incredibly beautiful one. We were lucky with our bus, when we arrived in Mikani where we thought we were supposed to be stopping, the driver announced that he would be carrying onto A La Cruz, further down the river, wicked for us, shortening our journey by a good half a day. We were down to about 10 in the back now and finally we arrived and set up our tent in front of a small shack made of leaves full of drunken campesinos. The next morning we set off backpack borrowed from Pedro wickedly uncomfortable and instantly I knew I should have bought my own with me. Still we managed to find a woman who was selling bananas and set off up the mountain in front of which we had camped. At the top of the mountain we had to climb before entering the river, we stopped for a nutritious breakfast of bread and bananas accompanied by an incredible view of the river bed stretching out ahead of us, rugged craggy but green mountains escalated downwards reaching the river bed invading its rocky, grey emptiness. This was to be our journey today. Didn’t seem very far, my spirits were high and I was all set for a good walk. So off we went, downhill, not too bad and then once into the river bed we found a stream I which we washed ourselves and brushed our teeth and once again set off refreshed. The walk was beautiful, I couldn’t have been happier, we walked along the rivers, some of the water flowing brown, black, yellow, white and green, tinted by the different minerals, some mixing to form a sweet tasting mineral water, others more salty but always invigorating. It was hot and the sky was cloudlessly and impossibly blue against the greenery of the mountains. At one corner fronting a hill on which stood a small brick building (I later found out was a school) a group of women were gathered around another leafy construction, further back brightly dressed men were sitting back drinking, relaxing. From here Pedro enquired if there was any chichi for sale, a fermented corn drink served in hardened half squash shells. There was only Upi on offer, Chicha in its early stages, not yet fermented which I was quite glad about as according to Pedro we still had a fair way to go. The Upi was perfect and after paying our one Boliviano (10p) for a litre of liquid refreshment we headed off again. Everytime we passed a campesino we greeted them sometimes stopped for a little chat or to give them sweets or presents we’d bought in Llallagua. It’s customary to greet a passer by out there, if you don’t do it they say a lost soul has passed you by. The sun was hot and strong and we had to rest a little in the shade for a few minutes where we munched away on sweets as the only other food we had (being totally prepared for every circumstance!) was bread that we had bought for his family. Finally, at about 3pm, much earlier than I had expected we arrived at another corner where I recognised the people that were staying in Pedro’s house back in Potosí, surprised to see us they ran excitedly to get Susanna, his sister and his mum who immediately fixed us a wickedly huge meal of everything they could find chucked together in different plates, toasted corn, potatoes, soup, rice, more potatoes, different kinds of potatoes. They had been living out in the river bed below the main house for the last few weeks, shacked up in the now familiar leaf clad constructions with mattresses of straw and constant fires burning. Bits of meat hung from lines strung between the houses and husks of corn lay around on the floor. Donkeys, pigs, goats and llamas seemed to be wandering around not necessarily doing anything or belonging to anyone. Naturally the 96% pure alcohol was bought out and mixed in with hot water and canela (cinnamon) a wickedly warming combination, not that we needed that here as much as in Potosí. We drank, sang, played guitars and ate all night before retiring to our tent set up neatly at the foot of the mountain where it met the river. This was bliss, really out in the middle of nowhere with no contact from anyone. The next morning we awoke to be greeted by a huge breakfast of bread, bananas and a whole pumpkin squash each cooked last night in the big earthen oven they had built near the other fires and then totally stuffed to the brim Pedro, his cousin and I began walking towards the canyon opposite our little set up. We had to pass by a small woody area first and after that we followed the river along to the foot of another mountain. Before climbing up it though we washed ourselves thoroughly in the river Amutara, so restorative and revitalizing. Climbing was pretty easy, we stopped once or twice to climb trees although most of them were covered in hundreds of huge spiny needles, further up Aloe Vera plants sprouted huge leaves and chilled hidden amongst the more traditional looking cacti. The tranquility of the desert nothingness was soon disturbed when we arrived at the halfway point of the mountain where Pedro’s uncle and family lived. We were immediately served with a big bowl of soupy potatoes on top of which was slapped a huge hunk of meat which as soon as eyes were averted I transferred to Pedro’s plate. They didn’t seem so surprised to see us but we were an object of total awe for the children. His Uncle had had 15 kids but sadly 8 had died. I was later to see partially how such things could happen. One of the sons was making a ch’urru, a local indigenous style brightly coloured hat with ear coverings and incredible decorations all over it. This, for me, was as remarkable as I was for the kids and I watched fascinated. Each hat, hand made, takes about a month to complete! When I realized my black potatoes weren’t bits of meat I was a lot happier but still well overfull and finally we polished off the remains, struggling somewhat, gave out presents of sweets, cigarettes and bread and headed off once again uphill promising to return later after visiting Pedro’s grandmother. Just before leaving we managed to get a glimpse of a funeral taking place on the hill opposite, the campesinos running, drunken yet rapidly, with the body trying desperately to make the body catch up with its soul and not hang around haunting them. At one point, almost inevitably it seemed, they fell over, body and all, but carried on, unperturbed running a little slower but still full of gusto. I watched amused for a while and soon enough off we trotted again, uphill. Up we went, higher and higher until finally I looked up to see a small skirted woman, appearing almost childlike in her stature, silhouetted against the bright sun, waiting…for what I don’t know, she had no idea we were coming. Pedro told me sadly how when he had stayed here years before there had been much more fresh water, he showed me the reserve as it was now, a mere dirty dribble. His aunt therefore had to bring buckets up every day for grandma. Arriving at grandmas house I expected a similar reaction to what Pedro reckoned was the only gringa ever to have visited this part of Bolivia. Grandma was ecstatic to see her little Pedrito, although still managed to show it less than I would have expected, and then Pedro made his fatal mistake, he told her we only had a short time there and would have to leave soon, of course the only way to make us stay was to feed us, no way could we leave with a full plate of food waiting to be eaten… While this was being prepared I was introduced to his uncle who lived up there too with his wife and three children, the youngest of which was lying on a mat next to his mother who was quietly weeping. A few words were exchanged in Quechua and Pedro asked me to help the baby who had two days previously put his hand innocently in a huge pot of scalding water. I unwrapped the dirty material they had placed over his tiny fist and they helped me remove the soggy leaf they had covered the wound with. Pedro and I both gasped in shock when we saw it, his poor little hand was covered in severe blisters and the skin was peeling away almost to his elbow. They told Pedro they had put oil on his hand after the burn and then wrapped it in the leaf they thought would help, I was shocked at the oil revelation and as best we could with alcohol, pure water and iodine we cleaned up what we could making them promise to meet us at the bottom of the mountain the next day to get some better supplies as Pedro had bought his army medical kit with him. This baby needed proper medical treatment but between us, our limited knowledge and supplies were devastatingly insufficient. We placed a clean piece of material over it and sat down again to eat. Yet another whole pumpkin was presented to each of us and struggling mightily we polished it off. Unfortunately grandma was too kind and followed this with a mote of boiled kernel maize, fattened to the point of near explosion, their version of bread and worth a value of gold to them, a cup of honey to dip it in and two eggs which we managed to hide while we struggled for nearly an hour with the corn! After eating, I watched enthralled while Pedro’s uncle made small sheep and bulls from potatoes and herbs, my first thought was that it was a little game for the kids but then he began making trees and pouring a strange red liquid over the top chanting something as he did so. Then, Pedro and I were both made to sit with our heads covered with a blanket while the parents took the burned baby inside to perform a ritual with smoke and chanting. Apparently this sort of thing was a fairly regular occurrence and although it clearly (to us at least) was doing nothing beneficial for the child, it was putting at rest his parents minds and so for them at least was helping psychologically, however this child needed more and I was worried for his health. On the way down the hill a mountain goat trotted past us climbing almost vertically up a steep path where he stood proudly at the top of his hill. Further down a herd of cattle stood gazing at us with huge brown eyes daring us to try to pass on the narrow track they were blocking. Back at the bottom we walked along as the sunset and arrived back at ‘base camp’ just in time for…you guessed it, dinner. I was incredibly overfull and was having difficulty breathing with the amount of food inside of me but we were made to sit ourselves down and eat yet more bloody potatoes…these were a different kind to yesterday I was told, but a potato is still a potato and bloody filling when you’ve eaten a whole fields worth of potatoes in one day. The next day we were due to set off but in the morning huge black clouds began gathering overhead and specks of rain dropped on us through the tent which we had pitched without the cover in order to be able to see the stars. Thinking primarily about what Pedro had told me about having to stay here for three months my mind began straying wildly and all I could think of was that my mum was going to think I was dead and had I told anyone I was coming out here? Our only option was to wait a while, meantime Pedro was called out to help hold a goat while they killed it and they wanted me to be present…they could want all they liked, there was no way I was stepping foot outside the tent and I had to cover my ears to guard them from the awful squeals of the poor animal. Later we were given the job of peeling away the dried out corn from the husks which was much more enjoyable. Finally, much to my relief, the rain ceased and we packed up, naturally having to eat loads more before leaving! Walking stuffed to the brim wasn’t too easy but the path wasn’t too bad and we talked enough to make the time pass quickly. However soon enough we encountered more rain clouds and the sky ahead looked nothing more than threatening. My head was full of escape plans, if we began running now would we make it? Which mountain would be best to live on and how would we survive? Potatoes? All we had with us was a few sweets and some dried out pumpkin grandma had given us. We made it as far as the Chicha corner and it started getting really bad so we stopped to buy Chicha and I relaxed a little thinking at least here there were other people who lived up higher that we could maybe stay with if we needed to. We sheltered ourselves under trees and begun drinking chichi, much nicer than on the way there, but what Pedro neglected to tell me was that by now it had fermented nicely and indeed was probably a different one and much stronger. Being a natural alcohol I didn’t notice until I went to stand up. Pedro had encountered a friend coming the other way who decided to stop and share his 96% alcohol with us. Not wanting to walk drunk however many more hours I declined the invitation and so Pedro left me to drink the rest of our second jug of chicha alone. His friend then bought a bucket full and we drank until the rain cleared up enough to keep going. All was good until I realised I couldn’t actually see and mid sentence as we were walking I asked Pedro if what I had been talking about was making sense or if I was talking sh*t.. never having herd me use such a word he was shocked and began laughing as he realised I was drunk! From then on thing became really difficult, without warning the sun fell out of the sky and we were left in close to pitch black, the thick clouds successfully hiding the moon and its brilliance from us. There was one path we had to find to climb the mountain to cross to A La Cruz and when we finally found it I was getting a little distressed, the alcohol was sending my mind in wild circles, the rain was pelting down now accompanied by crazy wind and I was weary. We rested before climbing and I set it in my head that once at the top I wanted to stay there, not down in the river bed where we could get washed away, safe and sound up high…but Pedro had friends in Mikani and wanted to make it at least that far, another good 2 hours after climbing this mountain. I have to admit I was a little distressed at this point, but when we got to the top the rain just stopped and we laughed, happy to finally have made it. From there it was easy and I gave in to Pedro’s plea to keep walking, my drunkenness long gone with fear and I was happy to walk now that I could see. The walk was long but enjoyable, the scenery visible once again and hauntingly beautiful in its total serenity. At long last, feet full of blisters we arrived at the mountain that was Mikani, passing loads of drunken campesinos at the bottom of the mountain sleeping in a camion which we were surprised to see considering all the rain that had occurred. We began walking uphill and at long last arrived at Pedro’s friends house and waited a good few minutes dreading that no-one was going to answer the door, because for sure it was at least 2am! Anyway, finally someone answered and we were given a few animal skin on which to lie which Pedro promptly covered with the tent and then layers of clothes and blankets. I slept so well that night!!! The next morning we were expecting to experience a wicked fiesta in Mikani, one of the reasons we had come this far. The main plaza was all set up for it but nothing seemed to be going on. We wandered around the village which resembled medieval Shakespearean times much more than Potosí could ever dream of, red, adobe brick houses fronted dirt streets with little streams running down the center. Tiny alleyways led in circles to other alleyways and the thatched roves leaked straw onto the floor in front. People, unaware of hygiene standards in the rest of the world let alone Bolivia, simply used the more hidden streets to urinate and defecate making them smell great! We bought bananas and bread again for breakfast and after we had polished all that off, naturally we were invited to eat more, once again meat topped the bill and poor Pedro, who had been helping me out constantly with the amounts let alone the meat, got twice as much food! Later we were walking around the town and taking in all the sights sounds and smells and nursing my broken camera which I had not only broken minutes before but forgotten to take up the mountain to grandmas house two days previous…gutted! There was a camion leaving for San Pedro at 4pm so we decided to get this and in the meantime to find some chicha to pass the time. It took a lot but finally we found a house selling chicha and entered buying a small litre jug at first. The woman’s son soon entered and we bought another one to share with him and his mate. We all sat and played some music and had a singsong which was dead cool and soon the chicha was flowing like water in the rainy season…or yesterday! I was soon more than full but was barely allowed to refuse and was soon dropping more than my fair share on the floor for Pachamama, she would have been one drunk lady! Of course, we were invited to eat and then again as we tried to leave from the friends house, it was incredible how hard it was to move after this but we climbed into the back of the camion which seemed to be moving surprised to find we were the only ones on board. Pretty soon it became apparent that despite the lack of real party feel and atmosphere, the driver had decided to make a private party of his own and was slowly getting wasted. There was another camion around the corner but in the end we realised that we would have to make a decision, it became a case of not who was drunk, but who was the least drunk and most able to function in this state. Our copilot apparently had never learnt to drive and was worse than the drunkards! The clouds from last night had come in strongly and had been obscuring everything all morning making me feel like we were in an antique village in the sky but soon they began clearing and the distribution of the clouds accompanied by the already incredible view was stunning, the mountains beyond Mikani crashing down towards the river bed laden with shadows from the cloud formations and tiny little huts sprinkled precariously on their fringes made me regret the absence of my camera even more. We waited and waited patiently…4pm turned into 5pm and then 6pm, with every hour and every drink I was getting progressively more worried until finally we made a move just before sunset, I was pleased about this hoping we would at least make it to the bottom of the mountain before it got too dark, once in the river we should be pretty much ok… We made it safe and sound to the bottom of the river with four other passengers, a woman selling bananas by the ten dozen, a man and his wickedly cute son who kept giving me sweets, sugar cane and biscuits and another man clinging onto the back of the camion in the hope that he could get away without paying! At the bottom of the hill, bulls were being herded around in circles, apparently supposedly onto a camion but this was clearly not happening with any efficiency, speed, organisation or seemingly at all! The drunken driver switched off the engine apparently unaware that there was space to pass on the side and without thinking to perhaps ask the other driver to move as he would obviously be there quite some time! In the end someone pointed this out to him and the engine was restarted only to be cut off again as I yelled out frantically, in the confusion someone had tied their bull to our camion and we were about to drive off with it! Finally we reorganised (!) and set off again the truck wobbling dangerously with every rock it hit. Every chance he got the driver would cut the engine and soon another obstacle presented itself to us… every few yards someone had placed huge rocks of trees in the path meaning all the men on the camion had to get down and clear the way often just running in front of the camion. This went on for a good hour before we finally reached the Rio Tomate, the most dangerous river in this area, prone to flash floods and had killed many campesinos unaware of its power, Pedro had instilled a healthy fear in me and so when we stopped yet again and everyone disembarked to look for the culprits I wasn’t best impressed. The search proved fruitless, however, and soon enough we were back in the truck and moving again, more smoothly this time until we encountered another camion coming the other way complete with a full load of drunken campesinos obviously heading towards the fiesta that we had left early, it was to really get going in the following two days we discovered much to our chagrin! Stopping in the path, our driver got out and began shouting at the other driver for not stopping sooner… this guy was just looking for a fight, it was hardly the M25 with no space to move and dangerous traffic coming at all speeds! The other occupants of the camion all began shouting at him trying to drum it into him that they were about 30 people all tanked up and looking for action and we were how many…oh yeah, no more than 7! Finally it was semi resolved and we tried again! This was getting ridiculous. We arrived finally…much later than expected, in San Pedro where we spent the night with Pedro’s uncle aunt and 7 daughters, wicked girls. The next day we discovered that the only bus leaving from San Pedro was at 7am the next morning to Cochabamba which was north of where we currently were and we needed to head south but this was our only option. All day I sat and taught all the English numbers to Pedro’s younger cousins and recited them over and over and over again! It was nice and relaxing though and although we were both a little gutted we had missed the festivals…all of them, it was nice to get away to such a beautiful place and relax out here. The next morning we left for Cochabamba. Once again the journey was incredible, giant steps cut into the ground, tiny villages made from the earth with thatched tin or earthen roves, whatever materials they had available. Over the mountain range all that was visible was a dirt track, no power lines, no buildings, nothing, just this road winding its way through valleys, over ridges and into the visible distance, our road, at one point I was struck by the road which we were approaching. It switched back about 30 times leading down to a river bed which undulated, a long grey line until it reached snow peaked polychromatic mountains in the far distance. On the other side of the river another mountain with the same lines winding back and forth until it disappeared over the summit was our narrow route. The road was in dire need of repair in most places but surprisingly I wasn’t scared, the view was too breathtaking to have fear of any kind. Anyway, soon enough we arrived in Cochabamba where we wandered through the huge immense market near the station which was wicked and bought ourselves a huge crate of 150 bananas…wicked souvenir of 3 hours in Cochambamba! Anyway, gotta go Thinking of you all Emma the Potato Queen _________________________________________________________________ Join the world’s largest e-mail service with MSN Hotmail. http://www.hotmail.com/ |
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