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Encounters of the Old, the Man and the Kind

17 October 2010 in Ecuador | No comments

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(Sunday 17th October, in a cloud, sitting in the upstairs dining room of a community project hostel, Quilatoa, Ecuador) After Independence Day in Guayaquil, I took a bus to Riobamba, sitting next to a young man, who even when I told him I was engaged and would be returning to South Africa to plan my wedding whilst my fiance completed his studies, insisted on paying the taxi to my hostel, walking me in and gifting me with an enormous bag of bananas. The next place I wanted to spend a few days was Banos to the north west, but from Riobamba there is a road southeastwards to the jungle town of Macas that goes right through the middle of Sangay National Park and I wanted to see what Ecuadorian cloud forest and rain forest is like. I could have done an organized trip from anywhere here on the tropical side of the country, but they’re not cheap. So instead I took a few very affordable buses and made my own little scenic detour. Unfortunately my camera was dead, so you’ll have to take my word for it – the journey was amazing! Read the rest of this entry »

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Fatima

1 October 2010 in Peru | No comments

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(1st October, sitting on balcony of hostel, Vilcabamba, Ecuador) The comic book triangle of El Misti volcano dominated the windscreen in front of us, but the fates had decided that we would tackle something larger. The seemingly endless collection of Bob Marley music almost managed to mask our nervous thought-thick silence in the back seat. Myself and the two chaps I was with had spontaneously signed up for a volcano the night before and by means of a coin toss had decided on the higher, more technical Chachani as oppose to the more popular, scenic El Misti climb – decisions which rolled around in our heads as we bounced towards their result. After a long and bumpy drive, we climbed an hour or so to the tented basecamp at approximately 4800m above sea level and spent the afternoon sleeping in the sunshine. As the shadow of the mountain stretched over us, the cold set in. And it was cold! Thank goodness for the old school boots and downy snow suits the tour company had lent us, which I pulled on while still inside my sleeping bag. I looked like a snowman from the 90s but it was -5 degrees Celsius when we set off by headtorch at 2am the next morning, so I didn’t really mind my inflated lumo appearance. Read the rest of this entry »

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Jungle hair

11 September 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

(11 Sept, just returned from sandboarding tour, Huacachina, Peru) After showering, looking in the mirror, I still see shadows of sand lining my outer ear (which seems designed to catch this sort of thing). But at least my hair is conditioned and moves freely like dirt free hair should. Even before I went sandboarding this afternoon it was feeling a bit stiff, coated in volcanic dust from running back down the very slopes we had just slogged up to summit (or almost summit, in my case) Chachani. Still, combined with the 12 hour bus ride from Arequipa, as well as with my massive sandboarding fall this afternoon (the equivalent of suddenly applying the brakes whilst freewheeling backwards down a hill at great speed ie. I flipped twice and it was a good 10 minutes before I regained my sight and the whooshing in my ears ceased); a bit of sand, dust and knots could never compare to my hair when I arrived in La Paz. Read the rest of this entry »

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Amable Bolivianos from Beni

1 August 2010 in Bolivia | 1 comment

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(10:45, 1 August, taking refuge in our room, San Ignatio de Moxos, Bolivia) I’m definitely not hung-over because the drink on offer last night was Leche de Tigre (Tiger’s Milk), warm milk with spices and near pure alcohol, so I probably managed about 4 Tablespoons over the 8 odd hours we spent in the improvised bar, dancing with a local pregnant woman and her husband and sister. Nevertheless my brain has the distinct feeling of being removed from reality, like that which comes with the morning after. It may have something to do with the fact that there is a live brass band surrounded by drunk dancing men just outside our door in the courtyard of our hostel. Tireless! They have no doubt been playing all night, one of the older guys is asleep, his head hanging forward and his trumpet fallen to the floor beside him. It’s coming down in buckets and the drunk hostel owner’s wet clothes are evidence of the harzards of having a tiled floor. But the rain hasn’t dampened the energies of the few wasted guys trying to convince anyone walking past to join in by cajoling damply into your ear and feeling you up. Read the rest of this entry »

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Ear Fear

14 July 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

(12:15, 14 July, Cafe Mirrador looking out over Sucre, Bolivia) From here up the hill, Sucre is terracotta and white and spans out into the day in all directions until it meets some flat farm-topped hills with mountains behind them. I was up here some days ago with a friend and a glass of wine. We had to rush down to confirm that we would be trekking, in the very mountains the sun had been setting behind whilst we had been distracted discussing his past and my various possible futures. We left for the hike a day later instead, which meant we had to do the 2-day, skipping the last leg so Ollie, who is of Dutch parentage, would be back in Sucre for the final. Pushing it back a day also allowed me to recruit another couple to accompany myself, Ollie and Andreas, the guy who had initiated the trip.

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Blue, white and airless

2 July 2010 in Bolivia | No comments

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(17:52, 2 July, Internet café in Uyuni, Bolivia) I considered sticking around in Tupiza for a while to ride a horse where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid met their maker but, having enquired at tour companies about tour groups with spaces for the Salar de Uyuni since we arrived that afternoon, I decided to write my name down with Rob, a guy I meet on the train, with the first very lovely woman we had spoken to. The fact that I could get to the reasonably sized town of Potosi to watch Argentina play on Saturday may have sweetened the deal. So we met, bags packed, for coffee on Tuesday morning and having introduced ourselves to the driver and cook we embarked on something my tired brain can only call indescribable.

(13:30, 3 July, Koala Cafe, Potosi, Bolivia) Honestly, I don’t know how to explain this tour to you all. We drove for 3 and a half days across the southwest of Bolivia, through some of the most incredible and surreal scenery and always up and up and up. We saw green lakes, red lakes, white lakes, multi-coloured mountains, black volcanoes, deep brown sand dunes, beige deserts. It was like the whole landscape had turned up the colour. The sky was a bluer blue, the grass more intensely golden, the weird plant that grows on the occasional rock was so dynamically green it was almost luminescent. It’s as if the normal world, where things exist at normal altitudes, is blurred and stunted by the extra layer of atmosphere it has to bear. On the antiplano, the sun is that bit nearer, the muffling insulation of air is thin, everything is crisper and sharper. Including the cold. The mornings and evenings were painfully cold! The freezing wind blows uninhibited and penetrates to your bones through the tiniest gap between scarf and hood or cuff and glove, and dare you wash your hands! Even at midday, water waits to be released by the sunshine, frozen in patches of shadow that won’t be moved until the seasons change.

And amongst the thermal pools and sulphuric geysers and the expanses of ice, are flamingos and strange rodents and llama and sheep. And people! An implausibly large number of people, growing their crops and tending their animals. There is something confused inside of me when I see a “village” of five families, a cluster of stone buildings, from which, every day, a team of men walk out to work on the tiny goldmine on their doorstep. Or when I see a woman in long socks and a traditional pleated skirt, knees bare, walking along a frozen riverbed in the frigid hours of the early morning. The tour in its entirety is one of those things that makes you wonder what it’s all for. And there’s nowhere better than sitting in the middle of a salt flat, in a dichotomy of extreme blue and extreme white, to feel like the answer must be simply insolvably simple.

Check out the enormous photoalbum on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=191761&id=504021698



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Bolivia at Last

28 June 2010 in Bolivia | 2 comments

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(16:25 Uruguay time, Monday 28 June, Bus between Villazon at Argentine border and Tupiza) Nearly two months into my trip and finally I’m in Bolivia! I’ve spent the whole day travelling but through the most astounding scenery. The train I am on, supposedly the best form of travel from the border, doesn’t run every day so I had to plan ahead for my trip from Salta – another reason to linger in the city which has been my longest stop by far, about 17 days.

Busing in the Quebrada (mountains) north of Salta is relatively easy and the spectacular route through coloured mountains and yellow plains, thorny with cacti, runs from one quaint montane town to the next, each with its share of tourist to-do’s and see’s and more hostels than necessary at this time of year. Despite the recommendations of most Salteños, I decided to stop in San Salvador de Juyjuy, the capital city of the northern Juyjuy province, just to check it out. Unfortunately I had stayed out clubbing until 6.30am from the night before, which had been normal for Salta, except my bus to Jujuy left at 7am.

I knew I was tired (I have a small bruise on my right eyebrow where I kept falling asleep against the window pane while I tried to watch the view from my first bus) and I had my whole pack with me, so after I walked around, went to a few museums and felt like I had had a taste of the city, I stretched out on a park bench in the sun to have a kip. Obviously, I missed my bus to Pumamarca so I bought the next ticket north, direct to Tilcara, which was supposed to be my stop for the following night. There’s a lot to do there and I could always take a local bus back to Pumamarca if I liked.

But halfway between the two, a little town called Maimara had beautiful vegetables growing along what is literally called ” The Painted Mountain” for its colouration. A Hostelling International sign provoked the idea and given a couple of metres to remember it had been some time since my last spontaneous decision, I sprung up to tell the driver I planned to stay. Having checked in as the only guest at the Flor de Maimara, without doubt one of the loveliest hostels I have stayed in, with the most helpful receptionist, I walked through the “rural sector” on my way to the the local vineyard and indeed the vegetables were lush and large. I slept when I sat down at a table overlooking the fields of grape vines, and I slept when I sat down on the lazyman’s mirrador (the real one looked a bit ambitious in my state) so it seemed if I stopped moving at all, I slept. Personally I blame it on the altitude. After about 12 hours without movement, in my hostel bed, I felt much more acclimatized!

I shared a taxi to Pumamarca with five locals (too many) to see the famous Cerro de Seite Colores (Hill of the Seven Colours), collected my things and thoughts back in Maimara and headed to Tilcara with only enough time to hurriedly hike to the waterfalls and back before the Argentina Mexico match. Considering the victory, the cold and the fact that it was Sunday, it is understandable that none of the museums I had wanted to see were open.

Unlike before, it seems most people are now heading in the same direction as me at the moment, so I caught a bus to the border with most of the other 18-odd guests staying at my hostel. Having waiting some time for the Bolivian border control to get more of the papers they needed to print my visa, I arrived at the train terminal to find the only tickets left were first class (Ejectivo) to Tupiza. Whilst it cost about three times the popular class, I’m secretly thrilled because I’ve had an extremely comfortable trip with lots of legroom, big windows and enough free seats to switch around when the view’s better on the other side. And I would never have paid the extra given a choice. Plus the complimentary ham and cheese roll and coke is almost all I’ve eaten all day. The only question now that I’m finally in Bolivia is which soccer team to support!

I took a bunch of photots out of the bus window, check out the album on facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/stacey.hopebailie#!/album.php?aid=189493&id=504021698

Front seat on the bus! Yay for big windows!
Sunset from the train


Funeral procession down the streets of Villazon, amongst the buses


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Perro que no camina, no encuentra hueso – Dog who doesn’t walk, doesn’t find a bone

9 June 2010 in Argentina | 2 comments

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(8:42, Wed 9 May, Bed in dorm at Hostel Roadrunner, Cafayate, Argentina) The last week or so has been all about thinking space and beautiful scenery. My free tour with the Argentinian couple ended at the mirrador of Villa Union, my third time there and again it was astonishing.  I bused overnight to San Miguel del Tucuman, where I did a guided car tour along the Jungas Circuit – a route through the mountains and cloud forest to the wealthy villages along the way. Apparently there was soccer on so it ended up being just me with this sweet, sweet, perpetually smiling 21 year-old English guide halfway through her degree in tourism, and the chauffeur, her father, who reminded her in Spanish what to tell me now and then. It was like a little family day trip with someone else’s family. From Tucuman, I watched the morning sun peeking at my bus from between and over mountains, which was glorious.

What I hadn’t expected was arriving in Tafi del Valle before the sunshine had emptied into the valley. It was so cold! I’m talking ice here, real frozen water! It took me a few hours before my brain had thawed but when I could eventually make up my mind I had an enchanting walk dawdling in the sunlight and enjoying the visual reward granted only to those willing to mission over rocks and slopes to be as high up as reasonably possible. I met a friend from Tucuman, Celine, and we travelled to Cafayate together, stopping for an indulgent 6 or so hours to put down our packs, use the Internet, eat breakfast, sunbathe, chat politics, have a picnic, peruse the gift shop… Oh and of course learn about the geology and anthropology of the area, at Museo Pachamamma in Amaicha. This enormous complex of stone patios conceived by my new favourite artist, Cruz, looks out over the cacti and near-to-nothing-ness of the tiny Amaicha, and is just designed either for a big party or to be lingered in by a pair of travellers reluctant to pick up their backpacks.

There’s an album on facebook for Tucuman and the Jungas Circuit:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183971&id=504021698

And one for Tafi del Valle:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183972&id=504021698

And another for Amaicha:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?album.php?aid=183974&id=504021698

We were met by at the bus stop in Cafayate by a guy offering a much cheaper hostel than those we had researched on Celine’s laptop using the museum’s café  wifi and although we learnt that the Internet they promised was broken, the awesome people more than made up for it. We went on the most spectacular hike together to a waterfall in the mountains followed by a free tour and wine tasting as the sun set over autumny vines at one of the local bodegas (vineyards). We’ve spent hours chatting and  joking together in a bit of English, some French and Castellano (the latter sometimes calls for a laugh-along-laugh that’s actually oblivious to its reason – a joke in itself because they love making fun of me for faking my understanding)

Yesterday, however, I spent most of the day speaking Castellano… to myself. It’s a popular thing to bus out into the Quebrada (mountains) north of Cafayate and cycle the 50kms back, stopping to look at all the rock formations. Of course I asked if there was an alternative for the non-cycling inclined like myself. Apparently you take the bus with the cyclists and just walk instead, and when you get tired you flag down a bus heading to Cafayate. So we took the early bus and hopped off at the 50km mark at about 11.30am and whilst some friends set off on their bikes I started walking. Because I was walking I could go off the road and walk through “the nature” as well as seeing the rock formations. And it was beautiful.

Unfortunately, buses back weren’t quite as frequent as it had sounded. After about 6 hours I started getting a little bit tired of my own company. By 6pm when the sun was setting I had already counted to 199 (wasn’t sure about 200) a couple of times to practise my pronounciation and had started making up songs in Spanish about the lack of buses and the exiting sun and arriving cold and singing them to the mountains around me.

(2.30am, Sunday 13 May, writing by torchlight from top bunk above snoring Argentinian) Eventually I accepted I wouldn’t make it round the valley in time to catch the last of the sunshine, so I stopped walking. According to the last sign I’d done a little over 22km. From my rock on the side of the road I could watch the sun over this incredible stripy mountain. I wasn’t really in a hurry and I knew there’d be a bus eventually, but I had plans to meet some friends from Tucuman staying in a different hostel for drinks at 8pm, and I wasn’t really that keen to hang around when it got actually dark for a bus that may come at like 9.30 or something. I had an agreement with God that I’d wait til 7 for the bus before I tried flagging down one of the passing cars, of which a few were still passing every hour, staring confused or bemused by the crazy blonde girl in a cowboy hat sitting on the side of the road as the evening set in.

As 7 o’clock approached so too did a white minibus. But my watch read 6:55 and it was set 5 minutes fast. A test of faith, I thought, I’d let it pass. I had met loads of hitchhikers who had all said it was quite safe, and I had just begun thinking about my tactics and wishing that I’d asked more questions when the minibus pulled up next to me. Through the dust, the same friends I was supposed to meet in just over an hour laughed and waved in the windows. They had seen me walking as they headed out on a tour of the Quebrada earlier that afternoon and had asked the driver if he’d stop and pick me up if they saw me on the way back.

It was a good day with plenty of beautiful thought space and perfectly ended with a ball of dulce de leche ice cream side by side on a double cone with a ball of Torrontes (the regional white wine) sorbet.

The photos from Cafayate are mostly of rocks, but then that was what I was walking to see. Check out the album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183976&id=504021698



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