Our last weeks in Bolivia

Our time in Bolivia is drawing to an end, somehow our permitted 90 days have nearly passed us by and we shall soon be making tracks towards Peru. Our final wanderings around the country took us from a classroom in Santa Cruz, upriver through the Amazon jungle and speedily back to the frigid highlands and the capital, La Paz.

We spent a week at Casa de Sara, camping out in a spare classroom, painting rooms and generally trying to be useful. We tested out our Spanish with a group of four and five year olds, learning some vital new phrases such as “I need a wee” and “look at my bruise”. The school has eight members of staff who cook for, clean after and fill the brains of 50 children aged either 4 or 5. They are an untiring team, most of whom have to either head off to other jobs or to study in their own schools after Casa de Sara finishes for the day. Back when I was teaching classes of 4 and 5 year olds there was an undercurrent of chaos that rippled noisily through every lesson yet here the kids seemed to do what they were told, amazing.

We spent just a week at the school before we had to make tracks, after a tearful goodbye we headed on our way towards the jungle.

We had spotted several rivers on the map that snake their way through the Amazon jungle to Trinidad in the North of Bolivia and that had been enough to get us excited for a waterborne adventure. To reach the river we cycled for 3 swelteringly hot days (spotted a couple of ginormous dead snakes along the way) and then 2 drenchingly wet days. The final night of camping brought a thunderstorm that our battered tent offered a rather Frenchlike resistance to- leaving us splashing around in puddles for the rest of the night.

A couple more days and we arrived at Puerto Villaroel under more ominous skies and started asking around for boats that would undertake the 7 day journey. In the end, Freddy, a friendly old man offered a deal whereby he would take us for three days to a place from which we could easily get a boat the rest of the way. Although the price was extortionate by Bolivian standards and the deal itself left a fair amount of scope to be screwed over, we were taken in by the idea and understandably comforted by that fact that our captain had the very friendly name of Freddy.

The following morning we boarded the 'Pichon' and set sail with Freddy, his very strange son and a boat kitten. As the journey progressed the wildlife diversified and we spotted river dolphins and an assortment of absurdly enormous birds, but sadly no tigers. Each night we pulled over to camp on the bank, diving for protection as the mosquitoes swarmed out in force. These aren't your normal mosquitoes, these are mosquitoes on steroids that drink repellent for fun and penetrate clothing with ease. After a week we were itching as if we had some kind of full body venereal disease.

On the morning of the third day we arrived at the confluence of two rivers, the place where we would find a new boat heading North. Sadly we had an acrimonious split from old Freddie as we weren't best pleased with the truthfulness of the picture he had so eloquently painted for us back in Puerto Villaroel, he didn't even give us any food. After an interesting moment where he chained Anna's bike to the boat we agreed a slightly altered price and disembarked onto the bank of the most isolated community we have visited on the trip. Sadly it wasn't quite the naked cannibal tribe I was hoping for but it was certainly a bra-less fish-eating community.

With no roads here we were stuck until we could find a boat heading to Trinidad, which we now discovered could be anytime in the next two weeks. We were immediately accommodated in the village and spent the next three days perched next to the river watching lots of dolphins but not a single boat pass us. Finally we awoke to find a banana laden boat docked next to our tent and managed to persuade a not so enthusiastic man to give us a lift to the next town from which we would abandon the river for a road which we were told linked it with Trinidad, just a little further North. So, 15 hours on a boat, half a day cycling and half a day on a truck through alligator infested swamps and we were at last in Trinidad.

The road direct from Trinidad to La Paz was impassable, and without any more spare tubes, patches or time left on our visa we had to board buses taking a circuitous route back through much of Bolivia we had already cycled. The first leg of our journey went without a hitch, the second had so many hitches that they merged into one enormous 24hour hitch. First our bus was delayed by an accident and then, as if suddenly seeing the dangers of the road, it made some strange noises and broke down. Two hours later our new bus arrived just in time to be stopped by a group of protesters who blockaded the road for 5 hours. One more bus later when we were finally approaching La Paz a man thoughtfully threw a rock at the bus. Our driver calmly pulled over, removed his belt and attacked the offending lads. I never want to take a bus again.

We are staying in a casa de cyclista in La Paz for the next few days before heading to the land of the Incas where we are looking forward to new food, new people, the sea, and plenty of really old stuff.