The Galapagos

Monday afternoon Candace and I had made plans through a travel agency recommended by the hotel for our Galapagos adventure. Our time was very constrained because I needed to attend to shipping the car before I could leave the city. I had always hoped to get the car packed into the container on Tuesday and head over to the Galapagos on Wednesday. This would give us 3 nights on the islands. Apparently 4 nights is the least that are recommended. Our dates were set (the car shipping and Candace’s plane ticket home) and couldn’t be changed. We were beginning to realize that we were at a disadvantage before we even left for the islands.

Candace left Wednesday while I finished getting my car shipped. She was picked up at the airport on Baltra, a small island north of Isla Santa Cruz. We were later told that the airport had originally been a US air base strategic in its proximity to the Panama Canal. On Isla Santa Cruz Candace went to a turtle farm, hiked a lava bed, walked through lava tubes, went out on a boat (though she didn’t snorkel) and stayed the night in Puerto Ayuro. She saw lots of wildlife including a blue footed boobie.

I arrived at the airport on Baltra on Thursday just afternoon. I elected to get myself to Puerto Ayuro to meet a boat that would take me to Isla Isabela to meet Candace. With no guide to direct me I hung back and followed the path of the locals and back packers taking a local bus south to Puerto Ayuro. When I reached the city (I think the largest in the Galapagos) a guide was waiting with my name on a sign. I was late and the launch for me was just about to leave.

At the last baggage check before heading to Isla Isabela I was discovered to have a banana. I had the choice of eating it quickly or throwing it away. It had been substantially smashed in the flight over but I stuffed it in my mouth nearly still swallowing as I entered the launch.

Both Candace and I were surprised to find each other on the same launch. It was a little after 2 pm and we had both been told we would meet up on Isabela. The boat had a total of 12 people plus the captain and his assistant. There was a cushioned bench around the perimeter. We all exchanged introductions and settled in for what was to be a two hour ride.

It quickly became apparent this would be a long 2 hours. Just outside of the harbor the swells in the sea were about the size of the boat. The swells were flowing in a northwesterly direction and we were traveling due west. The first few times the boat listed either right or left feeling like it would capsize my heart, as well as the banana, lurched into my throat. After about 15 such rolls over the swells my mind became accustomed and I accepted this was normal. My body didn’t become quite so accustomed. When we hit the swells head on the front end of the boat would catch air slamming down hard testing the integrity of the hull.

Being the last person on the boat I was sitting closer towards the captain in the front end of the boat where the slamming and rolling were more pronounced. The very back of the boat was smoother however the fumes of the double engines were very strong. I had always been proud of the fact that I had never had motion sickness. Candace’s guide had given her some motion sickness medication on Thursday so she was protected. A couple at the back of the boat didn’t have that luxury and were soon being sick. I followed suit within the first hour of the trip and the banana, which had always felt like a lump in my throat finally vacated. I moved to the back of the boat and waited out the interminable remainder of the ride.

We arrived on Isla Isabela and were herded to two hotels. When Candace and I bought out trip we were under the impression we would have our own guide for the four days of activities. That had certainly been what Candace had experienced the first two days. But on Isabela a number of different groups (families, individual travelers and a few small tours) came together for the next two nights. We were a little over 20 people all total.

The largest group of people were dropped off at a pleasant looked hotel with hammocks, lush landscaping and a restaurant. We were taken a couple blocks away to a three level structure that on first impression was disappointing. Once seeing our room and especially after our first night Candace and I decided we had one of the best rooms on the island. We had a top floor corner room with wood ceilings and large screened windows. The sea breeze never ceased and created a wonderful natural air conditioning.

The group took a short walk around the town, saw one pink flamingo, walked the beach and ended with the bulk of us at a surf side bar. That ice cold beer was a necessary and welcome treat after the days events. We all ate together at the main hotel and planned to get up early for our morning excursion – horseback riding to a volcano and lava field.

They brook the group in two and we managed to go with the smaller one. When we arrived in the mountains it was lightly raining. Everything was soaked and it was very lush and green. We were each given a horse and I realize this sounds cliche, but I had the oldest saddest looking horse named Ballo. Once were at the top people pointed out the protruding bones on her back hips.

Our walk up on the horses was a bit distressing. It was extremely muddy. Sometimes the horses hoofs would get stuck in the mud. There were numerous ruts from continuous use of the trail, some more than one foot deep. After nearly two hours on the horses we dismounted and hiked into a volcano and lava field. The scenery and terrain were amazing. The clouds generally kept us from seeing the distant volcanoes but occasionally lifted granting a few glimpses. We ate the sandwiches we had made that morning on a ridge overlooking a vast lava flow our towards the sea.

Back on the horses the ride became much worse. Going downhill seemed much trickier in the mud. One of the group decided she’d had enough riding and walked ahead. I thought about changing to her horse and should have. The guides were constantly pushing our horses on yelling “vamos” and slapping the horses rears with their ropes. Occasionally all the horses would move a little faster but never for long. It was very distressing when the horses would bunch up (which was most of the time). A number of the horses had obvious space issues and would nip and bite at each other.

Candace had a strange looking horse that in the end she discovered to be her good friend. Though she was distressed at times, like all of us, her horse protected her and got her up and down safely. My sad old lady didn’t fair so well. Two times her back legs gave out and her rear collapsed into the mud. The second time I jumped off. I ended the ride on the available horse while Ballo happily ran away.

The whole horse back riding experience was sketchy. I’m not experienced in horses at all but it all seemed unsafe in the mud. In fact our guide’s horse fell as well.

We were delivered back to the hotels after 3 pm and told we had 10 minutes to prepare for the snorkeling excursion. Candace and I both elected to end the tour herding and relax that afternoon. Candace had not really recovered from her stomach issues and the boat and horse rides didn’t really help. When we talked with our fellow tourers it was apparent we had made a good decision. There hadn’t been a lot of wildlife to see however they did get to swim with the sea lions.

That night we ate at the same restaurant and prepared to get up at 5:00 am to be at the dock at 6:00 am for the boat ride back to Santa Cruz. Candace’s stomach issues were flaring again and the prospect of another 3 hours on that boat was not encouraging. Gary, from London who is traveling the world for many months, gave Candace an imodium before we left for the boat.

With empty stomachs the boat ride was much more palatable – stomach wise. However it was just as choppy, if not worse as two days before. I still do not think it is a good thing when a boat feels like it is going downhill. We made it to Santa Cruz and were picked up by Jaime who had been Candace’s driver two days before. He took us to a restaurant for breakfast. Then we headed to the Darwin Center to see turtles, including Lonesome George – the last of his species.

We didn’t have much time to get to our flight, or so Jaime felt. So we viewed the Darwin Center very quickly. Candace nursed more nausea which had flared after the boat ride.

At the airport we found an area outside the main holding pen. Candace slept a little as we waited for our flight which was delayed about an hour. She slept more in the plane and in my room waiting for her midnight flight home. I certainly hope the comfort of home will help Candace fight off whatever bug has attacked.

Our Galapagos experience was much different from what we expected. We had limited options because of our limited time frame. Apparently Isabela is a recent development in the tourism of the Galapagos. They have made many obvious recent improvements. I never thought of the Galapagos as a beach resort. But on Isabela we saw private homes (we were told valued at $500,000) some owned by foreigners including from the US. From talking with other travelers the most productive way to see wildlife is on a boat, generally a minimum 4 day cruise followed by a little adventure on Isabela with horses and hiking.

I know for a fact Candace will not travel like this again – she told me so.

Today I fly to San Jose, Costa Rica and will stay with Darrylle and see Wes and Rafael my Spanish teachers from many months before.

Frustration

About 3:30 am Tuesday morning Candace was struck again with sudden nausea.  This time it didn’t pass and an hour and half later culminated in her body self cleaning her digestive system.  Though she felt much better directly after, this was terribly discouraging.  Tuesday Candace stayed in bed half the day and I waited for a call from the customs broker to go to the port to stuff the car into the container.

The day became increasingly frustrating as it became apparent I would not be getting my car into the container that day.  The shipping company and the customs broker were obviously not working in sync.  Finally the customs broker called.  He never intended to take my car to the port on Tuesday even though that was the plan with the shipping company.  He instead wanted to pick me up, take me to the port and conduct all the customs paperwork taking my car to the port on Wednesday.

Candace and I had plane tickets to head out to the Galapagos on Wednesday.  As she was out walking the city when the customs broker picked me up at 3 pm she didn’t find out I wouldn’t be accompanying her to the islands on Wednesday until I returned from the port around 5:30 pm.

Both Candace and I got up early on Wednesday, she to go to the airport and me to drive to the docks.  My broker called before 8:30 am we both bid farewell expecting to see each other sometime on Thursday as I would follow the next day.

The stuffing of the car was much more orderly and professional than in Panama.  The customs brokers took care of all the paperwork with me following, signing wherever they told me.  Finally we had the car in front of the container.  My agent told me to wait and disapeared.  He returned about an hour later and told me it would be another hour and disapeared again.  I watched the dock workers walk back and forth, the giant container movers pushing product around, lunch hour come and go and then it was finally my turn.  Suddenly a narcotics cop arrived and started looking my car over.  He looked into all the cubby holes, but not very in depth.  Then he brought a narcotics sniffing dog who jumped in the car and smelled all over.

It is interesting to note that in Panama there was no checking for drugs.  In Guayaquil the narcotics officer stayed throughout the whole process of putting my car in the container and strapping it down.  He was the one who placed the seals on the container and had me sign off on his paperwork.

Once the car was locked into the container my agent brought me back to the hotel.  It was well after 3 pm Wednesday.  In one especially irritating email Tuesday from the shipping company they had informed me that I could take the car to the port at 8:30 load the car in the container and make it to the airport for the 11:45 am flight to the Galapagos. Instead of giving me useful and fact based information they frequently would advise me the with what they thought I wanted to hear.  That made it very difficult to make secure plans.

I left for the Galagapos Thursday morning on the daily 11:45 am flight.  I was still unsure if the shipping company would get the correct wire transfer information to my father who was now in charge of the last task to ship my car.  I wouldn’t know if my car shipped until I returned from the Galapagos on Saturday.

Mancora to Guayaquil

Scott, Candace and I had planned on leaving Mancora on Saturday the 21st. But sitting around the pool, lulled by the sound of the surf and a couple mojitos we succumbed to the surroundings and after a few quick calls to Guayaquil and consulting the front desk of the Grandmare decided to stay one extra day. Satisfied with our decision and unaware of the possible ramifications we finished our day by the pool, took an afternoon siesta, walked into town and watched a spectacular sunset from the beach. The street vendor shopping was interesting but very difficult in the dark so we headed to a Mexican restaurant we had spied earlier. Later Scott and Candace headed to a surfer bar for a nightcap while I aimed for the comfort of bed.

Saturday was another pleasurable day poolside with a little earlier foray into the city to shop during the daylight. Another amazing sunset and satisfying meal at the same Mexican restaurant ended our day while we planned an early departure to make Guayaquil the next day in time for Scott to make his 6:30 pm flight Sunday afternoon.

Sunday we got off to a little later start than we had hoped. Driving through town we had two different groups of people point at the front of the car and yell something to us. While we were getting gas on the north end of town I walked around the car and couldn’t find anything that would warrant any attention. As we pulled out of the gas station it happened again and two young guys basically flagged us down feet from the station.

It turns our the two rods (I have no idea what they are called) that make up the steering mechanism were loose and even though I could neither see nor feel anything strange in the car they said the wheels were wobbling dramatically while it was moving. In short order they had dismantled the two rods and one of them was running down the highway towards town to have the ends (the parts that had become loose) rebuilt. The whole delay took about 2 hours and we were all feeling the pressure of the time.

When we decided to stay the extra day we hadn’t really considered all the possibilities, especially driving a car. Scott had to catch his 6:30 flight to make a very sensitive meeting Monday morning that would start a week of work. After loading the (now 3) mechanics into the car along with their requisite dirt, grease and grime smashed against Candace in the back seat and driving to a cash machine to withdraw their booty it was 11:30 am when we finally drove away from Mancora. With the hoped for 6 hour drive ahead of us this didn’t leave much leeway to make Scott’s 6:30 flight.

The border crossing into Ecuador is one of my favorites. It is very evident where the actual border is and the offices of each side of the border are just corner offices in the midst of a very bustling urban center. Both times I have crossed this border there were no other cars crossing meaning my car had to play moses (again) and separate the masses going about their daily life in what vaguely resembles a jumbled street fair of disparate citizens streaming through the streets.

The time pressure to get to Guayaquil took the charm away and made the whole experience a nuisance. The fact that the customs office on the Ecuador side was closed on Sunday and that once we got a young customs agent to open it he had to navigate a new computer system didn’t help the situation. We were now terribly late on the road to the airport in Guayaquil.

We arrived at the airport about 6 pm. We left my car parked in the unloading zone (promising to be back in just minutes) and searched out the office of Scott’s airline. The gates had been closed and there was to be no bending. The new task was getting Scott on the next available flight. With a few quick visits to other airlines (it being late on Sunday we were behind the security gate knocking on closed office doors talking to the one person on duty, if anyone was even there), it quickly became apparent Scott’s best option was to get on the internet and book a flight online. So we headed to the hotel in the center of Guayaquil.

Scott had picked wisely when he booked us into the Hampton Inn Boulevard in the heart of the city. We had canceled our Saturday night reservations and now Scott needed to stay on Sunday night. The hotel was very efficiently run and the staff was beyond helpful. Parking my car could have turned into a nightmare but the bellboy that drove around with me to a couple different garages was patient and I ended up with the car just around the corner from the hotel.

Scott quickly found himself a flight. But it wasn’t until Monday afternoon effectively loosing one day of his week and canceling his meetings on Monday morning. After talking with the appropriate parties Scott was a lot less stressed and we all set out to explore the city.

We ate at a restaurant the hotel said was traditional Ecuadorian food. It felt more like a Red Robbin but the setting was great. Guayaquil sits on a large river which is almost like a fjord or firth, it is very wide and keeps widening out to the ocean. Along the waterfront the city has developed its Malecon with wide public spaces, restaurants, kids parks and large plazas built out over the water.

Scott and I each ate arroz con pollo, a safe and common standby. Candace opted for the white fish. About halfway through our meal Candace was gripped with a sudden bout of unexplained nausea. Though she didn’t actually get sick she was left shaken and weak. We all went back to the hotel, put Candace to bed and Scott and I went for a little more exploring of the city. Being a Sunday night after 10 pm the city was all but shut up.

The next day I went to the shipping company office and started the process of shipping the car. Scott and Candace shopped and walked more of the city.

Guayaquil was a pleasant surprise. It is a bustling commercial center with a large port, high rises and lots of well dressed businessmen moving about. The city also has a surprisingly defined sense of architectural style. It has the typical feel of a tropical city and the patina of decay and dirt endemic to most Latin American cities.  The whole center of the city is arcaded. I don’t know if it is a law, but virtually every building, high rise and low rise alike, have wide pedestrian arcades. In a very humid warm climate this creates both shade from the sun and refuge from the rain. Much of the lower parts of the buildings, especially the obvious mid century buildings are finished with fine mosaics. There are many mosaic murals covering large portions of buildings, both municipal and commercial.  The city does not have a colonial feel like many other cities of it’s size instead it appears to have thrived more during the republican period after independence.

Scott left the hotel about 3:30 pm and was off to his work in Lima. Candace and I decided to go out of the center of town to the Urdesa neighborhood and investigate if the Asia de Cuba had any relation to the fabled chain, where Candace’s brother had actually worked in Miami. The ambiance was great but the food (sushi) was barely passable. This was not a part of the chain. Candace and I headed back to the hotel and went to bed feeling content.

Lima to Mancora

Scott arrived early Monday morning and again the hotel did not have a driver at the airport to pick him up.  The three of us spent Monday walking around the artsy neighborhood of Baranco, visiting galleries and a fantastic old mansion that once served as the summer house of a wealthy mining family and is now a museum.  Later we had drinks in a Cuban bar and looked at a number of works by Cuban artists including the owner of the bar.

Scott’s friends Patty and Ricardo met us Monday evening and drove us to a very trendy restaurant in Miraflores.  It was a wonderful meal and great company.  Scott has worked with Patty in the past and may be working more with her in the future.  He will be returning to Lima after our drive to Guayaquil and spend a week consulting with her company.

After a completely satiating meal Scott and I continued the evening in a bar in Miraflores.  Getting home after 1 pm gave us a late start for the drive the next day to Trujillo (my fault because I slept late).

We have experienced the same lack of good information and advice on travel times that I had experienced in the past.  Scott had made arrangements for a hotel in Trujillo just off the main square which made it easy to find.  The drive was much longer than any of us had anticipated and we arrived well after dark.

Our first delay out of Lima was at a tricky intersection that Ricard had warned us about.  We did exactly what he had advised us not to do.  This added about one hour to the drive taking us through neighborhoods we likely would never had attempted.  Scott was a great navigator and using a large map of Lima directed us back to the Panamericana.  Scott and Candace’s first impressions of the vast poverty of Lima were a stark contrast to the wealth of Miraflores.

We were further delayed by what we now assume are the standard practices of the police in the “state” of Lima.  Police stops are actually quite common and usually simply involve a few questions of where we’ve been and where we’re going. The car generally elicits a number of questions as well.  This first stop at the first tollbooth just outside of Lima and quickly became a shake down for money.  The cop walked away with $35 dollars for our supposed speeding.  Less than an hour later we were stopped again. Again we were told we were speeding and he advised us to turn on our emergency flashers because of upcoming fog.  He walked away with $28.

At the third police stop in two hours we were now thinking they were radioing ahead to advise their buddies of the big white Land Cruiser cash cow on the highway.  On the previous stop I had asked to see the evidence I was speeding, he claimed it was clocked on radar.  He was asked if I wanted evidence or wanted to make this easy. We had made it easy.  At this third stop and on Candace’s urging we had a new tactic for this policeman.

We had been driving down a long hill that the cop claimed was a 40 KPH zone (about 25 MPH) and actually pointed to the cars whizzing down the hill claiming they were doing that speed.  As he was very kindly explaining all this trucks and cars whipped past us going about 80 KPH  (50 MPH).  But instead of arguing I simply asked for his information. I wanted to see HIS Identification. He left the car and consulted with the other policeman.  When he came back he was very pleasant and wished us a fine journey.  We never had to employ that tactic again as once we were out of Lima State the police stops were the usual few questions and back on the road.

In Trujillo we settled into the hotel and quickly went in search of a restaurant.  We found a great chicken diner and all enjoyed a meal of tender chicken, french fries and salad.  Scott and Candace explored the city a little more and I headed back to the hotel to get to sleep. We all agreed to an early start the next morning understanding the possibility of delays.

All around this part of Peru there are ruins of ancient pre-Incan cultures.  Because we were so late on arriving to Trujillo we missed ruins that are purported to contain some of the most well preserved and vibrant murals.  Just north of Trujillo is the ancient settlement of Chan Chan.  With our early departure we actually arrived about 15 minutes before the gates opened. The people living there were part of a larger culture that thrived from 100 BC to 1400 AD.  The one palace that the public is allowed to tour is undergoing major archaeological work so we saw the scores of archaeologists calmly uncovering and preserving what remains of these magnificent structures.  It is so close to the coast line we could hear the surf crashing.

We were back on the highway about 10:30 am with what we expected was a nine hour drive ahead of us. This day (Thursday) did not include the delays we suffered the day before.  There was no fog and no scamming policeman so the kilometers seemed to scream by.  But later in the day, as the sun set, the time started to drag.  We just wanted to be at our sea side resort.  Finally around 7 pm we arrived to the Gran Mare, where I had stayed in November on my way south.  It was as refreshing as I remembered.

I had heard of some crime in the city and had inquired at the reception desk.  After being thoroughly briefed on safety, settling into our cabina and relaxing with margaritas we took a moto taxi (motorcycle converted into a three wheel that carries three passengers) the two kilometers into Mancora for dinner.  We had very good food and barely passable wine.  After dinner we walked about a block to one of many surfer bars.  It was the most crowded and so seemed like a safe bet. A few drinks there watching the surfers and debating democratic politics were enough to make us sleepy. We called our designated safe moto driver and arrived back at the hotel.

Scott and I each have our own rooms with big sliding doors so we can sleep listening to the surf which is less than 150 feet from our doors.  Candace choose the upstairs loft open to the elements with the exception of the bamboo roof.  Needless to say we all slept well.

Candace arrives in Lima

Candace arrived late Saturday night. Unfortunately the Mansion San Antonio (A Luxury Bed and Breakfast) isn’t living up to expectations and no one was there with a sign to transfer her to the hotel. She was befriended by some nice missionaries who helped her search for her driver and then arranged a taxi for to get her to the hotel.

The hotel failed us again with the tour that was arranged for Sunday. The hotel manager, Robert, a very affected latin queen served as our tour guide. I’ve never had a tour guide actually fall asleep during the tour. But after we sampled Pisco Sours near the main square of Lima he slept most of the way home. Our driver, who spoke no English gave us more information than Robert. No more need be said.

Later on Sunday Candace and I walked the fashionable, trendy and rich neighborhood of Miraflores. We enjoyed the stunning view from the Laca Mall, carved into the bluffs of Lima overlooking the sea. A quick jaunt through a cheesy art fair in the park in Central Miraflores, sampled another Pisco Sour at a park side restaurant with just a little flavor of Paris and then gorged on a great Italian meal at Mama Lola’s.

Back to the hotel on foot and a great night sleep. Tomorrow Scott arrives and then Wednesday we are off to Trujillo.

Arequipa to Lima

I managed to get out of the hotel in Arequipa by 8 am.  It took a little longer than I hoped to find my way out of the city.  I was always going in the right direction but I’m sure there was a much simpler route than what I took.  There are a number of intersections in Arequipa where the police sit in the middle of the intersection in a seat. It isn’t unlike what lifeguards sit in around pools.  A number of times I stopped in the middle of the intersection to ask the police directions.

The road to Nazca was more mountainous than I expected. Again another beautiful road with unbelievable scenery. The car is running much better than it did at the high altitudes.  I had been at a high altitude for so long I had forgotten what it was like to actually have power to pass.

While I had been working on the blog at the beach in Arica Bob cleaned the car.  I actually paid a hotel employee to do the main washing and vacuuming, but Bob undertook the most important cleaning of the air filter, the engine and dusting off everything we had brought into the hotel room from the car.  I’m sure that the clean air filter has a big part to play in the added power and the added mileage I’m now getting. As gas prices are about twice what they were in Bolivia any added mileage is welcome

Arriving in Nazca I drove to the main square which is the easiest way to get my bearings in a city.  I made life easy for myself and asked where I could find the Casa Andina, the same hotel chain I where I had stayed in Arequipa.  It was on the main shopping street so I drove down what is essentially a pedestrian street with very little car traffic and parked the car in front of one of the nicest hotels in town.  I got the car parked in their garage, found a nice Chifa (Chinese restaurant) and went to bed early.

I had been told the drive from Arequipa to Nazca could take 11 hours but fortunately it was only 8.  I knew the drive from Nazca to Lima as I had driven the same road with James, Bob and Reid seven months before.  I believe it took about nine hours that time, but we had many stops including a lunch stop and a drive through the rubble of Pisco after the earthquake.  The hotel told me the drive should take about six hours which turned out to be true.

When I drive alone I rarely stop.  I eat my lunch in the car as I drive and occasionally stop for photos and roadside bathroom breaks.  It makes for much quicker travel however would much prefer the slower route with people in the car.

I had originally thought about staying an extra night in Nazca to take an airplane ride to see the Nazca lines. I talked myself out of the airplane and drove past the roadside viewing stations without stopping.  I may regret this in the future, but at this point I just wanted to get to Lima.

The Mansion San Antonio, where I had stayed with Reid, James and Bob had sent me directions again as I hadn’t kept them from before.  They have new staff and the directions were not near as good as before.  If I hadn’t been here before there is no way I would have found the place. I am now comfortably ensconced in what is essentially a bed and breakfast.

Last night I ate sushi for the first time in quite a while.  It was very good, but the prices in Lima are certainly not what I was used to in La Paz.  But then again there was no salmon and tuna sushi in La Paz.  I got my hair cut today at a salon not far from the hotel.  While I was getting my hair cut I was asked if I’d like a massage as well.  Of course I did.  So I got a fairly decent massage ($20 for an hour – haircut was $7.00). The only negative to the massage was that the woman masseur wanted to know why I wasn’t married and when I would be getting married.  Without lying or being totally honest I tried to have a conversation, in Spanish no less, about whether one needs to ever marry at all. She couldn’t really grasp the concept of never getting married. Next time I guess I’ll just try complete honesty and see where that takes us.

While Bob and I had been driving we talked a lot about the car. I learned you can determine if there is antifreeze in the radiator by tasting the water and also how the system works at extremely low temperatures watching my temperature gauge acting strangely.  I told him about the problems I had had with the right rear axle and as if on queue the seal started leaking again.  Bob tightened the lugs and I have tightened them twice in the last few days.  Fortunately only two blocks from the hotel in Lima is the mechanic where I took the car after my fiasco with the axle in Ecuador.  Back then they checked and tightened everything and found a small leak in my brakes.  I walked over there this morning and the owner of the shop remembered me, without even seeing the car. Monday morning I’ll take the car there and I think I’ll have the oil changed as well.

Tonight I will have dinner with Anya and Josh. They are the two Canadians doing the same thing I’m doing, just much slower, in their Toyota Land Cruiser.  The last time I saw them was in Quito over seven months ago.  In that time I’ve been to Ushuaia and back. Later tonight Candace arrives. Tomorrow we will take a tour of the city and Monday Scott arrives. Wednesday we all pile in the car and take off for Guayaquil.

La Paz to Arequipa

It was still before 6 am when I pulled away from the airport in El Alto Tuesday morning. It was also still very dark.  Normally I would have been pleased that the hour made El Alto nearly empty. There wasn’t any of the usual anarchy in the streets.  This also meant that there weren’t many people to ask directions.  I knew that the road I wanted was the same road to Tiwanaku and had been on the road a couple of times. However I’d never made the drive in the dark.  With the help of the few people I saw on the street and a few fortuitously placed service stations I found the way.

Not far out of El Alto I hit fog.  That kept my speed down. It also made for interesting (if not terrifying at times) antics along the road.  At one point I swerved a little to avoid hitting what looked like a white plastic bag floating alongside the road. It appeared full and I had no idea what could have been inside.  The plastic bag was actually attached to a man dressed completely in black picking something up in the road.  If I hadn’t swerved I would have hit him.  Another time I was a little concerned about the two lights approaching me from above.  What appeared to be lights flying overhead were actually two bright lights atop the container behind a large semi truck who didn’t have his headlights on.

About the time I reached the border the sun came up and burned off the fog.  The highway bypassed a small border town and ended at a roadblock of Bolivian military.  It was 7:30 and I was informed that the border hadn’t opened yet.  There were about 20 cargo trucks parked on either side of the road all facing the border.  I understood that the border should be opening around 8 am.

I ended up waiting until a little after 9 am.  A number of times I was told it would be just a few more minutes.  I watched the small contingent of army work through drills, eat their breakfast and play jokes on each other when their commander went inside.  Finally I became convinced this border wouldn’t be opening anytime soon.  It was obvious that there had to be another crossing somewhere as I was the only passenger vehicle that had appeared in the one and a half hours I’d been waiting. So I turned around and headed into the small border town.

I was right.  In the middle of the town was another border crossing.  It took about 45 minutes to get through both Bolivian and Peruvian immigration and customs, change money and grab a banana. I was the only vehicle to go through the border. Everyone was either on foot or bicycles. When I drove across the bridge onto the Peruvian side I had to play Moses and part the crowds because I was dumped in the middle of a very active market.  Eventually I was on the open road driving alongside Lake Titicaca.

Soon I passed the turn off to Copacabana and then was on the same road that Tracy and I had driven 6 months before.  I recognized the long stretch where we stopped to watch the European police officers flying their ultralight. I drove right through the center of Puno and then through the confusing traffic jam of a city called Juliaca where I had to find my way off the main road and head west towards Arequipa.

Generally Peru has great signage out in the country.  But once in a town, small, medium or large, the signs disappear.  A number of times I asked about how to get through a certain town and was told ahead of time to just ask people in the town.

The drive was another amazing mix of scenery.  Stunning volcanoes shadowing deep canyons. I crossed passes over 4500 meters. Slowly dropping to lower valleys the scenery became greener and lush farmlands appeared huddled around rivers. I had to round a small range of mountains to reach the large bowl shaped valley that holds Arequipa passing a huge industrial complex that from far away looked like a cityscape.  I believe it is a large copper mine.  Apparently Peru is the second largest producer of copper (behind Chile) and the first producer of silver in the world.

I had been told the drive to Arequipa could take 15 hours. I was pleased when I rolled into the city around 5 pm.  Taking into account a two hour wait at the border and a one hour time difference between the two countries the drive was actually nine hours.  Using the small central city map of Arequipa that is in the guide book I maneuvered my way to the small hotel where I had reserved a room. It had been recommended by Stephen the guide from La Paz on Foot.  It wasn’t what I had expected from the internet and they didn’t have the room I thought I had reserved.  Only a block away I found a Casa Andina which is a chain of 17 hotels in southern Peru.  It is more expensive than I had planned but has internet, a garage and a great breakfast.

Today I spent the morning walking around Arequipa and touring the famous convent.  This afternoon I took a double decker bus tour of the city (leaves from the Plaza de Armas) which was excellent.

Arequipa is a city of over 1 million people.  It sits in the shadow of a perfect cone shaped volcano and the skeletal remains of two other volcanoes which resemble small mountain ranges.  The city is called the White City because the vast majority of the old center is built out of white volcanic rock.  It is an elegant city with the quintessential main square.  Three sides of the main square have identical two level arcaded buildings and the fourth side fronts the impressive cathedral.

The Peruvians know how to do tourism.  The city is replete with great restaurants (tonight I had a great meal at a Turkish restaurant), artisan shops, agencies for hikes and tours and historic architecture. People are friendly, welcoming and helpful.

Unfortunately I only have the two nights and one full day in Arequipa.  It is definitely worth more. Tomorrow I leave early aiming for Nazca. The hotel tells me that the drive could take 11 hours.

Arica to La Paz

Bob and I got up on Friday (the 6th) and packed the car. The hotel in San Pedro de Atacama was surprisingly expensive ($135 per night). The breakfast was a typical buffet of rolls, bread, jams, teas, coffee, assorted fruits and some meat. For some reason the whole place had a very German feel to me. Perhaps because the people that sat next to Bob and me at breakfast were speaking German. The crowd was decidedly different from the past three days on the Salar. It was middle aged (so Bob and I fit in) and more affluent.

We had heard that there was a strike going on in Chile over the high cost of gasoline and were a little concerned if our route could be blocked. Checking with the front desk we learned that the blockades were basically to restrict the transport of gasoline. We were advised that if we did encounter a blockade we would be allowed through as we were not transporting anything of importance. It never became an issue as we never encountered any blockades.

We first drove to Calama, where I had stayed about six months before. We skirted the city and made our way to the largest open pit mine in the world, Chiquicamata. When I was there before I was able to drive into the old city beside the mine. Now abandoned because of health issues it is a strange modern day ghost town. I had hoped to drive to the main gate of the mine were the tourist buses go in for the viewing podium. Unfortunately the city has been fenced off. Tourists have to park outside the fence and wait for the scheduled tours. We didn’t have time to wait so Bob never got to look into the 1.5 kilometer wide by 3 kilometer long by 1 kilometer deep copper mine that continues to fund the Chilean economy.

I knew the road from Chiquicamata to Arica having driven it six months before. I remembered the 80 some kilometers to the Panamericana as being unpaved gravel. We never encountered any gravel. In fact there was lots of new pavement. Apparently the road had been paved over in the last six months.

I had also forgotten the dramatic beauty of the Panamericana along this northern part of Chile. The Panamericana lays parallel to the coast only many kilometers inland. The geology of the northern coast is as if innumerable humongous elephant legs had been dropped onto the continent laid parallel from the mountains to the east with toes landing in the ocean. Driving north or south great level plains are suddenly interrupted by vast deep canyons. The highway traverses each canyon to it’s valley floor by one simple switchback consisting of a lengthly downhill drive east followed by a similarly long stretch uphill going west. Some of the valley floors are bleak, dry and dead while others are green and productive. Loose floppy elephant skin drapes over the hillsides creating more mini canyons and valleys. Both of us expressed curiosity at what geological events created such a dramatic environment.

We arrived in Arica in the afternoon and it was sheer luck that I picked the correct left turn to climb over the hills to find the Hotel Arica on the south end of town without having to drive through the center. This was the second time I sought refuge at the Hotel Arica to relax after travels through Bolivia. We ended up with a cabina which was the same price as a double room.

While our less than 48 hours in Arica were not terribly warm and we had overcast for much of the morning we did have a few hours of sun. We both soaked up what warmth we could and both being coastal people drew from the calming presence of the ocean. I caught up on the blog with wifi access on the beach – something I had not experienced before.

Neither of us were terrible excited about heading back up the mountains to the Altiplano. Our coughs seemed to be improving in the coastal climate. We departed the hotel Sunday morning one and a half hours later than planned and were soon climbing, following the floor of yet another stunning canyon.

The border was the typical confusion. It is a major border crossing with lots of trucks and commodities crossing the border. There must have been an auto ship that unloaded in Arica because on the road we saw many trucks with cars heading into Bolivia.

We arrived in La Paz after 5 pm. We had decided to stay at the Radisson which was centrally located and would have a secure garage. It was a wise decision and a marked change from the diverse accommodations we had experienced in the previous two weeks. I called my friend Marie-Lara as she had invited Bob and me to dinner at her house that evening. We had less than an hour to get ready and get to her house in the Zona Sur. We quickly dressed and grabbed a cab outside the hotel. The cabbie was great.  He took us from the hotel to a flower market to a store for wine and finally to Marie-Lara’s house.

I had been to her house before to watch a movie with the conversation class from the school. It is a beautiful home that was designed by a geologist. It was designed to capture the warmth of the sun as there is no heating system in the house. The walls of glass facing north with an expansive view of the Zona Sur and and lights of La Paz are all quite impressive. They have tastefully appointed the house with treasures from their previous lives in many other countries including India.

Marie-Lara’s husband, Eric, is the Cultural Attache in the French Embassy. Their daughter is finishing high school in La Paz and will be choosing where in the world to go to college next year. The other guest that evening runs the Dutch corporation for development out of the Dutch Embassy. Needless to say the conversation that evening was completely enthralling. It was a wonderful way to end my time in Bolivia. A huge thanks to Marie-Lara and Eric for an engaging evening of excellent French cuisine and a distinctly European and thoughtful perspective on Bolivia and the world.

Bob and I had planned Monday morning to be our last efforts at shopping and packing the car. Monday afternoon was to be for rest and relaxation. There was the fact that the hotel had a pool and spa. But this was Bolivia and our plans were about to be thwarted. We had learned the night before that there would be a demonstration in La Paz likely closing down the streets.

I doubt any of this reached the US pres. The people of La Paz staged a protest Monday in front of the US embassy calling for the return of an ex president and his high ranking military officer who are responsible for the death of 60 people from what in Bolivia is known as Black February (2003). Supposedly one of the two recently announced that they had been granted political asylum in the US. There is no confirmation from the US government if they have received asylum. In fact the US government statement said their status in the US is a private matter. Apparently from the news in Bolivia they are claiming that they were and would be in danger of their lives in Bolivia. The Bolivian government claims to have requested their extradition from the US, but the US ambassador in Bolivia claims the Bolivian government hasn’t actually initiated the extradition process. The US government doesn’t seem too interested in the facts that the Bolivian government wants to try them for the 60 deaths from Black February and pursue the missing $100 million that left with the president when he fled the country.

If the US grants political asylum it is in effect denying the Bolivian people the right to try in a court of law the criminal actions of their past president and his military leader. Asylum would inherently say the US doesn’t believe Bolivia’s justice system is capable of a legitimate trial. It is another slap at the people of Bolivia but more specifically at their president. It does nothing but continue the suspicions of the Bolivian people towards the US. I was told by more than a few people that previously when the US ambassador publicly stated that voting for Evo Morales was not a wise choice and could bring repercussions from the US it actually increased his support.

Bob and I took a taxi to one part of the city for some shopping but where unable to be delivered back to the hotel. Everything would have to be done on foot. Thousands of people were walking down the main street of La Paz. There were labor unions, womans groups, students, people from El Alto in fancy traditional garb all marching on the US embassy. Bob and I walked along on the sidewalk and followed them down to the embassy.

The US embassy is an architecturally designed bunker. I expect it is similar to what is being built in every capital city in the world. It is about 10 levels with small slits of windows set back from the street with a guard house entrance. When I went to the embassy to get extra pages for my passport I was surprised just the doors. Each door I went through was as heavy and secure as a bank vault door. It towers over the English embassy which is an old house that sits in the shadow of the US tower.

The demonstrators were quite organized. It appeared they each had their moment in front of the embassy and then cycled on walking back up the street. There were thousands, if not tens of thousands. Directly in front of the Embassy we say some people throwing rocks at the police and later heard that the police had to shoot tear gas.

Walking alongside all the demonstrators we noticed a few people point at us and I heard one group of women say something about the gringos looking in our direction. Otherwise we were left alone and were just two more of the crowd on the sidelines.

After finishing our chores we headed back to the hotel a little later than expected but still looking forward to the spa. We quickly learned that the spa is closed Mondays. So after a meal on the top of the Radisson enjoying the beautiful view of La Paz we went to bed early in anticipation of a very early morning.

Bob’s flight was at 6:45 am so we got up at 4:30 am. We packed the car, ate a quick breakfast (they actually had a few things out on the buffet) and drove away climbing up through sleeping La Paz to the airport in El Alto.

I said goodbye to Bob at the American Airlines desk. Two plus weeks, new friends, colds, stunning scenery, questionable accommodations, comfortable accommodations, numerous enlightening conversations and thousands of miles were all behind us. Bob had 24 hours of travel and I had what I had been told could be a 15 hour drive ahead of us.

The Salar de Uyuni (and San Pedro de Atacama)

The drive to Uyuni was uneventful with one exception. It was an unpaved road, often gravel and sometimes just dirt. At one place in the middle of nowhere and with drifts of sand alongside the road we passed a one ton flatbed Japanese utility truck parked on the opposite side of the road. We slowed and asked if everything was OK. The answer was obviously no. As we later learned they had been stuck in the sand drift for over four hours. The wife had been crying as no one would stop and the husband had obviously been busy trying to free the vehicle cannibalizing pieces of wood from his load to place under the wheels.

We gladly offered to winch them out of their situation. The first attempt at pulling them back just dragged the truck deeper into the drift. So we turned around and facing them pulled them forward onto the road. They very happily thanked us and were on the road quickly. They were bringing building supplies from Chile to their home in Potosi.

We pulled into the wasteland that is Uyuni late in the afternoon. An and Quentin’s first check of the International Hostel was not up to par. Bob and I found Tonito Hotel to be satisfactory (hot showers and secure parking) and were both pleased to learn we could rent heaters for an additional $3.00. We wandered around the town a little and ended up eating in our hotel at a pizzeria owned by a guy from Boston who had married the hotel owners’ daughter.

Uyuni is really nothing special. The roads are very wide and the city has the feel of a town that receives heavy snowfall, though I don’t believe that is the case. It was very cold and very dusty. Both Bob and I and now Quentin had nasty coughs and the cold and dust were not helping.

In the morning (Tuesday the 3rd of June) we first went to the office of our tour company. Sandra’s Tours had been recommended by Juan, the guide we had befriended in La Paz. Sandra was in her office. An and Quentin paid Sandra and after a little controversy about whether my car held enough gas to make the complete trip (in the end it did) we were told to be back at the office at 10:30. We went off to explore the city and find an internet cafe, the last time we’d see one for three days.

We were back at Sandra’s office at 10:30 to get going to the Salar. We had been told that we would be following a truck with a driver/guide, a cook and four tourists from Israel. We were introduced to our cook, Marlena, given six bottles of water and then told the truck loading across the street and parked in front of a different tour agency would be our lead truck. We drove across the street and parked behind our lead truck and never saw Sandra again.

As would be the rule we left about 45 minutes later than expected from Uyuni. First we traveled to a train graveyard. There were old steam engines that had been obviously parceled out and any pieces with any utility were missing.

We drove back through town and headed to the Salar. The actual salt flats are only about 10 kilometers from Uyuni. Once on the flat salt surface we drove for about an hour to Fish Island. The salt flats are vast and impressive. Off in the distance there are mountains but they are far in the distance. There are no real roads on the Salar. There are dark tread marks where a number of vehicles have traveled but the salt is so hard it isn’t rutted. Likely so much dark rubber has simply darkened the salt.

After a while we noticed our guide car was widely swerving back and forth on and off the dark line of the path. We wondered what was going on so we pulled alongside. The Israelis were happily talking in the back of the Toyota Land Cruiser, but the driver/guide had his head so low that his baseball cap made it impossible for him to see the road. We suddenly realized he was sleeping.

This was my second greatest missed photo opportunity (the first was two llamas on top of a minibus). After a few minutes the driver jerked his head up and looked around. A person could literally drive without looking for a long period without any worry about running into something (except maybe the tourist driving alongside) as the salt flats are so vast and empty. But there are also many other vehicles out on the flats. I had heard about five tourists dying in a head on collision on the Salar about four weeks ago and seeing this confirmed my desire to be in charge of driving on this tour.

The Fish Island turned out to be an ancient dead coral reef. The dry barnacled surface is an appropriate background for the plentiful cacti dotting the island. The brilliant white “lake” of salt surrounding the island makes for a dramatic and surreal landscape. The sheer vastness of the salt flats make for a unique format for creating mystifying photos. Nearly all tourists walk out onto the salt to attempt photos that distort reality.

We had a lunch of pan fried meets (llama, pork and beef), rice and vegetables. Back on the salt flat we headed to our first hotel. This was to be our night at a salt hotel.

It became apparent our driver was not accustomed to being followed. As we entered the small village we totally lost him. We drove up to the obvious hotel above the village but his car was not there. Driving through the village again he jumped out from around a corner and waived us to our accommodations.

Our first impressions were not good. It was essentially the typical adobe looking house inside the village. On further inspection we noticed that about a third of the walls were indeed salt blocks. The floor of the place was covered in salt gravel and the whole place was freezing cold. There were four rooms, each with three beds (mattresses on slabs of salt) and a long hall outside the rooms with tables where we would be eating our dinner. There was one water closet and a shower room. To take a shower would cost 70 cents extra and they would have to stoke up a gas fire to heat the water. No one in the group showered.

We were not terribly excited about our accommodations and walked up to the hotel on the hill. It was definitely nicer with a restaurant, bar and ping pong tables. We inquired about staying there and they would not allow it. They didn’t want trouble with the owners of the place where we were staying. We also learned that the nicer place cost $3.00 a night. From some of the other tourists we met it was becoming evident that we paid for a mid range tour but were in reality receiving very low range service.

Our guide never told us anything of value in those first couple days. We nicely asked that he wait when entering a village so we wouldn’t loose him. Then at the next stop he told me that I had to speed up. He never understood that we would follow far behind so not to eat so much of his dust as most of the roads were deep powdered dirt.

If it wasn’t for the truly amazing geology, the surreal environment, the stunning moonless starry nights (all at over 4000 meters) and the great company it would have been a disaster. We had lots of frustration over our tour operators. Apparently Sandra sold us off to another agency. Most of what we had agreed to was not honored. No one was aware I don’t eat wheat or dairy, we had to pay all our entrance fees (which led to a real dressing down of the guide in a park office by An – don’t get her mad at you), our accommodations were obviously under par for what we paid and we never saw our cook, Marlena after being introduced to her that first day.

I am putting this in the blog for anyone who googles Sandra Tours in Uyuni. Do not trust her!

The poor guide was really sick as well. He had a terrible cough and generally disappeared at night as quickly as he could unload their car.

Our Second day consisted of driving past a number of salt lakes. These lakes had water. The Salar de Uyuni is dry in the winter but in the summer there is about one foot of water over the whole flats. The other lakes are dominated by minerals that create odd colors. There is the green lake, the red lake, the white lake. We saw pink flamingos, vicuñas, foxes and a rabbit like creature whose name we never learned. There were volcanoes many with huge gashes left where they had blown their tops and others perfectly cone shaped. It is truly impossible to describe the range of environments we traveled through. I never understood why it is said to be a “Dali-esque” environment. After passing through wide valleys of smooth sand with shockingly odd rock formations nearly uniformly placed, as if by design, I now wonder if Dali ever visited this part of the world. I know he certainly did paint it.

Our last night was in a little more acceptable hotel. The four of us shared a dorm room with seven beds. After a day of driving my routine was to crawl under the covers fully clothed and just warm up. While I did that the other three moved mattresses around, added air mattresses and divvied out the additional blankets from the three unused beds. Most of us slept fully clothed with caps on our heads. Thanks to Jami I was toasty warm with my specially knit wool cap.

This hotel was a large sprawling complex. It was about 20 minutes beyond the first village where we thought we would end up staying. After our vented frustration with the guide over the lack of service we wondered if he had bumped up our accommodations to appease us. We will never know the truth about how our tour was put together but we know one thing – Never use Sandra Tours.

We got up at 4:45 Thursday morning to get going by 5 am. There was no shower available in our part of the hotel. Of course we were in the car and warming up waiting for our guide. We didn’t pull away from the hotel until after 5:30 am.

We were a little worried about trusting our guide to get us to the customs office. The Bolivian customs office is not on the border but at a mining town a number of kilometers away. He drove very fast that morning and we were a little worried to discover he had no tail lights. He passed three cars in that first hour in the dark where he had never passed anyone in the two days before. We arrived at the customs office around 6:30 and Quentin and I walked with the guide to the office building. We had been informed at the gate that they wouldn’t be open until 8 am and the guide made it clear he wasn’t waiting for us.

After about 10 minutes of banging on windows and doors someone rustled in the building. The door opened and there was a customs agent standing in his pajamas obviously irritated. Through a long process of very gentle and conciliatory pleading and begging (at which Quentin excelled) the guy acquiesced and actually became quite pleasant. He took my papers and said he would process them as soon as the system was up. I won’t really know until Bob and I appear at the border crossing back into Bolivia tomorrow if he did indeed process the paperwork.

We drove by some geysers and bubbling pits in what felt like the crater of an old volcano. Then we proceeded to yet another lake to eat breakfast in a resort hotel (which is an extremely generous description) with a natural hot spring. A number of people were stripping and getting into the hot spring – but not any of us.

Somewhere our last morning we crossed a pass at over 5000 meters, 16,404 feet.

Our guide took us to the final lake, Laguna Verde, which would appear green later in the day when the sun hit the water. He left us there as the border crossing into Chile was only a few kilometers away. We elected not to wait to few the green and headed for the border.

We arrived in San Pedro de Atacama in Chile before noon. We were all shocked at how pricey this backpackers paradise had become. We were also surprised to hear that there was a blockade underway in Chile stopping the transport of all gas. So I quickly got into a long line to fill up the car while the others searched out accomodations. Quentin and An found what they wanted but decided they were leaving the next day for Salta in Argentina.

Bob and I went back to a place we had checked out when we first drove through the town. We changed into shorts and walked around the town enjoying the warmth we had so missed for the last couple of weeks. San Pedro is a small town of one level buildings with not very fancy exteriors (actually many look run down) but very cozy and warm interiors.

We ate goodbye meal at a great French restaurant. We had a successful 10 days of travel together and gained a great cross generational respect. An and Quentin certainly are mature for their ages and both Bob and I expect great things for their lives. In fact Bob offered them jobs. I don’t know if they believe he was serious, but I know he was. We had some great conversations and all learned from each other. Saying goodbye is always bittersweet but it is part of what makes traveling and making new friends so rewarding.

Potosi

The drive to Potosi was relatively uneventful. We entered town and parked the car at the main square. Bob and I checked out a hotel we passed that looked about our comfort level. It was booked full. We all checked out a number of hotels/hostels before settling on one that had accommodations for all of us.

An and Quentin received what could be described as a hostel matrimonial suite. It was up a circular stairway with a decent view, bath and a heater (that turned out not to work). Bob ended up with the worst of our three rooms, windowless, heaterless and a sorry excuse for a shower that you was directly over the toilet. My room was over the front door and had windows and light, but the heater didn’t work either.

Despite it’s unfortunate location Potosi is rich in history. It was at one point the largest and richest city in South America, bigger even than London and Paris. The city today has about 130,000 inhabitants but it was over 200,000 at it’s height centuries ago. The source of it’s riches, Cerro Rico (Rich Hill), towers over the city both physically and psychologically.

Life in the mines was horrendous. After entering the mines life expectancy was just six months. Millions have died in the mines. African slave labor was brought to the mines but the altitude (over 4000 meters) was too much for them. The locally acclimatized indigenous proved far more productive and their virtual slavery was the main source of labor. These mines financed the Spanish crown for centuries.

Past glory and grandeur is evident in the unexpected architecture. The narrow streets, which today can only afford one lane of traffic without parking, become tiny windy canyons of two and three level colonial buildings. The Mint is one of the largest and best preserved colonial buildings I have seen anywhere in Bolivia.

We were there in winter and I expect summer is warmer, but to us the frigid air never really warmed much, not even in the sun. Bob said he could taste the pollution in the air and both he and I developed nasty coughs. The four of us ate dinner in the same place the two nights we were there because it had heat and was close to our hostel.

Bob and I had lunch on Sunday in the Mirador which we think was built on a slag heap just beside the town. It rotates like the Space Needle. We expected lots of tourists but only found Bolivian families celebrating birthdays and other special occasions. We were pleased to rotate into the sun and actually felt warm for a little while.

Monday morning we planned to explore more of Potosi as most shops, museums and churches had been closed on Sunday. However, as we walked around town we couldn’t find anything we wanted and soon we all wanted to leave and start our journey to Uyuni and the Salar.

In contradiction to the others’ inclinations I misdirected us out of town going up the hill instead of back into town. I really didn’t want to drive the car through the narrow streets again. We had to correct my mistake and drive right through town one last time to finally exit the city.

We thought we were finally on the road to Uyuni. We asked at the police checkpoint right before a toll booth and learned we were actually on the road to La Paz. We had to back track only a few hundred meters to turn off the nice paved road onto a surprisingly bad dirt road. The badly unimproved road turned out to be just a short cut through to the main gravel road towards Uyuni and soon we were on our way.