Hotel Santa Maria La Antigua
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Feeling hot hot hot!!!
... cafe. Op the World Wide Web vond Bart een interessant aanbod voor de komende dagen. Wij konden niet snel genoeg vertrekken naar onze volgende besteming.
Dit was met andere woorden een mooie tussenstop voor we verdergingen. We kropen samen met 6 andere mensen in een minibusje en arriveerden met een verdoofd achterwerk in een gezellig plaatsje dat Samaipata heet. Wordt vervolgd...
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Crap hostel and even crapper pool!
... and the pool bar was empty. The hostel wasn't great either, but since it was only for one night, we had to make do.
We popped out for something to eat and returned with cheese, ham and some bread for a homemade jobby. Then we spent the afternoon talking the hind legs of a donkey, whilst swallowing a few beers.
Come evening time, even though none of us were hungry, we went out for dinner. The hostel owner had recommended a restaurant around ...
Et pendant ce temps-là, à Santa Cruz ...
... du bras peut parfois aider, même si les voitures s'arrêtent toujours au dernier moment. Les seuls feux plus ou moins respectés sont entre deux grands axes, avec plusieurs voies de chaque coté. Et là, c'est une vraie fourmilière qui se met en marche à chaque rouge: laveurs de vitres, vendeurs de café, de fruits, de biscuits, de journaux ou de n'importe quoi, jongleurs ou simple mendiants se précipitent sur les voitures arrêtées.
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Hola Santa Cruz, Te Amo!
... that’s how big it was. Not that I’m complaining, it was delicious! There was upbeat Spanish music blasting and a lot of alcohol; lucky for some of us, we were asked to dance by tipsy family members…(I got the uncle who danced like he was starring in his own show, great…everyone found this quite hilarious. I’m pretty sure that there are some videos that I need to hunt down and delete!). Everyone was so nice and welcoming, I felt like I was one of ...
Welcome to Bolivia!
... from wide awake as the cool Bolivian breeze hit us. The reality that we had finally reached our destination was actually setting in. As I mentioned, the bus perfectly fit my mental image of what we would be travelling through Bolivia with: white, chipped paint, ripped leather seats, no doors, and to our surprise, a barely-fencing in, open compartment on the roof for our luggage. Despite the fact that we were cracking jokes about listening for the sound of our suitcases ...
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