Leaving Bolivia

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  Salta, Argentina
Tuesday, September 26, 2006

It seems ages since our last blog: we have passed through so many different places and out of Bolivia and into Argentina with the biggest culture shock of the trip so far; we failed at going through the best bit of Bolivia; and have passed through some of our most stunning country. We had our relax in La Higuera but got criticised by the locals for staying in an expensive foreign owned campsite when we could have benefited the local community by staying in their cooperative campsite/hostal. We felt a bit abashed but they had no signs up and of course the foreign owned place had lots of lovely little touches. But of course the only way they are going to get out from their burden of poverty is by their own efforts. We met a young German girl in Rurrenabaque who was doing a thesis on community based tourism in Bolivia and she said that everyone was very enthusiastic but did not even undertsand the basics of what they should provive: lots of grand eco/cultural titles and names but no idea what the words meant

Amazing rocks near Tilcara Argentina

. So the government makes the plans and spouts the words but gives no back-up to help provide a service. Just a few "German girls" would make all the difference as she had a really basic undertsanding of what it all meant and very practical ideas of how it could be provided. Politics here seems to revolve around barnstorming speeches that last hours and say nothing or going and being photographed at Castro's bedside. Bolivians are not afraid of work and have great resources but miss out almost completely on the basics.
But anyway, we left Che's last stand and out on to the dusty road again and did not meet another vehicle for the first two hours, and not many more until we got all the way to Sucre. We passed through lovely arid country up and down and round and round full of cacti and lots of other thorny things. We seem to like the arid country the best and this was the most interesting we had seen. We got into Sucre in time for lunch and easily found an excellent hostal in the centre of town. And we had time on the way to go to Tarabuco that has a huge artisan market on a Sunday - interesting but mostly stuff brought in from elsewhere and difficult to tell what is genuine and what has been made in China.
Sucre had the best "feel" of any city we have passed through: very modest but beautifully kept; all painted in white and some lovely buildings; beautiful gardens everywhere and tranquil parks and plazas

Bolivia goes on forever

. Nothing that stood out but just all of a piece and you just wanted to sit down and watch it all very lazily. The high point was the textile museum (we have seen some really wonderful museums in Latin America all small and all devoted to a single theme) which was laid out by indigeneous grouping and explained techniques and themes in simple language. Made you realise just how sophisticated their art is and how technically demanding and all done with the most basic implements. There were two women weaving and watching them made it all even more mysterious because we could not even begin to see how they did it with such intricate themes that are not repeated but develop from one theme to another. And they do it with so little apparent attention, almost in a daze. The textiles evolve at a snails pace and they have no design in front of them, it is all in the heads; makes you realise that looking for bargains in the market is missing the point as the genuine articles must be expensive and are real works of art. The museum is part of a group that is reintroducing weaving skills especialy to men; the men actually do everything the opposite to the women (are we surpised?) and one sex does the design in the weft and the other in the warp! One of the weavers was Methuselah's age with gnarled fingers that were still nimble and supple.
Our next destination was Potosi at just over 4,000m at the start of the greatest Bolivian road trip on the biggest, highest salt lake in the world and past brightly coloured lakes with flamingos

Rooftops of Potosi

. But all I can do is tell you it is there as we have not seen it. This part of the trip has been an on-again, off-again plan due to the altitude and the cold but everyone said we should go, so go we went. Potosi you approach from above and without any trees and going through the poor parts of this ancient silver mining town it looks dreadful but once in the centre you can quickly see why it is a Unesco Heritage Site. Lovely, centuries old, colonial buildings, churches, winding cobbled streets and plazas all lovingly restored. We went on a guided tour of the large monastry which hosts considerable amounts of art (none of it signed because the indigeneous artists could not read or write); recently restored but without enough money for glass so covered in plastic sheets; this huge monostary housed only six monks - obviously a dying breed. Sheila had me on a route march around Potosi which is completely the wrong thing at altitude and the next morning at the start of our momentous trip I woke with a splitting head, feeling nauseous and panicked and told Sheila we had to head for lower altitudes or I would quickly expire! Usually Sheila ignores my panics but this time she agreed; to give me some credit the trip would have been mostly above 4,000m and last three to four days and the only cure for mountain sicknes is to descend. I feel a chicken but we may have another try later on the return leg. Evidently one should ascend at no more than 500m lifts so we were bit cavalier. In some ways it was lucky as when we crossed the border Sheila found that I had got the number of days we could stay in Bolivia wrong by ten and our visa would have run out if we had taken the longer route out

sleepy village in Bolivia

! I have now been removed completely from all activities involving borders, forms, officials and money.
The descent was to Tarija which is Bolivia's wine region and a very different place from all its other towns and cities with far fewer indigeneous people and leavy tree-lined streets; no beautiful colonial buildings but a very good feel to it all; and the journey from Potosi to Tarija was as memorable as usual with vistas that went on for ever and hardly any people or vehicles. We got there late on Friday and on Saturday after breakfast realised that something must be "on" and drove until we found where the crowds were assembling for a Spring Parade. Bought our tickets for the stands and then watched endless groups of dancers expire in the heat with several floats becoming entangled with overhead signs and generally enjoyed the scene as the only gringos as far as we could see. We keep getting these surprises of parades and impromptu scenes.
Well we finally had to face up to leaving this delightful country of Bolivia with its inumerable problems but happy and welcoming people and stupendous countryside. We got to the Argentinian border expecting it to be the easiest to cross with all their sophistication; quite the opposite it was by far the slowest. The rate the line was moving - or not moving due to all the people who were somehow getting into it ahead of us - it would have taken at least four hours

Tarabuco market

. Sheila tried every ruse she could think of to queue-jump (no guilt in a situation like this) but failed. Then after about two hours we were plucked out by a uniformed official and taken to a little room amd on our way in 10mins; why? no idea, maybe we were the oldest people left in the line; or maybe they have a thing about Bolivians flooding into their country. Whatever the reason you immediately realise that you have left third or second world and are firmly in the first; everything looks different, everything seems to work, there are signs telling you where to go for your destination, villages have their names up, no more potholes, more private than public vehicles on the roads, agriculture that is more than slash-and-burn and scratching the soil; not sure whether the gringos are tourists or locals; just completely different, sometimes only subtly different, but defintely not Bolivia, Peru or Ecuador. As Sheila said it was bit like going across the border from Zimbabwe to South Africa.
Our first night was spent in a freezing campground at Humahuaca which had a thumping Saturday celebration in full swing as we erected our tent. And this is a big change as well as Argentina has campgrounds everywhere and we have been camping with other tents around us, almost for the first time since we left Vancouver. The next day we headed on down to Ticara and another campsite. And here the difference between a small Bolivian town and an Argentinian one was really stark: like being in little New Mexico or Arizona towns built mostly - it seems - for the tourist; lots of trendy little retsraurants and cafes and adobe hostals

weaving in Sucre

. But our first eveing we were treated to a completely genuine indigenous parade moving some saint for one abode to another; must have been at least twenty bands made up of enthusiastic drums and cymbals (means ear pounding) and pan pipes; all apparently playing the same tune but all playing it at different beats; a cacophony of sound; all shapes and sizes, all sexes and ages with little kids with cymbals tied around their necks to sophisticated looking girsl keeping the beat for their band. It is these unadvertised surprises that keeps Latin America fresh for us. We got back to the campsite to find a noise of a very different kind coming from the neighbouring karaoke bar which deafened us until 5am!
The area around Tilcara and on the road from Humahuaca is characterised by a very arid landscape but the most colourful geology. At the town of Purmamarca about 25 kms away there is a small hill with seven vivid colours. We went past there on a side trip up into the mountains again to over 4,000m to a salt pan that Sheila thought might be a consolation to missing out in Bolivia but it wasn't although the road was pretty spectacular.
We are now settled in a small town outside Salta which apart from the inside of a internet place we have not seen. I took one look at the municipal campsite in Salta and said no-way so we are now 25kms outside all on our own in a campsite that is pretty run down but adequate in the town of Campo Quijano where we will spend a few nights doing our chores, replacing broken camping stuff, doing the car and exploring the area.

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