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| Talk,
Thomas Garland,
06 December 2001 | |
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South America
I'd always been wary of South America, to me it was a land of dangerous Marxist revolutionaries, drug lords and petty thieves, but with the demise of the notorious Shining Path I felt it was time to spend a couple of months checking out Peru and its neighbours. The edge was however still there, the friendly tourist office at the airport begging us to avoid central Lima; we would be robbed for sure. So we stayed in a clean, safe suburb for the first night and against everyone's whishes, but watching our pockets, we moved over to central Lima, for our first taste of South America, warts and all. It wasn't so bad, plenty to see and nothing stolen.
Leaving the dusty city beyond we headed to everyone's next stop, Machu Picchu. Most fly, but the Andean landscapes in between are breathtaking so the bus is a good alternative. You'll get to acclimatize to the high altitudes and if new, exciting experiences are what you feel travel is all about then you'll appreciate the exhaustively terrifying experience of staring death in the face as well as at a poster of Jesus Christ taped to the driver's cabin door as your overcrowded bus snakes it's way up along mountain sides, passing bus wrecks far down below, overtaking on dirt tracks no wider than your bedroom.
Finally you reach Cusco, pants soiled by two days of terror but proud not to be one of those spineless cowards who'd opted for the plane. Cusco, possibly South America's most visited city, remains a fine city of Spanish colonial buildings built on top of the old Inca capital, the outstanding pre-Columbian stone work still visible along many streets. That about sums up Peruvian society. Everyone in town will, for a commission, get you over to Machu Picchu, your options are simple go by train or by foot along the old Inca Trail, but no traveler could possibly consider the train, I would however recommend the guided groups, porters carrying tents and making you tea. As you walk up with only a mouth full of bitter coca leaves keeping you from passing out you'll wish you'd have taken the train, but you'll reconsider when finally by dawn of you fourth day you'll finally reach the forgotten city. A magical moment if it weren't for the fact that the site spread out before you is one you've seen countless times, along with images of the pyramids, Taj Mahal and co, and that within a couple of hours bus loads of Bermuda shorts have turned up to chase the llamas amongst the ruins.
From there it's over to Lake Titicaca, big, very high and a gateway into Bolivia which is poorer and thus a cheaper version of its bigger neighbour (even the people seem smaller). Except for a coastline it's got it all, ruins, mountains, jungle and desert. First stop La Paz, which when arriving by bus feels like you're coming in by plane, central La Paz being located at the bottom of a very deep hole. High up on the Andean Altiplano (the nights are cold and so are the showers) La Paz is however a popular place to check out the Amazon and Pampas far below. They call the road to it the "death road", so take my advice and cycle the first thirty miles, it's all downhill. The jungle is hot, sticky and so filled with bugs and mud that you'll wonder why you came, then you remember that travel is about new, exciting experiences. Back to cooler climes only to be told that a general strike may soon close the country down, apparently not an uncommon occurrence, so we were advised to leave. Our remaining week was as rushed as this text. Check out the silver mines at Potosi, be saddened by the thought of the eight million miners who have so far died there, then cheer yourself up by playing around with dynamite (that includes lighting the stuff), all part of the many mine tours.
We left the country via Uyuni lost amongst salt lakes and locomotive graveyards. From there you tour the vast, cold deserts of southern Bolivia with its mind boggling volcanic landscapes, brightly coloured lakes, a popular spot for flamingoes I was surprised to discover. A drop off at the Chilean border negotiated, we briefly returned to a familiar world of metaled roads, air conditioned busses and hotel rooms that cost more than a pint of beer back home. Northern Chile is dry, not just "it occasionally rains" dry, but "it never ever rains" dry, doted with mining towns (check out the world's biggest man made hole) and ports built for the once profitable trade in bird shit. No Indians or Llamas here so it was back to Peru, riding back to Lima along the dry coastal road, stopping off to sand surf in Ica and to visit the mysterious Nazca Lines. Best viewed from a six seater Cesna. It was refreshing to found no one there who believed in that Extra Terrestrial stuff. Back in Lima we ignored the advice and headed straight into town, now reassuringly familiar.
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