Dear all,
hope you are well, I am a little smelly.
so, the fiesta was noisy and I didnt stay in bed. instead I went for a walk and an old lady at the side of the road invited me over for a glass of beer. I accepted (obviously) but then got ranted at by her drunk husband who was crying because bolivia doesnt have access to the sea (south americas biggest and most beautiful lake, yes, but no sea. he blames chile) I tried to comfort him by saying neither did luxembourg, but that didnt work. instead he comforted himself by saying neither did albania (!?!) he then started talking about politics, so I said that fidel was great, finished my beer, and left. but not before he made me take a photo of him walking down the road (presumably to prove he could...)
on the 2nd feb I caught the bus to la paz ( I tried to go with a company called transportes segundo de febrero but they were shut). on the way I bumped into the old man again, which was lucky as I didnt have change for the lake crossing. he lent me about 12p and then spent the whole crossing vomiting and the whole subsequent bus journey spitting balls of phlegm. la paz was ok, I spent a day there getting scared as lots of youths in balaclavas kept coming up to me. turns out they wanted to polish my shoes. I also went to a very good museum about cocaine.
then I caught another bus south, and five minutes in I realised I really needed a dump. ten minutes later I realised I was about to explode. in true british fashion, I waited another ten minues (complete agony and hell) before heading to the front of the bus and politely telling the bus driver 'necessito una mierda'. he said ten minutes til next town, I said, couldnt wait that long. he pulled over at a tiny villaga, I jumped out, ran into the main square and asked a passer by if there was a loo nearby. he waved his arm in a manner that said 'we go anywhere' and I jumped over a wall, pulled down my trousers, and let rip. the relief was momentary as first I realised I was pissing down my trouserleg, and then I looked up to see that I was in someones back garden. not only that but three small children were looking at me out of the window. I smiled and waved coyly, and they ran off shouting 'papa'. by this point I was not only literally, but also metaphorically shitting myself, so I grabbed the nearest thing to hand ( a plastic bag) to wipe my arse, pulled up my trews and legged it. phew! back on the bus.
in the south I went on a tour of some salt flat which was cool, my group was notable mainly for the frequency and ferocity of their farting, although fortunately I got a bit of conversation, as, being irish, they practically spoke english anyway. our guide was cool too. he was a tiny old man called octavio who had no mirrors on his 4 by 4 and was completely deaf. we thus almost crashed and died hilariously on numerous occasions.
then I went to potosi, a town notable for the number of people there who sold stationary (everyone not stuck down a mine. I nearly bought a protractor). I went on a mine tour which was scary (as I had to sign a piece of paper in case I died), but good fun too. afterwards we set off dynamite and the gude lit it and handed it round for photos. I accepted, but was more than a little troubled when the guide walked off and issued me to follow. I figured I had about a minute of fuse left. shat myself when I almost fell down the hill and made the fuse irrelevant, but I regained composure like a pro, made it to the detonation site, handed over my bomb, and ran like hell.
after the tour I was stuck in potosi for a couple of days as there were road blocks and bus strikes and I found very little to do. not even the stationary was helping. I found a world map though. albania has plenty of sea.
then I got a bus to santa cruz, a very horrid 24 hours which I will go into in list form now. 3 buses, 2 police checks, 1 flat tyre, 1 broken engine, 5km of road blocks, 5km walk in blazing sun, broken bridge, boat river crossing, lots of crying babies, and complete traffic marmalade (not your average jam). added to this I ate nothing all day (actually 2 oreos), had a really runny nose and no tissues, and my eyes were also streaming for some reason so I couldnt see. it was my worst day so far. then I got to santa cruz and realised there was nothing to do there either.
better go ciao
rico
Labels: bolivia, bus, travel
