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Welcome to the Jungle/Paradise, depending on your lyrical preferences.“ỊViva la democracia! ỊEvo hasta 2050!” |
- Some
rather excellent graffiti from La Paz expressing simultaneous love for democracy
and the prospect of a president serving another 37 years.
Democracy
is a funny thing. Having just finished a very long and increasingly cold
semester in Santiago it was time to head off on the road for a very welcome two
week break. I am probably going to split this gripping read into two parts as
it is sure to be a very long ramble. Between last writing and leaving Santiago,
not a whole lot happened. Soccer entered my life in a big way however, with my
getting at last to play two or even three games a week which simply makes weekends
that much better; especially for endorphin-fuelled relaxation. Playing with and
against Chileans has also allowed me insight into the sporting “vernacular”,
usually fairly profane. Most of my opponents have of course been far more
technically skilled than me, however most have also been older which has
allowed me to employ my main trick, running around quite fast and sliding into
people, with some success. Hurray for a small degree of fitness at last. Football
aside, the semester wound down quietly with plenty of class cancellations and
hiding inside from cold weather as I planned my next move.
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| Of course, a protest march. |
The
next move was to go to Bolivia and Peru for two weeks, although the second bit
didn’t happen as planned. “As planned” was a rather vague notion anyway, since,
besides a return ticket, I had made absolutely no plans whatsoever which was
incredibly liberating. A chaotic final week required careful rationing of time
just to pack and make sure I didn’t leave something behind. Naturally I did
anyway, my book. A costly oversight. With no checked on luggage and no idea
where I was going to stay that night, I hopped on the flight to La Paz and
waited for my first view of the Altiplano
and Andes below. Within about two minutes of landing in La Paz, I had a
very good idea of where I wanted to stay, at a hotel with a quiet room and a
comfortable bed – spare no expense. This was entirely down to the altitude,
although the views of La Paz itself were breathtaking (I am sure I am the first
person to make this pun). Nestled in a valley at between 3600 and 4000m, La Paz
is in itself a sight worth seeing – and to be honest I didn’t get around to any
of the other sights.
I was extremely curious as to why on Earth someone would
build a city in a rugged high altitude valley which floods in summer, and of
course the reason was gold. Lots of gold, something the colonial Spanish were apparently
quite fond of. I did not adapt to the altitude particularly well at first,
experiencing an onset of dizziness, shortness of breath, exhaustion, and
various other aches and pains after climbing three flights of stairs to my
hotel room. A couple of cups of Mathe de
Coca improved things drastically however, that wonderful little leaf which
is revered by many Bolivians and vaguely known to us due to its two major
derivatives which deserve mention.
One
previous derivative of the plant that has been the lifeblood of indigenous
peoples in South America for millennia is of course a rather popular dark cold
beverage we all enjoy. The other popular derivative product is one unwisely ingested
through the nose by overly talkative middle to upper class party people the
world over. The latter activity, as you may know, became quite the craze in
North America (and elsewhere) from the 1980s onwards, blossoming into a booming
trade for Coca farmers and Cartels alike. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for
them, the damaging nature of their produce meant illegality. As we all know, producing
and selling something that is bad for people’s health is grounds for immediate and
aggressive criminal pursuit. The widely reported “War on Drugs” naturally
spread to Bolivia, where Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) agents arrived
in numbers to attempt to snuff out cocaine at its source: the numerous Coca
plantations which had existed previously solely for the production of the
harmless leaf to chew or consume in tea – before the artificial and addictive chemical
drug arrived on the scene. Millions of dollars of aid were poured into the
Bolivian agricultural industry, and others, in an attempt to support the growth
of alternative crops other than Coca. Unfortunately, most of these crops
failed, high profile abuses occurred, and the already very thin margins of the
Coca farmers dropped drastically driving many into poverty. The cartels
continued to thrive anyway, people died, and the poor got poorer. Enter former
Coca farmer Evo Morales, the nth head
of state of Bolivia (the country has changed governments nearly 200 times in as
many years of independence).
He may have been Bolivia’s 80th
president, but Morales was Bolivia’s first indigenous president in South
America’s only country with an indigenous majority. And he does love to see his
own smiling likeness on billboards. Morales’ first move was to expel the DEA
from Bolivia and resume Coca production, whilst maintaining a firm anti-drugs
stance. Morales has since sought to promote other Coca-derived products in the
international market, whilst his anti-US posturings have gotten him into a spot
of bother. The most recent example being the repeated mid-air redirecting and grounding
of his presidential flight in Austria on the unfounded suspicion that he was
smuggling international criminal mastermind and all-round naughty boy Edward
Snowden on board.
To
cut a long international relations lesson short, unadulterated Coca leaves really
work wonders for the altitude. They diminish sensitivity to cold, relieve
headaches from the altitude, reduce hunger pangs, and importantly are not
addictive. Would’ve loved to have brought some Coca-tea back to put in my
fire-fighter kit-bag but I didn’t want to risk being jailed for centuries. “Coca, no drogas.” - it is just a pity a
developing nation such as this one, and others, got so tragically caught up in
this mess. Coca controversy aside, Bolivia is a beautiful country. With an
incredible range of scenery condensed, there are simply not enough superlatives
in the dictionary to describe the Cordillera
Real (portion of the Andes which towers over the North of the country), Lago Titicaca, Salar Uyuni, windswept emptiness of the Altiplano, the Yungas and
the deep Amazonian jungle below it. Not to mention the quirky chaos of cities
like La Paz of course.
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| Not a bad view, as they go. |
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| Had to tip the view-guardian though. |
Being
finally thrown into a very deep end, my rapidly improving (no place to go but
up) Spanish was being put to the test continuously. I decided it would best be
put to use getting out of La Paz and breathing at a warmer, lower altitude in
the famously relaxing town of Coroico nestled on a jungly mountainside. Crammed
into a familiar Toyota Hi-Ace, I shared my seat with a baby and a small dog;
although to my disappointment no chickens were to be seen. The three hour drive
in over the mountains was stunning, watching as arid Altiplano gave way to lush and misty jungle clinging to incredibly
steep slopes. Luckily, they built a new highway to Coroico a few years ago,
allowing me to enjoy the ride in safety rather than taking the former, now
barely used, crumbling “road of death” which claims an estimated 300 lives
annually. I was very happy not to be using said road.
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| In Coroico, I detected no difference between Sundays and Mondays. |
Coroico was worth the
journey, a gorgeous little town on the hill, with fantastic views, excellent restaurants
(including one regarded as the best in Bolivia), and quiet streets, it was the
perfect retreat after an exhausting semester in Santiago. The warmth and
breathable air had an immediate effect on the body and soul, combined with the
superb food and long nights of uninterrupted sleep left me basking in total
relaxation induced happiness. Hammocks always help. I spent a few days in
Coroico doing absolutely nothing, as each day was measured by the time to wake
up, the time to read a few chapters of a borrowed book, and to eat with the
intervening hours spent staring at the view. And repeat.
Coroico
also plays host to a few crusty expatriates fleeing the hustle and bustle of
Europe. Or perhaps the law or a bad divorce. Speaking to one or two travellers there,
I was amused to hear their consternation when I told them I was staying in Santiago.
“Oh, Chile is beautiful and all but it isn’t South America. No, no, Santiago is
too organised.” Silly Chile, how dare they aspire to economic development and
higher standards of living! I wanted llamas walking the dusty streets of the
capital, adorable racially diverse dancing children, and as many third world
stereotypes as possible crammed into my holiday. Tarred roads and public
transport, decent healthcare and tertiary education, no thank you. I just didn’t
have the heart to tell them there weren’t elephants walking the streets of Cape
Town either, it would have been akin to telling a 6 year old the Easter Bunny
didn’t exist. Before I risked becoming such an expatriate in the incredibly
relaxing Coroico, it was time to get back on the road and return to La Paz.
To be continued very soon, apologies for the inconvenience...
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| The view from my hammock went a long way to making up for the non-existent view from my room in the city. |
