The Muddy-Pants Diaries

27 November 2005 (Sunday) – Sucre to Potosi, Bolivia

Tarabuco is a tiny town, about 1.5 hours away from Sucre. Now, with quite a handful of tourist buses departing to visit its Sunday market, it has unfortunately been transformed a little. Near the plaza, the locals had lain down blankets, selling the same touristy artesania products, like everywhere else. Several tourists stopped to browse through them. To me, this is NOT the market we had come to see. So, I walked away, turning into different alleys to find the produce market.

I came upon a lane of potato sellers. Gosh, the variety of potatoes is truly mind-boggling!! Asians are not quite potato-eaters, so to me, potatoes are all the same. But here, there are so many different types! The lane was crowded with shoppers and sellers and people sitting around, presumably selling but really doing nothing. Next to this lane was the entrance to the produce market. Ah… delightful delightful delightful.

The Tarabuco men and women wear this curious-looking hat, almost shaped like a Spanish conquistador’s helmet. It is made from black leather, with little colourful beads hanging from the front and the back curved portions. There is another hat common amongst the women… that hat is cylinder-shaped, with a curved-out tail at the end, and in front, tassels of beads, like bangs of the hair and with an elaborate design made from sequins and beads above these threads.

The men wear a kind of big poncho with horizontal lines of yellow, orange, etc… running across. Some of them wear a smaller kind of poncho, where the front just ends at around the chest area. This smaller poncho would have the Tarabuco fine weavings. The women wear mainly black blouses and skirts with red embroideries at the hemline. Many of them wrap themselves tightly in a thick blanket, of black or dark red colour, with light-coloured trimmings. The beautiful fine weavings are weaved into small bags where some men and women carry… perhaps, to carry money, or coca leaves.

It was such a brilliant sight to see these locals dressed in their very interesting traditional costumes, wandering around normally, doing their grocery shopping. To be honest, quite a huge number of them are very old, almost ancient. I have a feeling the younger ones depart from Tarabuco to search for jobs elsewhere. Wolfgang later told me, they go to Argentina to find work, and they come back in jeans.

To be honest, we were given far too much time to wander around this tiny town. I found a cafe near the plaza and sat down for a cup of mate de coca. Later, Peggy and Peter from Germany joined me. Peggy had told me she found me familiar-looking. Hmmm… likewise, for me. We discussed our routes and figured we probably met each other in Ecuador. Later, I recalled that we met in Ingapirca ruins. She is going to Buenos Aires for Christmas, so we might meet each other there as well.

Upon my return to Sucre, I packed up, thanked Wolfgang, Amparo and her children profusely, and made my way to the bus terminal for my 5pm bus to Potosi. I gave them my backpack on the second floor and by the time, I returned to the first floor, they had already tossed it to the top of the bus. I hope it does not rain.

The journey to Potosi was through smooth roads, with undulating mountains and valleys to gaze at happily. Potosi is located at 4,000m above sea level. It is the biggest city of its kind in the world. I had been to higher places, but this is the first time I am staying at a city at this high altitude. I was worried about how cold I would feel tonight, wondering which position my body would be found tomorrow, frozen to death. But when we arrived, the weather was alright. I was fine in just one of my jackets.

26 November 2005 (Saturday) – Sucre, Bolivia

Not only I got my bus ticket changed, the lady at the bus company persuaded me to buy another ticket to Tarabuco tomorrow. Well, Tarabuco, which is the town with the exquisite weavings that I had been so fascinated with at the museum, has a Sunday market where the locals go, decked out in all their traditional wear. It would be interesting, I supposed. And since I am now leaving on Sunday, alright, I bought the ticket.

The Presidential Election of Bolivia is coming soon, mid-next month, I think. And all over Bolivia, you can see campaign posters, campaign parades, etc… Considering they had gotten rid of one president after another (nearly one each year) for a while now, whenever I asked the locals about this, I received only tepid cynical replies.

There was such a campaign parade today, with huge posters, a few cars with loudspeakers, lots of people walking down various streets, carrying flags and banners. I stopped to let the group pass me and had a good look at the people. Gosh, while some were decked out in synchronised colours, shouting slogans enthusiastically, the rest were campesinos, hardly murmuring the slogans, walking around with the flags, looking slightly bewildered even. Hmmm… these were really poor campesinos, in tattered clothes and shoes.

Later, as fate would have it, I passed by them again. This time, they had stopped on one street and some guy was giving a speech, to yelps of hoorahs and applauses ‘for a better tomorrow’. Meanwhile, I spied a queue of campesinos, a queue so tight, I could hardly get across. Oh, the campaign people were distributing ham sandwiches for lunch.

Ah… of course, one morning of flag carrying… in exchange for a ham sandwich for lunch. These were poor, hungry campesinos. Of course, they would carry the flags.

After lunch back at home, I was happy to sit in Wolfgang’s garden and continue to read my ‘Eva Luna’. Wolfgang asked me what I intended to do today. Nothing. He decided to take me out for a spin around the countryside. Why? To collect cow dung to help fertilise his beloved garden.

We drove just a few kilometres out of Sucre. Wow, here the gentle rolling slopes of the surrounding mountains were already captivating. Finally, he found a good spot with lots of cow dung and so, I spent a queer 20 minutes or so, surreally but happily picking up cow dung. Oooo… sometimes, I made a mistake and reached for one that was still semi-humid. Not nice.

Wolfgang is amazing. His eyes were drawn to the smallest flowers here on this desert land. He was continually fascinated by cacti, flowers, little herbs along the rocky paths. I really learnt to open my eyes wider to see such beauty, so many lives in such a harsh place.

25 November 2005 (Friday) – Sucre, Bolivia

When I peeped out of the window and saw blue skies, I hurriedly showered and got dressed. I started my day by climbing up to the top of Sucre – La Recoleta viewing point, just above the Cafe Mirador of Museo Tanga Tanga. Yesterday, it had been cloudy in the evening when Wolfgang brought me up here. Today, absolutely fantastic!

I snuck into Casa Kolping, the hotel remodelled on the house that used to belong to Wolfgang, to take some pictures from the even more stunning view offered by the extremely expensive terrace cafe. I departed before any waiter could come up to ask for my order. Heehh…

Then, I just sat for a while at one of the arches that looked out to the city and enjoyed the view, the mountains, the glistening white houses, the churches, the clock tower… I made my way to La Recoleta Church and Convent and did a little tour there, which has an interesting story behind the choirboy stands in the church, the lovely courtyards, the odds-and-ends curio collections by the Franciscan monks, the Garden of Orange Trees and the 1,400 year-old Millenium Cedar Tree.

In the late afternoon, I strolled over to the General Cemetery of Sucre, built in 1580. This is a lovely cemetery, with mausoleums, monuments and really really pretty gardens with sculpted trees. So tranquil, so shady. I observed the memorials against the rows of walls, where the coffins were enclosed within the thick walls and the loved ones had made a beautiful stone cover and decorated with vases of flowers. Some richer ones could have a tomb underground with a huge monument commemorating their lives and achievements. Even richer families had an entire mausoleum built, some spaces were already taken up but there were several more waiting to be occupied by their future generations. Then, way behind, there was a section which was really packed with crosses and small slabs, well… for the general public, I supposed, and unfortunately, there is not much space left.

It was such a beautiful afternoon, blue sky, spottings of clouds and it was so quiet and lovely here, I propped myself on a bench and enjoyed the afternoon, reading away. Several families passed by with bouquets of flowers on hand. Later, a car with a coffin drove by solemnly, followed by an entourage of griefing families and friends.

In the evening, feeling a little peckish, I walked to the Central Market of Sucre, for something to drink and eat. OK, a lot of people had already closed up their stalls, so it was just a shadow of its glorious self. I would have to come back again tomorrow morning to experience it. But indeed, this is a lovely market, comparatively clean and organised and no shocking container of horses’ heads (like I had seen in the market of Huaraz, Peru).

I had just bought my ticket to Potosi, leaving tomorrow. But back at home, reading my guidebook, I realised the silver mines are closed on Sundays. Hmmm… so, it seemed I would have to while my Sunday away in freezing Potosi. Not such a good idea. I talked to Mario, Amparo’s son, and he suggested that I leave on Sunday instead and spend Saturday here in Sucre. Amparo later also suggested that she would make a delicious lunch tomorrow as well. OK, I stay.

24 November 2005 (Thursday) – Sucre, Bolivia

The day started out pretty cloudy so I figured my time was best spent in a museum. The one that came highly recommended was the Museo de Arte Textil Indigena (organised by an association called ASUR, acronym for something I could not recall). For several years now, the ASUR foundation had put together this museum of the history, techniques and exquisite weavings from the Jal’qa and Tarabuco areas not so far from Sucre.

Years and years ago, both men and women weaved. But, after the colonisation of the Spaniards, the men were taken off to do other work. So, after hundreds of years, the art of weaving for men (which was of a different style) was forgotten. The ASUR foundation restudied ancient weavings, and reintroduced the art back to the men. So, in this museum hung the contemporary weavings from these regions, from both men and women, as well as the really antique weavings from tens and hundreds of years ago.

Gosh, the works are absolutely stunning! I had never seen such finely threaded weavings.

The Tarabuco people weave coloured threads on white background. They usually weave of ‘kay pacha’ (the world here), in other words, of things that they experience on this world. A typical weaving has bulls, goats, macaws, llamas, lions, roosters, starry nights, people dancing, drinking chicha, harvesting, carrying water, etc… The weavings are ordered, in rows of 3, 5, 7, etc… with geometrical designs, with equally balanced motifs on either side. They also design calendars on their weavings, showing Carnaval celebrations, weddings, festivals to plead for rain where there are games and dances, harvesting, Todo Los Santos (where they show cemeteries).

The Jal’qa people weave of ‘ukhu pacha’ (the world under). This is NOT hell, as is assumed by many people. It is the sacred deep world of uncertain land, diffused light, populated by extraordinary creatures not of this world. They weave red, pink or orange on black background. Here, they weave strange creatures with 4 wings, 2 heads, creatures within the stomachs of creatures. There is no order. The motifs go chaotically all over the weavings, sometimes, the background becomes the creature and the creature merges into the background.

The museum went on to describe the rituals and offerings the people do before a weaving to ask for a successful, precise work, where the outcome is really what they hope for.

When I first studied the various incredible weavings, I marvelled at the overall designs, the colour-combination, the fine details. Later, as I observed the 2 ladies (1 from Jal’qa, 1 from Tarabuco) sitting in the corridor, demonstrating their crafts, I realised that these women were weaving, very rapidly with their nimble fingers, if I may add, without an overall design prepared. The designs are all in their heads. To weave 1 line, she has to thread through the entire width of the cloth. And to weave that 1 line, she already knows when she should skip the front threads to create the designs she has in her head. She has to think 3-dimensional, if you know what I mean, and at astonishing speed! Gosh, it was absolutely mind-boggling when I tried to figure it all out.

Since Copacabana, or rather… since Ecuador, actually, there had been humongous stacks of weavings, packed from floor to ceiling, in many artesania shops. They had become a blur to me, just too many to truly appreciate them. But having been to this museum, where I learnt there is a meaning to each of the motif, where the designs take me to the earthly world here and the magical world beyond… gosh, I now truly looked upon these weavings with brand new eyes.

When I passed by Naoki in the museum, I gave him a casual ‘hi’. I was not even surprised to run into him anymore, for yesterday, I had also met him at the chifa. Later, back at the same chifa, there he was again, eating stir-fried hot-diced chicken. He had understood nothing at the museum, of course. As I had bought postcards for each type of weavings, I explained to him in baby English what they all meant. Now, he was mighty impressed.

It poured really heavily right after lunch. I was too cold and wet to walk around the city, and headed home.

Wolfgang was having some battles in his home with the leaky roof, the flooded patio, the ruined walls. The workers had not even showed up for work today. Well, with everything in white and off-white furnishings, I had to be really careful not to dirty the house with my wet shoes.

Later when the rain subsided a little, he drove me to visit his ex-house, way up on a hill, next to the Museo Tanga Tanga, a children’s interactive science museum. His ex-house had now been converted into a hotel and a convention centre. It was immense, and in such a magical location, as to see all of Sucre from the top here… even the dinosaur tracks, 7 km off Sucre. Magic, magic, magic!!! How he must have lived like a king here!

He later showed me around his current house, and I was very impressed with his library of books… everything you ever need to know about Bolivia – history, cultural, etnographical, political, agricultural, etc… – you can find something here. Good for research students. A true intellect! I am so glad I made contact with him, for I learnt so much from him about life here in Sucre and in Bolivia.

23 November 2005 (Wednesday) – Sucre, Bolivia

Gosh, the viejo señor (old man) next to me is one of those who flip and flop around the seat in his sleep and conveniently, take up more than 1/4 of your own personal space, stepping on your feet several times in the night. I put my drinking bottle between his butt and mine, so that I did not have to… er… touch him. And then, when I was really crowded off by him, I used all my strength and might to push the drinking bottle to kinda obviously hint to him that I wanted to reclaim some space back. But, this guy was like DEAD! I pushed and shoved, but he slept on merrily…

At around 2am, the bus stopped and announced a toilet break. Through the open window, I actually smelled the horrid odour of urine. I got off the bus and looked around for a toilet. There was a row of men facing the side of a wall and peeing away. What the…?? Here, we were in the middle of a small town, where obviously, many of the night buses stopped here, and obviously, night after night… and passengers were alighting and peeing right there. Poor little town!!!!

I was reeling from the stench, but I soon found a disgusting toilet in a restaurant and used it. To be honest, I think very few women used this toilet as well. Gosh, so now, I found a use for the flouncy skirts of the indigenous women. They just squatted down and peed and pooed away on the streets, while still being modestly covered up.

Upon our return to the bus, I did a little trick that Rene once taught me. Use my right index finger, circle around for a bit, and point to the object and in my mind, recite what I hope to achieve. So, I pointed to el viejo secretly and used my energy to tell him, “Stay at your seat. Give me space. Stay at your seat. Give me space.” Witchcraft, maybe? Well, it worked. For the rest of the ride, he stayed where he was.

I took a taxi to the address of my Hospitality Club host here in Sucre. Poor Wolfgang, he was still sleeping then at 6+am, but I was shown to my room kindly, and we agreed to sleep a couple of hours more and we would talk at around 9am or so.

Wow, just from a small glimpse, this is a huge, luxurious house. My room was a little annexe on its own, with a private toilet. Everything was just absolutely beautiful. The best room I had stayed in EVER, and it was free.

At around 9:30am, I had breakfast with Wolfgang, his partner Amparo and her son, Mario. Wolfgang is from Germany but he had been here since 1965, and permanently, settled down here in 1986 or something. This luxurious house is actually still being renovated. The works were first started in 2003 or 2004 and it was promised to be ready by Christmas. Well, perhaps, it would be Christmas… 3000, as Wolfgang complained disappointedly.

I really thought the house was beautiful, with mainly off-white-and-beige furnishings, quite fitting with the image of Sucre, known as La Ciudad Blanca (The White City) for its numerous houses painted in white and off-white. Truly elegant. But, to Wolfgang, who had struggled and fretted over the house fittings, electricity connections, hot or cold water for the showers, incompetent carpenters (true, the toilet door in my room would not close), drunk or missing electricians, etc… for over a year, it was a tad frustrating to think about the house.

An electrician was now fixing something in the kitchen. Amparo and Wolfgang chatted with him for a bit, before asking where he was from. “Chile,” he replied. Wolfgang was stunned. He asked in Spanish, “What is a Chilean doing here in Bolivia?” To which, the electrician replied, “What is a German doing here in Bolivia?” Hahaa… Wolfgang clarified, didn’t the electrician get ‘beaten up’ all the time over the loss of Bolivia’s access to the ocean? (Referring to the War of the Pacific where Bolivia lost the land around Antofagasta to Chile, hence, making Bolivia a landlocked country – the heart of South America.) He laughed, saying that usually the Bolivians do not remember. But occasionally, when they argue about something, they would pin the loss of the land on him. Anyway, he had been here since 1975, since the days of Pinochet, where many Chileans left as they were unable to find jobs in Chile. He’s practically a Bolivian now.

I took a stroll around Sucre, which I thought, was a really pretty colonial town. Truly, a white white city. Very clean, very ordered, nice comfy climate, lovely squares and a park with sweet-smelling flowers and a curious little structure which they claim to be a replica of the Eiffel Tower (You have to really stretch your imagination!).

This is the legal capital of Bolivia, but in terms of importance, La Paz still ranked higher. Sucre is just used once a year (or whatever) when the new President-elect (they oust their Presidents pretty frequently) comes over to sign something.

I had lunch at a chifa and knew it was not a fake chifa. Some chifas just have a Chinese face at the cash registers, rolling in the money, but the cook is local. Here, I knew at once the cook is a Chinese. I later chatted with the owner and his wife in Mandarin for more than an hour, asking them why they came all the way here from Hong Kong to Sucre to start a business.

Interestingly, they provided me another cultural aspect of South America – that of Chinese coming here in droves to open little chifas, adding little pagoda-roofs, dragon-motif windows and red lanterns all over the towns. Here, rent is cheap. And there are hardly any controls or restrictions from the government. If you can pool together the start-up money of, say, US$5000 and start the business, basically, you just have a tranquil, easy life for years to come. No one comes and bothers you.

The rent is like, US$250 a month. On some weekends, they earn that amount in 1 or 2 days. The rest of the month, they just run the business without any sense of urgency or desperation. At their age, this was a good business. He asked me how it would be like to try and start a similar business in Hong Kong or Singapore. Yeah, I know… The rent each month can be, I don’t know, US$1500 in a good location. You slog like hell to try and pay off the monthly rent, and then, you count the leftover change as your earnings. I see so many fancy restaurants come and go all over Singapore. It is impossible.

However, he sighed… he could never understand why the Bolivians here seemed to have something against earning money. Hahaa… this guy is the typical Chinese, hardworking, punctual, disciplined. When he started employing help here, the person showed up 1.5 hours late, or did not show up on certain days at all without warning. He fired one, only to find the next one worse than the first. After a while, he gave up. Now, he just counted his blessing whenever the person bothers to come to work.

On the other hand, he also exhibited the typical ‘closed’ aspect of the Chinese. In his 7 years here, he proudly told me he had never tried Bolivian food once. Never. Even if he travelled to other cities, he would look for Chinese food. Interesting…

But the bloqueos are the worst, he complained. This country is famous for them! He explained that I was very lucky to come to Bolivia now. A few months ago, there had been horrible bloqueos all over the country. Bloqueos are roadblocks, where certain groups of protesters would tumble massive rocks down the mountainous roads and cut off access to certain cities, villages for days and even weeks. This year had been terrible with bloqueos.

Sometimes, instead of such massive roadblocks, the protesters blocked off just some main streets within the town. They lined up rocks, or lay on the streets. Or, some of the students from the schools nearly, he told me, just take up an entire street and start practising their little swirly dances. As such, no one could pass by his street, affecting his business.

That night, I talked to Wolfgang more about these famed bloqueos. He himself was also pretty upset about such protests. Usually, the groups wanted the government to do something better, like increase their salaries. But, with such bloqueos, the most affected ones are once again the poorest of the poor. During such times, no produces can enter the town, thereby increasing the prices of everything. Wolfgang illustrated with this example – Say, it used to be 10 tomatoes cost 1 boliviano, but now, 1 tomato costs 1 boliviano. For Wolfgang, if he really wanted the damn tomato, he could still pay. But for the poor people? No. So, they starve.

Medical relief could not reach the hospitalised. Really sick people could not be transferred to the hospitals. Food trucks could not go forward, nor backwards. Within a few days of sitting on the road, the produces which had taken them 1 year to grow and harvest, rot in the sun. Exports to other countries were affected, plunging the economy. Factories had to close, sometimes, permanently, when they could not recuperate their losses. Campesinos, in order not to lose their jobs, had to walk 4, 5 hours through the mountains to get to the town for work. Naturally, the ones who made the most noises, are the tourists who had planes to catch. Wolfgang went on and on…

The damage these protesters did sometimes went way beyond imagination. Yet, no one had ever been arrested for these bloqueos. Wolfgang added, but sometimes, what else could these groups do to gain attention to their causes? So, the bloqueos would continue.

22 November 2005 (Tuesday) – Santa Cruz to Sucre, Bolivia

While Bolivians whom I met on the streets are certainly quite friendly, I could not say the same for the services here. Now that I was seriously looking to buy a pair of earrings, as I made inquiries at various shops, I was just faced with disgruntled, unsmiling faces. I left not because I did not like the earrings there, but because I did not like the services. Later, one smiley lady beckoned me over to her shop selling leather sandals. I had no need for one, but for 40 bolivianos and with an impeccable service, I bought a pair.

Later, finally, at a shop near the plaza, I found good service and coincidentally, several earrings quite to my liking. I took a long time to choose. I know, you are probably thinking that I am spending US$200 or something. No, they cost like US$20-US$25, but still, it means a lot to me. I finally selected a pair and bargained down to US$21. Ka-ching!

Now that I had really run out of bolivianos, I went to the Money Changer next door to try and change more bolivianos. I handed over a US$20 and US$50, and to my horror, the guy returned my US$50 note, claiming it was a ‘falso’ (counterfeit).

W-H-A-T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

I had my money changed in Singapore. I could not believe I had been cheated there! I nearly had a ‘falso’ situation back in Bogota, but my host family had told me it was NOT a counterfeit and I managed to use it. But this time, I think this is a real ‘falso’. And it was ALL OF US$50!!!! US$50 means a lot to me at this point of my trip. If I had known, I might not have splashed on the pair of earrings just now. Now, when I am extremely low on cash, to discover I have to flush another US$50 down the drain. ARGH!!!!

What was worse was that, while I do like South America very much, I was running out of money now, and yeah, perhaps, it was time to head home. Gosh, I had told my poor mother I would be gone for 3 months. Now, it was already a week shy of 6 months! Unfortunately, I could not find a flight home until, perhaps, mid-January. Now, I have the time, but perhaps, not the money to last til then. My brother back in Singapore is keeping tabs for me with my travel agent. We shall see.

I was horrified, and studied the note in detail. I could never tell fake notes apart, especially dollar notes, because there are so many OLD notes in circulation, without the fancier trimmings. Of course, the Money Changer guy did not haul me to the police station and incarcerate me. But I walked away, utterly in shock, utterly in misery.

I went to a bench on Plaza 24 de septiembre to grief. And there, I spotted Naoki. It seemed I keep running into him at plazas. I told him my whole counterfeit US$50 story. Looking at my glum face, he started to laugh and even smacked my shoulder. Is this his way of consoling me? Cruel race.

Rene, my Reiki friend from Cuenca, had recommended me to read Deepak Chopra’s ‘Las Siete Leyes Espirituales de Exito’ (The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success) and coincidentally, I had just finished poring through Law Number 1 last night (not easy for me in Spanish!). It was The Law of Pure Potenciality (forgive the bad translation). I was to meditate twice a day, keep silent and experience nature, and not to make judgements. OK… so I stared at the flowers in the park and tried not to remember the face of the (argh!!) money-changer in Singapore.

Hmmm… to make my money stretch… should I find a cave, meditate and feed on tree barks, you think?

I left for Sucre on the bus-cama in the afternoon. To my horror, there is no toilet on the bus. This is a 15-hour bus ride! I had ASSUMED there would be an attached toilet, and did not bother to ask. Also, there was no air-conditioner or whatever. I am claustrophobic, and it did not help that the señor sitting next to me had quite a BO (Argh! Don’t judge, don’t judge!). I was glad to have the window opened, giving me fresh air to survive through this ride.

21 November 2005 (Monday) – Santa Cruz, Bolivia

True enough, there were loads and loads of plastic hair-clips sold along the streets!! Brazil flash-back!

As I popped my nose into several of the fancier shops all over Santa Cruz today, I was surprised at some of the prices!! For a pair of sandals (pretty low-quality if I may add), it was 130 bolivianos… that is about US$16 or S$28 (Singapore dollar). But I believe I could get something like that for about S$15-S$18 in Singapore. A skirt… 280 bolivianos, or US$35 which is S$60. Perhaps, I could get something like that for around S$40-S$50 and even then, I would consider it expensive!!

Later, I realised many of the shops did not even go the ‘boliviano’ way. They quoted me all the prices in US dollars directly. A simple blouse, US$25… another skirt, US$40… I looked around me and there were serious shoppers, looking to buy. They obviously blinked less than I on hearing the prices.

Gosh, I really did not understand how anyone could afford such things based on what I assumed to be their salaries here. I remembered a conversation in Ecuador, where a man asked me how much I earned a month. Before I could reply, he asked if I earned more than US$500. Err… yes, I do. And he went on to say that that was a lot of money. Yet, I had seen sweaters there sold for US$25 when I could get the same for S$25 in my country! I guess, for the basic survival items, everything was more or less alright for their salaries. But for anything else, they were only meant for the Really Rich. And the Really Rich here in Santa Cruz must be really, really, and I mean, profanely, obscenely rich.

The area called Siete Calles (Seven Streets) in Santa Cruz is an area where several streets (I am assuming there are seven of them) converged, creating a melee of activities and honking vehicles. There were the fancy shops selling evening gowns, sexy tops, nice jeans, costume jewelleries, real jewelleries, crystal wares, silver photo frames, branded sunglasses, bags, lots and lots of shoes and where everything was priced in US dollars.

And right in front of them, were the street vendors selling rather similar-looking items (perhaps, a tad lower quality) in bolivianos, obviously contrabands from Brazil. In the cool breeze of the evening, there were lots of movements here. It had a really festive shopping atmosphere.

A nice unique architectural aspect I noticed of Santa Cruz is that many of the pavements around Santa Cruz are covered. You may not find this important, but believe me, when it rains, you will surely appreciate a covered pavement. To support the roofs, there are sometimes concrete columns along the pavements, and for some of the older buildings, wooden columns. On top of these wooden columns, one might also find wooden balconies above. All these wooden balconies, columns and red tiles, kinda give Santa Cruz a little ‘cowboy’ look, I thought.

Anyway, speaking of jewelleries, there is a gem called ‘bolivianito’ which is a peach-and-lilac stone. They tell me it is unique in Bolivia. I do not know for sure, but it was certainly my first time seeing such gems. They cut the gems in such a way that on the stone on a necklace or an earring, the gem would have a little of the peach and lilac colours. Very very lovely. I had been eyeing them since La Paz. Should I splash on a pair of earrings? For sure, I do not belong to the Really Rich, but on the other hand… they are really unique, lovely and when would I come back to Bolivia again?

20 November 2005 (Sunday) – Santa Cruz, Bolivia

I was assaulted by numerous offers to go to Paraguay, Brazil, Buenos Aires, even to Chile… when I got off the bus at Santa Cruz. “¿Para dónde vas? ¿Para dónde vas? (Where are you going?) ¿Paraguay? ¿Buenos Aires? ¿Brasil? ¿Iquique?…”. I tried to be ‘funny’ and deadpanned, “Santa Cruz. Ya he llegado, gracias.” (Santa Cruz. I have already arrived, thank you.) This guy stared at me, unmoved, giving me the ‘don’t-try-to-be-funny-look’. Well, don’t mess with me after an overnight bus please!

After settling down in a little hotel, I rested a few hours before heading out for some food. Santa Cruz, at 400+m above sea level, was an utterly different face of Bolivia. My friend Alexis in La Paz had told me I just had to come and take a look at Santa Cruz. Yep, he was right. Here, it was hot and humid, but with a slight breeze so it was not oppressive. The Bolivians here were dressed in sexy short skirts and tight tacky blouses. Yes, they must get their clothes from nearby Brazil. As it was a Sunday and most shops were closed, I would have to check out the goods on sale tomorrow (any chance they sell tonnes and tonnes of plastic hair-clips??). Frankly, from the shop windows, it does appear that here is the place for the new-rich, with lots of fancy modern items for sale. The other side of the coin from La Paz.

I had lunch but felt like vomitting right after. I walked around the quiet town centre, feeling horrible. I found a juice place and had a glass of juice, but I still felt terrible. So, I returned to my hotel and slept some more.

By evening, although I still did not feel well, I forced myself to go out and walk around a bit. I suspect it is the greasy food of Bolivia that is making me sick. And I wonder how to get out of the situation. Frankly, looking at menus from restaurants already turned my stomach. There is really not much variety of non-greasy food here. I wonder how I could try and feed myself these few days.

The Cine Europeo Festival is in Bolivia now. I had come across the poster in Cochabamba a few days ago, and now here in Santa Cruz. If I had known about it when I was in La Paz, I might have caught a handful of movies there. But now in Santa Cruz and today being the last day of the festival here, I headed out to Cine Bellavista, near the stadium and checked out what were the movies being played tonight. One was from Italy and the other from Denmark. Alright, since the prices of tickets in Singapore would have been 3 times more… I got both tickets as I LOVE film festivals. Had a thoroughly enjoyable evening watching both movies, espeically the dizzy Reconstruction!! Excellent!!

19 November 2005 (Saturday) – Torotoro to Cochabamba to Santa Cruz, Bolivia

It rained last night. There were lightning flashes and some thunder rumblings late in the night, but I think it only really started to pour at around 2am. In other places, I probably would not care less. But I was in Torotoro, where in the rainy season, it is impossible to go to (or leave) as the road (I am probably being too generous to describe it with this term) would be washed out. We were at the beginning of the rainy season and I was hoping my luck would stay with me, delaying the rain til I am gone. But, no… it came pattering down yesterday.

I had set the alarm clock at 5am. When it beeped, I ignored it. But later, I dreamt that I was hurriedly getting dressed to catch the 6am bus. And BINK! I opened my eyes suddenly and realised it was 5:37am and I hurriedly got dressed to catch the 6am bus.

Naturally, this being Bolivia, the buses never leave on time. But we were afraid of the immense crowd like we had when we came. No, according to the bus guys, it is ‘vacio’ (empty) in the morning, which, in their terms, actually mean all the seats are taken but no one is sitting or standing on the aisle.

We left after a 40-minute wait for last-minute passengers only to turn the corner and pick up more passengers and sacks of produces.

The first part of the trip already scared the wits out of me. There were rivers to cross! And I do not mean wimpy r-i-v-u-l-e-t-s! I mean GUSHING RUSHING rivers which the bus driver drove gingerly down the valley and the bus was literally swimming across!! No wonder the bus had such gigantic wheels, now I understand! We crossed 4 of these before getting onto the muddy track.

We did not drive for long before the bus was stuck in the wet mud of last night. Some macho men got off to help clear the mud with shovels and put stones on the wet puddles all around. After half an hour or so, the bus managed to pull through this area.

Then, I nodded off, all along half-murmuring a Buddhist chant for good luck. But soon, I was awakened by the commotion of people getting off the bus. Renaud asked what was happening. I guessed we were stuck again and had to get off to make the bus lighter.

But when I observed what had happened to the bus in my sleep, my blood turned cold. The front wheels were heading in one direction but at this point with the most slippery of mud, the back wheels merrily flew towards the edge without control. So, our bus was positioned in such a way that the back wheels were dangerously close to the edge of the plunge. My goodness!!! If it had gone off a little bit more, we would have been statistics in Bolivia’s number of deaths from bus accidents!

The mud here was one of those innocent-looking ones where you really do not know where to put your foot down at. You can put your foot down at one spot and walk normally, albeit a tad slippery. Or you can get your entire foot sucked in, the more you struggle, the further down you go. As the men worked on clearing the mud, and throwing drier pieces of rocks on the mud to create friction for the wheels, I was having my own personal struggle to walk along the edge of the cliff to get away from this atrocious mud and puddles of brown water.

One section of the raised edges (which was easier to walk on, if you know how to balance) actually had crumbled down totally. I wondered who was the one who fell through!!

The bus started its engine and just as it moved off, the back wheels skidded further to the edge, argh!!!!… even more dangerously off to the abyss before managing to turn inwards. I just did not breathe as I watched it.

However, not more than 30 metres, the bus skidded again, this time, the front of the bus nearly crashed with the side walls of the cliff. More macho men went to work.

We waited for quite a bit at an area that appeared drier before yeah, the bus came tumbling down our way and all of us got on. We journeyed on, but we continued to come across more narrow escapes. One of the most memorable ones was yet another river bashing. But this time, the river was not flat but there was a drop-off where the softer mud had been washed off. The bus assistant jumped down and started throwing rocks to the edge of the drop-off to kinda patch up the ground to make it more solid for our side wheels to go through.

Again, I did not breathe as the bus driver steered towards the river, carefully, aiming the right wheels on the solid rocks. Even clearing this section, the road up ahead had several undulating humps and you can just never be sure when the back wheels might get stuck. Oh, what a scary ride!!!

It took us nearly 8 hours to get to Cochabamba. Hooray, we live! I really take my hat off to the driver!

We took a colectivo to go to the bus terminal but it was stuck in the traffic near the market area for more than 1 hour. We were nearly faint with hunger as we had eaten nothing today. Renaud got off the bus to buy us some cheese snacks to tide us through. When I sort-of knew where we were, we got off and started walking.

Cochabamba had also been raining and everywhere in the market area were puddles and puddles of brown dirty water. But the people, in order to clear their own personal spaces, pushed the water away with brooms. Gosh, there was absolutely NO drainage here, or there was drainage, but all the rubbish had choked everything up! So the water was just being splashed from left to right and back!!

I bought my ticket to Santa Cruz leaving tonight. I was a little generous with myself today. I bought a fancy bus-cama seat, for US$3 more. After the harrowing ride today, I think I deserve it. I hope it is a good bus. Although I was famished, I knew that if I eat any of the oily food now, I would just throw up. So, I started my first proper food intake of today at 5pm with a bowl of fruit salad.

And after whiling the night away, I got onto the hmmm… not too bad… bus to Santa Cruz, scheduled to leave at 9:30pm but actually left at 10:10pm. They played Titantic… that’s a 3+ hour movie! I put on my ear-plugs and fell asleep soon. I hope, this time, they do not lose my backpack!

18 November 2005 (Friday) – Torotoro, Bolivia

We discovered why the annexe was so much cheaper. There was only water for certain hours of the day. Well, this is a small town, so water was not always available. But we could easily go to the main hostel for our morning washup.

We left with Antonio at around 7:30am. He said it was a 8km hike to the Caverna Humajalanta. We were walking through more strata of eroded rocks. Some of the massive rock slabs eroded in such a way that they looked like huge rectangular floor tiles, some almost too neat-looking. Gosh, the colours, the colours, the colours! We were crossing yellow, green, purple, red, orange rocks. We stopped occasionally to study more T-rex tracks. Sometimes, we had to climb down to the bottom of a rocky valley to get across the various hills. At another interesting spot, we saw huge boulders of volcanic basalt rocks that looked like they had just been spewed out of a volcano. The view was thoroughly thoroughly breathtaking!!

It took us about 2 hours to reach Caverna Humajalanta. Humajalanta is not Quechua, but another local language which I forgot. It means ‘Lost Water’. After a short rest at the entrance, we put on our helmets, left our backpacks in a dark corner and proceeded on with Antonio. Well, his friends and cousins had come along, so besides Antonio, Renaud and Naoki, there were 3 other teenage boys. 6 guys and 1 girl – me. Antonio told me I should follow right behind him at all times. No protest from me. The rest of the guys would have to take care of themselves.

Gosh, I had done some simple caving before but this was one of the most difficult and exhilirating caving I have ever done. The holes were really small and claustrophobic. Sometimes, we had to duck-walk, at other times, we literally were crawling on all fours or sliding across on our stomachs. Many of the holes were awkward or a steep drop. Antonio was very sweet to really support me and heave me up at the difficult spots. He showed me exactly which rock to hold and step on. We had to rappel down a few times as well into the darkness.

I admit, I was caving around like a GIRL. It did not help that after my lasik surgery to correct my vision, I found that I had more difficulties seeing in the dark. Things were darker than how I remembered before, and I seemed to find it difficult to tell differences in depth in the dark. So, I was never sure when I could jump safely, or where I should step gingerly. Argh, I am so not proud of myself.

But, like I said, it was a thoroughly fantastic caving experience. The other times had been chicken-feat compared to this. The caves were not really for the general public to walk right in and browse at the various creations, but for those who are able to squeeze through to experience the interior depth. Not for the hefty campesinas (strapped baby or not), I am afraid. At one point, we switched off our torches and kept quiet. We could just hear the tiny drops from the stalactites. There was even a pool of blind fish. But it was too dark for us to see any fish.

Finally, we surfaced after about 2 hours of caving. We had some sandwiches for lunch, and soon, headed back to Torotoro under the hot noon sun.

I was dead-on-arrival. I took a shower and crawled to bed to die. But Renaud and Naoki, those loquitos! (crazy men), still went on to climb another mountain right in front of the town in the late afternoon. It was really tough-going, they told me, but once they got to the top, they could see the entire breathtaking mountain range. Must have been amazing. We all agreed that we were absolutely thrilled to have made the trip here to Torotoro, a place rather difficult to go to, which is good as it thus did not allow for massive tourism.