Struggling back into the heat of NW Argentina 22nd - 28th April

There wasn’t much time to recover from the rather traumatic bikeride (well for N anyway) as we had to get a three-hour bus to Oruro in time to catch our train to Villazon (in Bolivia, on the border with Argentina) the following morning.

Unfortunately, we didn’t allow enough time to see more of Bolivia, and it seemed the country did its best to stop us from leaving. After being assured that our bus left at 9:30 and would take three hours to get to Oruro, the bus stopped in El Alto (just outside La Paz) for an unexpected and irritatingly long hour. After pestering the annoying, shouting ticket seller and the driver about when we were going to leave, we discovered that the bus absolutely would not leave until it was full. Even the locals got pissed off and started shouting ‘Vamos! Vamos!’, and we started worrying about the possibility of missing our train. Luckily, we still arrived in good time (one must always leave a minimum of 4 hours to play with in such mountainous countries). After having planned everything down to the last minute, we arrived at the train station, well-fed and watered and all kitted out for our first class journey, only to be told that there was a ‘bloqueo’ on the line after Uyuni and that we would have to make do with a full refund (well, not so full as we’d booked ours through an agency, the fee of which we did not get back). There wasn’t another train for three days, which meant we had to head back to the bus station and see about the possibility of getting the bus to Villazon instead. After running round various companies to see if any went to Villazon (they didn’t), we had to settle for going to Potosi, which was in the general direction we wanted to go. Another woman who was also in our situation assured us that there were buses from Potosi to Villazon, and if, we were lucky, the 3pm bus we got tickets for would arrive there in time to catch the 8:30pm bus to Villazon. Apparently the journey took 5 hours. After 7 hours of tolerating the stench (again the lack of hot water in Bolivia becomes an issue) and blaring music which blighted each and every minute of the journey, on our arrival in Potosi we discovered that there was no bus at 8.30, the next buses left the following evening at 7pm, and we would therefore be staying in town for a night and a day. Luckily, it is very much worth a stop, although we did not have time to check out the infamous mines.

Potosi was and still is the major centre for miners in Bolivia, and was one of the wealthiest cities in the world during the 18th and 19th centuries. It is home to the aptly named ‘Cerro Rico’ (Rich Mountain), a mountain literally oozing with silver. Of course the miners have never benefited much, and on visiting them, people are expected to bring gifts of either coca leaves (which make it easier for them to tolerate the tough conditions) or cigarettes! Saying that, at least those working there today are at least paid for what they do and have a cooperative to make their short lives more bearable than those of their forebears.

Despite the interesting history, our hotel, which was supposed to be one of the nicest in town, left quite a lot to be desired, as the sink was covered in toothpaste stains, the usual ghastly hairs were spotted lurking in various corners and there were dirty tissues on the floor. N’s request for a cloth was ignored (the night receptionist failed to turn up), she went down, insisted he come up and see the room and pointed out the offending debris. He cleaned up the mess and when we checked out the next day we were delighted to see that we’d received a 25% discount. So we will, after all, recommend the Libertadores Hotel, despite not being the most inspiring of places.

After exploring the town and doing a bit of last-minute (very cheap) shopping, we geared ourselves up for our last night on a Bolivian bus. After having shopped around the bus station for all the companies that had services to Villazon, we realised that all being about the same price and all taking about the same amount of time, that this time we actually had no luxury option. So, to make our final decision, we asked them questions about music and films (were they played all night?), the ticket sellers assumed that this was what we wanted and said yes to every question we asked, not realising that we were actually looking for the quietest option. We were assured that all the buses had heating (very important as things get mighty cold at night). We were very lucky indeed to end up with a bus that didn’t hound us with any blaring music or videos all night (telly broken, phew!), but as the road was ripio (gravel) and the bus was so worn from countless journeys on such roads, none of the doors closed quite properly and the noise of the bus tearing over the gravel and the resulting vibrations prevented us from getting much sleep. The reclining seats left one at a most uncomfortable 45 degree angle, but we thanked our lucky stars that at least the smells were relatively inoffensive (lots of ventilation!) and our MP3 players helped us forget our surroundings and get at least a few moments of much needed sleep.

The loos in Bolivia had been relatively basic, one was extremely lucky to get a loo that flushed and reasonably lucky if there was a woman to go in after you with a bucket of water. Most loos encountered were bowls, without toilet seats of course which make things tricky if you don’t want to touch them. We were rather stupidly expecting to arrive in Argentina to see various improvements in this aspect of things (most of the places we had visited had had reasonably decent loos).

There was no toilet to be found open anywhere in Villazon at the early hour of 6:30, and after a quick wait in the queue, we crossed the border into La Quiaca, where we eventually found the bus station. After paying the usual fee, N tried to enter the toilets to be greeted not only with one of the most ghastly stenches of human waste one could imagine, but also a one-shoed woman crawling out of them under the distinct impression that she could not walk, dragging with her the various wet contents of the floor. Of course one of the reasons for the insufferable odour was the fact that there was no running water and before entering the cubicles we ladies had to wait for the poor toilet attendants to go in with the bucket of water to flush the loos. At which point, we reached the conclusion that the state of the toilets in Argentina will very much depend on which part of the country you are in.

Quite relieved that toilet business was over and done with, we went off to have breakfast before our 3 hour journey to Tilcara, once more on a wonderfully luxurious Argentine bus, which provided some excellent views of the Quebrada de Huamaca, a continuous impressive line of rock formations that go on for miles throughout northwest Argentina.

After two days of much deserved rest and relaxation in the very hot town of Tilcara - visiting the local fort in the midday heat being our most strenuous outing - and getting back in to lovely Argentinian steak and malbec, we headed on South to the provincial capital of Salta, aka Salta the Beautiful. And beautiful it was too. The cable car took us up to a viewpoint overlooking the town and the surrounding hills, and at the top there was also a very interesting collection of manmade waterfalls built with various concrete formations, a most apt precursor to our visit to the Iguazu Falls in a few days’ time. Another absolute must-visit is the Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana on the main square. Here one can learn substantially more about the poor Inca children who were sacrificed to the deities; this time two mummies are on display which had been discovered at the top of Volcan Llullaillaco in 1999. One of them was a recent acquisition after having been handed around various private owners for several decades. As a result, she is not quite so well-preserved as her peers. Images of the children’s faces will not be forgotten quickly, haunting as they are with their expressions of fear.

Before leaving Salta, N decided to give Argentinian hairdressers another chance (more or less out of desperation) and for a rather pricey 60 pesos (10 quid), inadvertently had all her hair cropped short once again, not quite the haircut in the picture but at least it was a decent one, albeit short and unfemenine.

Recommendations after this visit:
Posada Don Juan, Tilcara
La Aldaba Hotel and the nice (rather swank) restaurant next door
Museo de Arqueologia de Alta Montana
Market on Florida Balcarce (earrings cost 50p!)
Cable Car Ride

This entry was posted on September 4, 2008 at 11:23 am and is filed under Two for the Road - On the Road. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.