Choro trail

After our salt flats tour we headed to Uyuni airport to catch our flight back to La Paz and then onto the rainforest and pampas at Rurrenabaque in the north. Regrettably our flight to Rurrenabaque was cancelled due to weather conditions, which means a wet (grass) runway or, as our travel agent suggested, they don't have enough planes to run the flight. Either way, we were stuck back in La Paz for the fourth time with a few days to spare.

We ran around town getting refunds for the flights and tour we had booked (surprisingly easy), then looked around for things to do. The most appealing option was the Choro Trail - a three day tramp from the high Andes following a pre-Incan path all the way down to the cloud forest. The path starts at around 4500m above sea-level, climbs to 4900m, then descends more than 3500m to finish at 1300m.

We started our ascent in fresh snow with beautiful clear skies. The track warden told us that the weather wasn't looking so good over the other side of the hill, so it wasn't a great surprise when the cloud closed in on our ascent, with visibility at about 5m at times. We could see the path in front of us and followed it safely to the top. As we crested the summit we saw glimpses of the sheer drop into valleys below. There were some incredible, but fleeting views.

The descent follows a stone path laid by pre-Incans hundreds of years ago. Coming down from the mountain of Apacheta Chucura, the path zig-zags relentlessly down to the valley floor at 3800m, by which point the snow and tussock had given way to alpine grass and low shrubs. On the way down we passed a couple of local indigenous women walking in the opposite direction. There's no road access, so walking over the mountain is the only way out for them.

Directly at the foot of the mountain are the ruins of pre-Incan houses. As we were descending towards the ruins, a herd of alpacas slowly wound their way up the valley towards us. As we arrived at the ruins the alpacas were grazing at the site while their shepherd lay sleepily against an outer wall to keep an eye on them.

An hour or so further down the valley we came across another larger herd of alpacas, tended by a young girl who should have been at school (if only the nearest school wasn't 15km away on foot). She approached us for a chat and we shared some food with her. Unfortunately we didn't have enough food for her to take home to share with her 9 siblings.

A further half hour along the valley we passed the small village where the girl lived, then continued merrily for an hour or so more before another steep and sustained descent. By this time the vegetation had changed markedly to rich green forest, with the track following a thunderous river. Our knees were sore and weary from the constant downhill and the odd slip and fall. We could see our first night's campsite from miles away, but it took a good hour and a half to negotiate the way down, all the while cursing the pre-Incans for their uneven stonework.

The campsite was located at 2900m above sea-level in a small hamlet called Challapampa. They had run out of room on their sign, so had abbreviated the name to 'Challapamp.' rather than squeeze an extra 'a' on there. The hamlet has just six or seven houses, a church, a swing-bridge and a campsite, and is home to two or three families, a dog, a puppy (so presumably another dog had visited at some point), and a young feline family with three kittens. It was a charming spot.

Our camp cooking was a triumph (who knew that cucumber was good in vegetable soup?) and we enjoyed a nice hot cup of coca before bed.

Then it rained. It absolutely pissed down, in fact. There was a thunderstorm for an hour or so, then the rain continued steadily for another five hours, straining our little tent to its limits. It held firm. All evidence of the storm seemed to have soaked away into the valley by the time we got underway again at 8.00am.

The second day's hike descended further into more tropical forest before a wicked steep climb up to our second campsite amid a tiny banana plantation. The site was run by a gold-miner who we never saw; he was apparently down the mine working a late shift. We had passed the tiny shaft entrances an hour or so before camp and had wondered if they were derelict. Poor locals were still crawling down there for a pittance.

We met a former miner, Francisco, who lives in a hut at the campsite. It's just him and his brother who live there, with company from locals who stay the night on their way between villages and the odd tourist who passes through. They say there are a lot of tourists now, but there was nobody the day before us, and we were the only foreigners the day we went through.

Francisco joined us for some more triumphant camp cooking - onion soup with leftover rice - and told us about the site (named after him) and the mines. I think he was pleased we were eating soup because his mouth was not well furnished with teeth.

The third day was slightly shorter but still spectacular. After a gentle descent to a washed-out swing bridge, the track climbed up an ancient steep stone staircase for an hour or so. They call it something like 'devil's rise'. We were cursing the pre-Incans.

Once the staircase ended, the ascent continued all the way through to another tiny village run and founded by an old Japanese man. The village was a hive of activity, relatively speaking. There were about 20 people there, all gathered for the Bolivian census. The Japanese man was nowhere to be seen. We wondered if he had gone to ground to avoid the Government.

The census only happens once a decade and is a snapshot of the country on that day. To ensure accuracy, we were intercepted and included in the count. An official had walked up from the end of the road a few hours away to conduct the questionnaires. With limited literacy in the area, the official read out the questions and entered the answers himself. As luck would have it, our Spanish was good enough to understand and answer the questions.

The official hadn't heard of New Zealand, but assumed it was near Holland. One of the questions was about what languages we spoke. As K and I both speak German, we left them with the impression that NZ is an obscure European country where people speak English and German.

The villagers were kind enough to share their lunch with us while the census man went about his business. They wouldn't even accept payment. We ate lots of the food, but had to hide the small omelet and strip of meat under our rice and dispose of them surreptitiously. We didn't feel like explaining that New Zealanders were also all vegans.

From the village we had a two hour descent down to the road. From there we caught a taxi into a town called Coroico, where cycle tours of the 'world's most dangerous road' end. It's a cloud forest area with heaps of birdlife and tropical plants. We stayed the night in a cabin in the forest with hummingbirds and fireflies for company. It was all very acceptable.

The next morning we dragged our stiff and sore bodies onto a pint-sized bus back to La Paz... our fifth and final time in La Paz.

Unfortunately, time has run out and we are on our way back to Australia via New Zealand. We are looking forward to some happy times with friends and to boring them shitless with our photos.

Salt flats

After a short stop in La Paz, we flew down to Uyuni to join a tour of the Bolivian salt flats, Salar de Uyuni. The only way to see the Salar is with organised tour. There are dozens of operators and reviews tend to vary from barely adequate to terrible. We booked with a company called Red Planet Expeditions, which I found relatively amusing for a company that runs tours to a white desert. Red Planet had good reviews and was considered a mid-level tour with reasonable safety and accommodation.

Our tour began with the realisation that we had no tour guide, as the guide's seat had been sold to another tourist, fitting six of us in the truck. The driver spoke a little English and we were told that he would be the guide. His guiding consisted mainly of telling us when we should take photos.

Our accommodation was also somewhat questionable. We were told that we would have double rooms on the first night, which we spent in a hotel constructed entirely from salt. Instead we had a four bed dorm. We had to pay for showers - there was one shower for the 30+ guests staying there. The second night was in a 6-bed dorm with one bathroom ($3.50 for a shower). The toilet was of the non-flushing variety; not so much a long-drop as a short-drop. Disgusting.

Food was predictably bad for us. We had warned the company well in advance that we were vegan, and they assured us that that would be no problem. As we left Uyuni, a company rep handed me a big apple pie to carry 'for the group'. Did it contain butter? Yes. Then for dinner we were provided the entirely vegan 'meal' of shredded carrot and potato chips. Breakfast on day two was pancakes, which we can't eat because they have eggs and possibly milk. We asked for something we could eat and were given stale bread buns... topped with cheese.

Enough about how crap the tour company was. The Salar was beautiful and amazing. The flats are approximately 110km by 120km, all covered at varying depths with pure salt. The glare is blinding - salt miners literally became blinded by the light before sunglasses were brought in. The contrast to the deep blue sky was spectacular. Our 'guide' told us that the salt plains were formed around 8000 years ago when rivers of salt water from the Pacific Ocean flowed down to these plains. Yes, he said the Pacific drained into the Andes (the flats are at about 3500m above sea level) just 8000 years ago. He is several million years off with that calculation. Wikipedia (the real man's travel guide) tells me that the Andes (in which the Salar lies) were formed between 138 and 65 million years ago. The salt plains themselves were formed around 30,000 years ago when Lake Minchin evaporated.

On the second day of the tour we visited some incredible lagoons of many different colours. Streaks of red, yellow, blue and white cover the water and hundreds, nay thousands of pink flamingos strut about. Our 'guide' told us that the flamingos ate shrimps. The shrimps come from underground. It later transpired that he didn't know what shrimps were. Anyway, the flamingos and the lagoons were really beautiful.

We also visited what our 'guide' (I'm persisting with the inverted commas) said was a semi-active volcano. It was blowing smoke. I think we can agree that it was active. The fields of lava rocks surrounding the volcano were also very cool. Wind erosion had formed the rocks into interesting and diverse shapes. We were told to take photos.

We had some great company on the tour with two New Zealanders (yay) and a French/Dutch couple who were all of similar ages and interests. Some good ghost stories were told, and the ills of the world were put to right.

Overall, it was a fantastic place to visit. It was just a pity to be so badly let down by the tour company.

Cusco and Machu Picchu

We turned back to Peru after Quito. We planned to visit Machu Picchu, which we'd skipped on our first route through. It was my only 'must visit' on this trip.

It's about 50 hours by bus from Quito to Cusco. We flew. The flight had three legs, rather like a three-legged dog, but not as hairy. The first leg was a 6.00am domestic flight within Ecuador to meet the international flight. We assumed we'd just have to check in an hour before, but checked with the airline just in case. They said it's an international flight, regardless of the first leg being domestic. The 'rule' is that check-in is three hours before the flight, but that two hours would be sufficient. It certainly proved to be sufficient as the terminal didn't open until an hour before the flight. The shoe-shine guy was there before any airline staff. Other than that, the flight was good, and definitely a significant improvement on a 50 hour bus ride.

We were (are) running out of time, so we opted for the much-frowned-upon one-day return trip to Machu Picchu from Cusco. We took the train from Cusco to Aguas Calientes, which is a cute tourist town in a deep gorge at the bottom of Machu Picchu. The train ride was spectacular.

From there, you have to get a bus up the mountain (or walk up if time and fitness aren't an issue). There is a monopoly on the bus trip, so the 20 minute trip cost almost a dollar a minute. The price-gorging continues at the entrance to Machu Picchu where hungry people have the option of not eating, or paying $35pp for a friggin buffet (no other options). And you aren't permitted to take your own food into the reserve. The buffet is so precious that entrance to the restaurant is controlled by an armed security guard.

Machu Picchu itself was amazing.  The site is huge, with several walks to parts of the site which overlook the city. But what I found most impressive and inconceivable is the location. It is at 2500m altitude, miles from anywhere in the middle of the mountains. How the hell they found, and presumably transported enough rock to build the temples, buildings and terraces, let alone source water and grow sufficient crops at such a location is quite beyond me. Cunning old Incas.

Next time we go to Machu Picchu we'll give ourselves more time so we can do some of the longer walks around the site, but we found that the 4 hours we had there was plenty to have a good look around.

We spent the rest of our short time back in Cusco just pottering about, going to markets, visiting fancy churches and eating good food. In comparison to the $35 buffet, we had some delicious vegan set lunches at San Blas market for less than $2pp. We also had the most delicious Japanese udon; the noodles were freshly made to order and were perfect. Food quality will be all downhill from here as we head back into Bolivia.

Quito and around

From an idyllic Pacific island holiday lifestyle of beaches, slow pace and beautiful weather we arrived into Quito in pelting rain with cracks of thunder amplified by the surrounding mountains. Our taxi driver got lost near our hostal, likely because of the unique grid reference address system that Quito has adopted. 'Take us to Oe3-18 please sir'. I think he was a bit blind too, so that didn't help. We weren't about to hop out and find it ourselves in the middle of a storm, carrying our luggage, so we just did laps for a while.

We were staying in the historic centre of the city, which has been substantially restored and is now saturated by tourist police to make it safe for visitors. The centre is punctuated by several elaborate churches and monasteries. Two churches particularly dominate - La Compañia and El Sagrario. Each is drenched in gold, with the altars, ceilings and side chapels all particularly well furnished. The lashings of gold paint and adornments was all a game to woo the locals by showing how rich, powerful and stylish Christianity was. It was also a competition between the two catholic orders. Their petty games have left a spectacular legacy for visitors.

We also visited a couple of other churches, including the basilica which is adorned with gargoyles of native fauna. There are tortoises, armadillos, jaguars, frigate birds and of course boobies. Unfortunately, several gargoyles had been destroyed or damaged in earthquakes, but there appeared to be some restoration work going on.

As a bit of light relief from just churches we also visited a monastery and a religious art gallery. Monasteries are my thing now. Cloisters in particular, and not just because I like the word. I would just enjoy wandering around beautifully manicured courtyards, deep in meditation. I just need a religion. And a cloister. And a gardener.

We managed a couple of short trips out of Quito too. We got up at sparrows' fart to bus to Otavalo, a traditional market town a couple of hours north. The town booms on Saturdays with at least four different markets taking over. We went to the artisan market which sells textiles, jewellery and clothing. We were there early enough to avoid the crowds and get some space to wander, compare and barter in a relaxed environment. We gave the animal market a miss.

Our other side trip was an overnight foray into the cloud forest at Mindo. The town itself is situated pretty much in the forest, while our accommodation was a further 7 or 8km into the hills up a rickety dirt road, fording three or four streams on the way. The lodge is sandwiched between a river on one side and a soaring cliff on the other, completely surrounded by dense bush. Hummingbirds visit the balcony while the frogs provide the music at the outdoor bar by a pond.

We shared the lodge with two British couples who were both great company. Our relationship with one of the couples started a bit poorly though; we met them by coincidence in Mindo town and ascertained that we were staying at the same place. We talked about sharing a taxi and found a driver who was prepared to take us there. You generally have to agree a price in advance because 'taxi' is just a loose term meaning 'bloke with a truck and some time to spare'. The negotiation began with the driver naming his price ($8), generally expected to be around twice the going rate. Before we had a chance to bargain, the English muppet shot back with 'oh, that's nothing', then decided he didn't need to share a taxi after all. He chose to just have lunch in town and head out to the lodge later. This had an impact on our bargaining position. He turned out to not be as much of a tool as he seemed and was actually very entertaining, particularly his story of kissing a drunk, toothless Ecuadorian cross-dresser... twice.

We spent our time in Mindo zip-lining above rainforest canopy, visiting a butterfly breeding enclosure and doing a spot of birdwatching. The birding, as they call it, was arranged through our lodge. We got up at 5.30am to await a wee man from the village to guide us. He wore a khaki vest and binoculars so we knew he was legit. He turned up late then walked us up the dirt road for an hour, pausing periodically to point at trees, which he called 'birds'. We did however see beautiful tucans.

To be fair to the guide, the lodge owner didn't allow him to take us to more lush areas of his property which have more birds. He was a bit restricted in what he could show us. And two or three hours of birdwatching doesn't really compare to real birdwatchers with khaki vests who build special hides to shelter for days trying to catch a glimpse of a rare bird the size and colour of a sparrow. And we did see tucans both in flight and rustling about in trees. They are fancy.