Thief strikes on our luxury bed bus

'Farewell, lovely green seventies tennis tracksuit top' laments Simon
Simon may have had his small rucksack stolen (containing his passport, bank cards, ipod, solar power charger, green tracksuit top that features in every other photo, new Andes-style knitted hat with ears etc. etc.) by a horrible old git who diddled us on our luxury bus two days ago, but today he has replaced it with a new, fancy backpack that brings with it a philosophy in its label,

'You begin by wondering where the highway goes. And soon you are far away, soaring with the eagles high above the care torn world. Wandering through hidden paths in misty mountains, anticipating the songs of dolphins, tomorrow beside a gin clear sea.

For Nikko, every journey we make is a journey that takes us one step closer to freedom, and every road we take is the royal road that leads to life itself.

It is a road we have travelled for many years, and the promise we make is that products created by Nikko are as warm and dependable as a trusted friend.'

What more can we ask or hope for in Simon's new rucksack as we continue our journey? Let us hope that if the gang try to steal this bag, our new trusted friend will resist them and choose to stay with us in the pursuit of dolphins and gin clear sea.

Mountain climbing - there's a good idea

'Let's climb a mountain!' we said. We've been at altitude for months on and off and done a fair amount of walking. We've looked up at the mountains and they are magnificent, so what could be better than getting to the top of a snow-capped peak? 

What were we thinking? 

Things got off to a ropey start when we met our mountain guide, Teo, at the base refuge. In contrast to our gentle, kind and friendly trekking guide who we had walked with for the previous three days, Teo was petulant, chauvinistic, and far from helpful. The whole time during our first afternoon's ice climbing activity, when we learnt to use the equipment on a glacier, was spent enduring his bad humour and grating remarks concerning the weakness and inability of females. Rachel understandably didn't react to this too positively and the atmosphere between us all was as cold as the mountain air.The ice climbing was fun when I got stuck in (literally).

The next morning, climbing up to the top refuge at 5200m with a heavy backpack full of equipment (snow boots, crampons, ice pick etc) was a tough enough start, especially when it included scrambling up rock faces, but we managed admirably. There was a nice bunch of people at the refuge apart from one loud Canadian with bad wind.  We rested there for the afternoon and evening hopping in and out of the sleeping bag fully clothed to try and stay warm. It was bitterly cold and the snow started falling heavily making the descent to the rather exposed toilet (gaping hole) more than a little tricky.  Still, we were feeling fairly positive about our ascent of the mountain Huayna Potosi which was due to commence at around 1am. 

When the snow finally stopped falling and the skies cleared, the views were breathtaking. It was the loveliest part of the whole mountain climbing adventure.Outside the top refuge. Snow for miles around. A nice post-poo view for an Austrian fellow climber (enclosure on right is loo).

We woke at midnight still feeling relatively good and donned our equipment. Following a warming cup of coca tea we left the refuge, got roped together with our prat of a guide and headed off at about 1.30am. From then on it was simply 8 hours of the most unenjoyable, relentless, exhausting physical exertion either of us had ever endured or could have possibly imagined. People usually get to climb on a surface of compact, icy snow which is perfect for the crampons and ice picks. The deep snow, due to the snow fall the previous evening, made things much harder going. Even on the rare occasions when the incline levelled out slightly every step was still exhausting. 

It was pitch black, freezing cold and the guide offered no encouragement. The only thing that kept us going and raised us from the snow when we periodically collapsed with exhaustion was doses of Thornton's Special Toffee which my mum had brought for us from England a few weeks earlier. 

Despite the awfulness of it all, we kept plodding on. As nice as it got was when the sun rose and revealed magnificent views all around, although we were so tired, it was hard work even appreciating it.

Over the next hour we got closer and closer to the top whilst the sun got hotter and hotter. We were 60 metres from the summit and felt as though we would at least now make it to the top. At this point things turned slightly stressful and farcical. A nice Israeli man had unroped himself from the struggling Canadian and his guide in a desperate bid to reach the top. The last thing on our guide's mind was supporting us as he hurled rascist abuse in Spanish and demanded that we translate it back down the mountain to the oncoming solo Israeli. Whilst this was going on, an unusually kind and friendly French man and his guide who were slightly further up the zigzagging track to the summit dislodged some melting snow, which turned into a mini avalanche sufficient to knock the Canadian and his guide, who were further down the slope, off their feet and several metres down the steep mountainside. The Canadian lost the plot and started shouting at people to stop 'hollering at him' even though nobody was; our guide continued to berate the Israeli; yet another small avalanche came down and we took the decision that enough was enough, it was time to turn back despite the injury to our guide's pride in failing to get us to the summit. 

All we had to do now was get back down the mountain. At that point, we really couldn't have imagined that getting down would be as awful as getting up. With the snow melting all around we were very keen to get back but our guide instead chose to unrope us next to a gaping crevass whilst he went to help the Canadian's guide find his ice pick lost in the avalanche. After several minutes of shouting at the guide we persuaded him to come back, which he did, whilst mocking us in a stupid voice.

The trudge down the mountain was just horrible. Every few steps we had to remove clumps of melting snow from our crampons to avoid slipping. The red hot sun was full in our faces and beneath our many layers of clothing and climbing gear we were sweltering and uncomfortable. This was more like a march through the desert in ski gear with lead boots. On and on we went until we reached 'the wall'. On the way up, this section of the mountain had merely been one long awful bit in the middle of a longer awful bit. On the way down, in full daylight, slipping about in clogged up boots, it was horrific. 'The Wall' is a very steep section, 150 metres long, on about 50 degrees incline, and on a narrow ridge, with a sheer drop to one side and a steep slope to crevasses below on the other. It didn't feel too good going down it, stumbling and digging in the ice pick to keep balanced. In fact, the other four people who ascended with us and descended after us had to take a two hour detour to avoid this 'unsafe' part of the mountain. About half way down Rachel gave up her wonderful attempt at coping with this situation and sat down in complete exhaustion, terror and tears.  Luckily at this point our fool of a guide did his one useful act of the trek, hammering in an anchor and encouraging Rachel to abseil down the mountain while I walked on the rope in front of her. This trauma over, we carried on down in abject misery. Towards the bottom of the mountain and nearing the refuge, things again became farcical. The hill was slightly safer but with our legs gone to jelly we were walking like drunkards weaving from side to side and slipping down sections of the mountain on our bums. 

We finally got back to the refuge looking and feeling like tired messes, but after a warm bowl of soup, we didn't look half as dreadful as the sorry states who came in two hours after us cursing the mountain, the conditions and their guides. 

We were almost hysterical with tiredness and vowed never to climb another snowy mountain as long as we lived. Far from going to a warm bed, we had to slog it with our heavy backpacks back down the rocky path, now covered with slippery snow and slush. 

During our taxi ride back to La Paz we again realised just how much nicer the mountains are when you perceive them from below the snowline. 

Trekking in the Cordillera Real

Over banana milkshakes in La Paz we decided it was now or never to climb one of the beautiful snowy mountains of the Cordillera Real. We are acclimatised now to staying at around 4000m so we thought it was a good time to go for it. We signed up for a 3-day trek, sleeping in a tent, followed by the ascent of Huayna Potosi mountain. With just Simon, me and our lovely guide, Sixto, we had a wonderful first few days walking through the mountains.

 

I questioned what we had let ourselves in for when shortly after setting off, the cold wind and rain set in and my waterproof trousers started to leak. We arrived at our campsite in the early afternoon - a clearing in a spectacular location - but really couldn't appreciate it as by this point it was hailing and I couldn't feel my fingers. Freezing cold, we wrapped up in two sleeping bags each and I tried to think of warmer times as we huddled in our tent. I dozed off and woke up sweltering as the sun had come out and the tent had turned into a sauna. 

Our campsite was next to this beautiful lagoon which reflected all the colours and shapes of the mountains and was great for skimming.  View down onto our first campsite next to the lagoon.

A mountain glacier next to the lagoon

The next day, we climbed up to our first 5000m pass, passing a few donkeys and lots of llamas. Falcons swooped overhead. Although rare now, it is possible to see condors in this region if a llama dies, then they come to eat it. Sixto explained that they rarely come to this altitude, because they are so heavy and the air is so thin, it is difficult for them to gain height and to take off again.

Our first 5000m pass - surprisingly easy. We were starting to think that Huayna Potosi would be a doddle.

As we descended the other side of the mountain pass, we encountered thousands of these thumb-sized caterpillars. If a llama eats just one of them, it dies. 

Jaunty as we were at this stage about our ability to take on big mountains, we climbed up to another optional 5000m pass rather than walking around the mountain. This one was very steep with a fine slate surface.

These flowers spring up high on the mountains and are a delicious treat for llamas. To get to them, the llamas are prepared to trudge up to incredible heights.

Our second day's camp was at the foot of Huayna Potosi mountain - the snowy mountain in the background on the photo. Having woken in the morning at the previous camp to the tent frozen solid, for an extra 50p each, we took the local farmer up on his offer of erecting our tent inside the hut. In two pairs of thermal leggings, two pairs of thick socks, a thermal vest, a pyjama top, two long sleeved tops, a cashmere jump, an alpaca jumper, scarf, hat and gloves plus two sleeping bags, in a tent inside a hut, I was finally warm! 
Heading to the toilet. A little exposed.
The next day we had another great walk, bounding up to 5100m and descending a slate scree before heading to the base refuge camp for Huayna Potosi.

Valle de la Luna

Valle de la Luna or Valley of the Moon is just half an hour south of La Paz but its landscape couldn't be more different. Tracks wind through these unusual rock formations, which appear to be a mixture of sand and mud - it is easy to crumble pieces off. As usual, a casual approach to safety makes it more fun than whatever its UK counterpart may be. Frequently, there are great drops off either side of the narrow path and you are pretty free to clamber wherever you can or want to - I imagine it would be a nightmare with a toddler, and it was only marginally better with Simon. 

Some rock formations have distinctive shapes and have been correspondingly named - the rock above is the Kind Grandfather (in profile).

The other interesting part of this afternoon outing was the journey down through the south of La Paz - it is in stark contrast to the north and centre, which are bustling with people, markets, traffic and a lot of very basic housing. In the south, there are modern, fancy apartment blocks, mansions, and children on cycle tracks by the river. 

Food, glorious Bolivian food.

Maizena- a pastry with a squishy center made from maize.  The center wasn't very sweet but the icing sugar topping sorted that out. Bought for 10p on the street.
Charquekan- quite a plate of protein. The locals are proud of this dish of very well done shredded beef. The beef was dry but full of flavour and came served on a bed of nicely cooked potatoes. The tomato, onion and egg worked well but the cheese was unnecessary and ended up on Rachel's baked potato.
Pique Macho is basically a bit of everything cooked up in a sauce. There is beef, tomato, pepper, sausage, probably a bit of old llama, all mixed up  and made tangy by the sauce. There is also some cheese and a load of chips going on. Not the healthiest meal but surprisingly satisfying.
Macarron has become a favourite snack of mine and though Rachel often poo poos it she can't help but dig in from time to time. It is made from corn with a thin crisp sugar coating and is a speciality of Copacabana, being sold out of huge sacks by the roadside there and in La Paz. Very big with a sweet breakfast cereal flavour, somewhere in between frosties and sugar puffs.There are other shapes too like this smaller variety with a cocoa coating. It''s not as good at all.
Panqueque piled high with fruit and honey.Surely its not. It is! Its a proper British Indian curry in La Paz. As can be seen the naan was too big and fluffy but it had a chilli oil coating and did the job accompanying a delicious beef madras and a taste-bud tingling chicken jalfrazi.Completing a trio of very un-South American treats, these huge German style beer sausages (local strong lager called Bock) were quite  stomach filler, served with mustardy cabbage, veg and loads of mash, plus a pepper sauce. The drink is a maltin, like a sweet non-alcoholic beer.In every town we have been in or passed through there is a Comedor popular. These are large kitchens with bench seats where cheap and filling food can be had for hard working locals, or interested English tourists. The lady was a little unsure if we were in the right place when we went in, but having shewed much enthusiasm for her proposed lunch (soup and something) she was happy.

The soup was pretty good and the mushy pile of veg stew with rice was fine with a good dose of aji- chilli salsa. Not gourmet but for only 70p, a filling and interesting local experience is good value.

Who could walk past a shop with  name like this? I tried a new exciting fruit flavour which just turned out to be apricot- not the best ice-cream, so I went back for dulce de leche- condensed milk flavour, yum. The next day chocolate was enjoyed- 35p in a sugar wafer cone.

Football

It was local derby time in La Paz. Bolivar of La Paz were playing La Paz F.C. at the large concrete national stadium. Bolivar and a team called 'The Strongest' are the big boys in the capital; your Arsenal and Chelsea, whilst La Paz F.C. are more of a Fulham.The stadium is quite impressive really and there is a collection of pre-Hispanic statues in the middle of a roundabout in front of it.
There looked to be something like 8000 spectators in the ground. We paid £3 each for the best seats, above the halfway line and with a roof to avoid the early downpour. Halftime snacks were decent- we felt a little too full of lunch to try the tasty looking roast pork cobs but we did enjoy a cheese empanada each.
Despite them being the favourites we were supporting Bolivar because they were the team of a friendly tour organiser we were chatting to. Both teams were fairly ropey and the most spectacular action on display was the quite astounding level of diving and play-acting. Bolivar however had the sharpest attack and ended up clear winners; hurray!

La Paz

Bolivia's capital, La Paz has been a good place to spend a week. We found a hotel with wifi and a good breakfast buffet and settled in to catch up with people and with a blog backlog. It is a good job we were already acclimatised because not only is La Paz centre at nearly 4000m altitude but it is also completely lacking in level ground. Steep hills abound and as we are fond of exploring entire cities by foot this has meant serious exercise.

The Bolivian flag flies outside a nice colonial building in the old centre.There are some nice places to visit like this art gallery.La Paz is surrounded by hills and mountains, which is pleasant.Some parts of the city are very modern and developed.

Other parts are rather poorer and under-developed.Every inch alongside every road is used for selling things and these are curiously clumped into areas- one road for plastic, one for paints, another for plumbing. Near to our hotel is a huge area for many people selling children's party accessories and the road right outside is the fabric area. The shop pictured (taken from our balcony) is a very popular place for buying fabric, causing locals to squash outside in great numbers and stampede in when the doors are opened. Must be really cheap- the Bolivian Dunelm.

Bolivia is a politically charged place and La Paz has its fair share of street art like this one for the party of president Evo Morales- the first indigenous South American leader in modern history: a hugely important step for a country of 80% indigenous population. Of course the poor indiginous mosty idolise him while the oil rich whities mostly want rid of him.
This moving memorial is in a park in the south center. The image can only be half seen in a mirrored surface. He was one of many people who dared to commit their lives to left leaning liberal political views during the 1970's dictatorship and who 'disappeared' as a result. He was 22 years old and in a public prison at the time of his disappearance. His mother, to whom a poem on the memorial is addressed, has been fighting for 30 years to bring his case to court.

We have enjoyed the vibrancy and contrasting sides of La Paz. Alongside a new feeling of pride within the majority indigenous population there is also lots of work going on to try and open the city up with central parks, plazas and even a big walkway up above the central valley, so it looks like things are only going to get better.

Dia del Mar

Dia del Mar is an annual event in Bolivia when huge groups of people gather to process through the streets dancing and singing to brass bands. They do so to remember the day over a hundred years ago when they lost their coastline in a territorial war with Chile. Peru also lost territory at the same time and bad feeling towards Chileans remains around these parts of South America. Apparently the big man of South American history, Simon Bolivar, said that Bolivia should have access to the sea but Chile never saw it that way.

We had heard brass bands practicing all over the city but thought we would miss the parades as the official Day of the Sea was on a Monday when we were going trekking but luckily we happened upon this great street carnival while we were walking around on the Sunday afternoon.

For many of the participants the art of marching, dancing, singing or playing music came second to the noble art of getting pissed. A lot of them were very merry indeed, marching with beer in their hands or receiving shots from an allocated group member. We saw one marcher, barely conscious, stumble onto a car for support before staggering away looking very much like he was going to vomit.

This chap was most definitely hammered and was happy to stop marching for a while to find out where we were from and to share beer with us. Rachel is holding one of the excitingly shaped rattles many of the marchers carried.

Travelling on to La Paz

Straight off the boat from Isla del Sol, we jumped on an evening bus to La Paz. The journey was uneventful except for when we came to cross a stretch of the lake. At this point the bus was driven onto a dodgy looking raft-like barge and we had to fork out 15p to take a ride in a tired little chug boat.