Week 36 & 37: Breathless in Bolivia

In the past three weeks, we have ventured into the Spanish speaking world. In Jerry’s mind, this should be no problem, since I “speak Spanish”. I would like to inform everybody that I studied Spanish in school and have used very little Spanish since. Jerry’s faith in my infallible ability to communicate anything with anyone has tested my limits, and resulted in a fair few interactions where I walked away realising I definitely dropped in a few words that weren’t meant to be there… At least I haven’t accidentally told anyone I’m pregnant (embarazada) instead of embarrassed (embarazoso), which is a classic gaffe.

We started this time in Madrid, with its arid summer temperatures in the high thirties, or even tipping fourty. Our carefully climate-controlled planning doesn’t usually land us in such extreme temperatures, but the best route from Europe to South America is via Spain, so Madrid was our stopover choice. 

Our time in Madrid was filled with sunshine and good food. One of our first stops was to Chocolateria San Gines, for their famous churros con chocolate. This was a decadent treat for our first day. We have gotten used to the cinnamon and sugar covered churros, though, so the more refined, simple churros were a bit of a surprise. The decadence of this dish comes from the deep rich chocolate that is served in a cup alongside. There is far too much chocolate compared to the churros, so yes, we ended up drinking it straight from the cup.

While the churros con chocolate were delicious, in our opinion, the unsung hero of Madrid’s sweet scene was the napolitana. We can only describe it as if the Spanish took a pain au chocolat, and improved it (shh, don’t tell the French). We frequented Pasteleria La Mallorquina multiple times for their chocolate napolitanas, as well as trying a range of other options. The heat stole both of our appetites (yes, even Jerry’s!), so we snacked our way through Madrid, with sweet treats and tapas.

We also had time for some history and culture. Toledo is only less than an hour on the train from Madrid, and therefore the perfect day trip. It’s a walled town on the hill, perfect for vistas, coffee stops, and magnificent buildings.

We spent an afternoon in the Museo del Prado, admiring some of the world’s best art. I got to share even more tidbits from my one year of art history classes, and we marvelled at how some of the most famous of Spanish artists (Picasso, Goya) went through their own massive stylistic changes throughout their careers. Jerry could not believe that the same Goya who painted his early works, also painted his black painting series. We indulged in other artforms as well, with a belated birthday gift of a flamenco show. Jerry is still stamping and clapping now, as he attempts to recreate the rhythm.

The only sour note to our time in Madrid was the surprising animosity towards Jerry. As a young Asian backpacker, Jerry has attracted plenty of curiosity on our travels, particularly as he doesn’t fulfil the ‘typical profile’ of an Asian traveller (he’s not in a group, he’s younger, he speaks English with a kiwi accent, he has this weird white woman with him, etc.). However, this usually comes across as benign curiosity. In Madrid, there were a few hateful stares and comments made, which took us aback. These were mostly from older members of the public, so hopefully the mindset is shifting.

After a few days of sunshine and siestas, it was time for another intercontinental flight. Avianca was a solid mid-tier airline for us (sorry Avianca, you’re competing with Qatar, ANA, Singapore…we’ve flown with some incredible airlines this year). 

We had an 8 hour stopover in Bogota airport, where I had grand plans to achieve leaps and bounds with my blog, social media work, etc. Instead, I had a good book to read, so I spent five hours sitting in the food court reading. Jerry abandoned me in said food court, when he got chatting to strangers (as he does) and sweet talked his way into an airport lounge. He brought me out a few snacks as penance, so all is forgiven.

We landed in El Alto airport at 2 o’clock in the morning. It isn’t the most hospitable time anywhere, but at 4000m above sea level, below 0 degrees, after 24 hours of travel, we felt a wee bit frazzled in the airport. Thankfully, previous Caitlin and Jerry had the forethought to book an airport transfer, and an extra night in the hotel so we could check in at 3am when we arrived. When I say we crashed into those king single beds, I mean it. I don’t even remember lying down and hopping under the covers.

I do not remember taking this photo, but here's the evidence of us arriving in La Paz!

Flying into 4000m altitude from sea level, and then sleeping at 3600m, is quite a shock to the system. In general, it is not advised. Our original South America plan had us arriving into Lima at sea level, then gradually increasing altitude through Peru, before heading to the heights of Bolivia. This was an excellent, well thought out plan. That particular flight route was also more than $1000 more expensive per person. You can see where this is going, right? Put that thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

Waking up to views over La Paz

Day one and two in La Paz were relatively standard for newbies to high altitude. Some shortness of breath while walking up hills, the odd headache, and massively reduced appetites with some nausea. We planned five days in La Paz to give ourselves time to acclimatise, and this ended up being a great call. 

On the afternoon of day two, Jerry and I were both feeling great. We’d passed the 24-48 hour mark where altitude sickness symptoms have started to settle, so we booked ourselves on an extended La Paz and El Alto walking tour. This tour didn’t require too much walking, instead employing the multiple public transport systems of the area, including colectivos, shared taxi vans, and the impressive Teleferico system. La Paz and El Alto are home to the highest and most extensive cable car system in the world, spanning the majority of the cities.

We explored a few different spots in the city, and Christian was a great guide. We visited the public cemetery, and learned about the All Saint’s celebration, which is similar to El Dia de los Muertos in Mexico. We also visited El Alto during its biweekly market, which sprawls over many blocks of the city, and is one of the largest open air markets in the world. You could buy anything you could imagine there, but as we didn’t have much need for screwdrivers, children's pajamas, house bricks, or car parts, we didn’t end up buying anything here. 

In El Alto, Christian also took us to visit the Yatiri. La Paz has a touristy Mercado de Bruja, or “witches market”, where you can buy a range of mystical remedies, fake money ofrendas, and even mummified llama foetuses, which are commonly used in offerings to the gods. Commonly, the offerings are for Pachamama, the Incan mother earth. More on her later.

CONTENT WARNING: MUMMIFIED LLAMAS IF YOU SWIPE RIGHT

However, if you head up to El Alto, there are lines of corrugated shacks and small huts, balanced high above the highway. There are no stalls selling touristy “witchy” souvenirs, just brassieres burning all manners of herbs and offerings. It’s here that you can find the yatiri of El Alto. Yatiri, or witch doctors, are trusted elderly men, with prophesying powers. You can only become a yatiri in one of two ways. One, be born with six fingers or toes on one of your hands. Two, be struck by lightning and survive. I can’t say how our yatiri came to be, as it seemed impolite to ask for specifics, but I didn’t notice any extra digits…

Yatiri huts, from above

Christian ushered Jerry and I into the shack with the yatiri, and joined us to provide some translation. At this point, the yatiri pulled out some coca leaves from his pouch, and threw them down onto the cloth, muttering to himself. First, it was time for Jerry’s prophecy. 

For those who have been following along since the beginning, you have likely read in previous blogs about Jerry’s lucky tendencies. Winning hundreds of dollars for just entering the country, getting endless green lights at intersections, always having the bedside table and charging point on his side of the bed… I could go on. This time was no different. Jerry’s coca leaves were, as expected, exceptional. A long line of connected coca leaves suggested a long, healthy life. Jerry was informed in no uncertain terms that 2024 is HIS year, and he should consider starting a business ASAP, to take advantage of this bountiful time in his life. The yatiri seemed quite taken with Jerry and his wonderful future, so much so that he even let us take a photo together (apparently yatiri usually do not like photos). It sounds like Jerry has quite the future ahead of himself, folks.

My coca leaves were a bit more equivocal. Thankfully, the coca leaves weren’t quite as vindictive as the Sensoji shrine in Asakusa, Tokyo, but they certainly indicated a bit more drama in my future. As the yatiri gently put it, I am likely to have strong mood swings throughout my life. Thanks, man. Welcome to female hormones.

Jerry and I were instructed to give thanks to Pachamama, as we will be blessed with two children in the future, first a boy, then a girl. You heard it here first, but you might be waiting a while to find out if this prophecy is true, so don’t hold your breath. He also made some left-field comments about my dad watching out for me, which obviously left me horrendously emotional (JUST LIKE HE PREDICTED EARLIER?!). We came away no more spiritual than before, so we aren’t putting too much stock in the yatiri’s predictions, but I did buy a little Pachamama effigy, when we arrived back in La Paz. You know, just in case.

That evening, things started to go downhill. Around 10pm, I started feeling quite a bit worse than before. I had increasing shortness of breath, despite this symptom having mostly cleared before then. My sinuses had been playing up, likely thanks to the massive shock of going from 40 to 4 degrees overnight, so I had been having quite a few blood noses. This made it very tricky to ascertain, when I started coughing up a bit of gunk that had blood in it, whether there was something going on in my lungs, or if I just had a bunch of gunky blood from my nose dripping down my throat. Sorry, delightful imagery there. By midnight, I was feeling short of breath, even when just sitting down. 

At this point, I may have slightly indulged in Dr. Google, which is rarely the right answer. However, I had done my pre-reading, and knew that there are a few very rare, but very serious illnesses that you can get from high altitude. I spent a few minutes going through the “I’m not ready to die, I have too much to do!” dramatics (maybe the yatiri was onto something re. the mood swings…) before pulling myself together. I have never had a rational thought between the hours of midnight and 4am, so I’d like some credit for my next actions. I woke Jerry up, told him my symptoms, and then had him set an alarm for another couple of hours, to check on me. If I was any worse, we’d go to the hospital. If I was the same, we’d call the doctor in the morning. Thankfully, things plateaued from there, so we headed to reception in the morning to request some medical assistance.

Both the doctor and the subsequent medics who came to check me out were incredibly kind. My underlying vitals were fine. Favourite line from the medical report was “patient with dehydrated and pale skin”. Pale and dehydrated is my modus operandi, so maybe that had nothing to do with the altitude. I had a steroid injection in my butt, to reduce any swelling of my internal organs, and was prescribed some general altitude medications. The medics even went so far as to try to preserve my dignity - I had forgotten to mention Jerry’s relation to me, and with the twin beds, they could only assume that my butt needed shielding from Jerry’s eyes. A bit of breathless giggling later, we established in Spanish that Jerry was my husband, and him seeing my butt was the least of my worries.

We took the next few days very easy. On one of them, we sat on teleferico after teleferico for 3 hours, seeing the entire city from above. We watched parades, bustling market stalls, and endless currency exchangers on the street corners, all from above. It’s also a steal, as the entire teleferico “tour” cost us less than $5 per person. We also found our favourite food in Bolivia, at Oliva restaurant in central La Paz. The best menu del dia we’ve found. We didn’t try that hard to compare, as we kept going back. By day five in Bolivia, we felt reassured that I was 100% good to go to Uyuni. So, we hopped on the overnight bus, and headed south.

Uyuni is a town in the Bolivian Altiplano. It looks like something out of a Western movie, with its dusty streets, fluffy stray dogs, and long stretches of flat plains in every direction. Uyuni is a tourist destination for one reason only - it is the jumping off point for most of the Bolivian Salt Flat tours. Salar de Uyuni is an enormous expanse of salt, as far as the eye can see. In the wet season, it becomes a giant mirror. We arrived in the dry season, where you can’t get quite as scenic a photo, but you can explore much more of the area. 

Our overnight bus was set up with all the mod-cons, including blankets, pillows, reclining seats, and even hot meals served for dinner. Unfortunately, no matter how nice your bus is, it can’t combat the skylight condensation that started to drip on Jerry’s face. There’s a reason that’s considered a form of torture. I remember being very supportive and compassionate for Jerry’s plight, but considering I fell asleep 0.2 seconds after reclining, I might not be the most reliable narrator. It wasn’t an issue for long - as we headed desert-bound, the condensation quickly froze to the window. No more dripping! We arrived into Uyuni at 5am, with the mercury having dipped to a delightful -8 degrees. Yes, eight below freezing. Jerry and I put on every single item of clothing in our bags and huddled on the couch, and awaited being picked up for our two night, three day Uyuni salt flat tour. 

10:00pm (0°C) 6:00am (-8°C)   10:00am (5°C)  

Bolivia is currently experiencing a fuel shortage. A week before we arrived in Bolivia, there were protests and blockades across the country, due to the difficulty in sourcing petrol. During our time in La Paz, we witnessed many queues spanning hundreds of metres out of petrol stations, waiting for petrol shipments to arrive. As it turns out, it’s the same in Uyuni, and there are far fewer salt flat tours running than usual, thanks to the difficulty with sourcing petrol for the multi-day trip. 

Brief stop at the adult jungle gym / train cemetery

Despite some short delays while our trucks awaited the Monday morning petrol delivery, we headed off in the morning, for one day on the salt flats, and another exploring the volcanic region near the Bolivian Chilean border. 

The salt flats were unbelievable. An absolute giant expanse of white, as far as the eye can see. This made for a great time taking silly perspective photos, which our entire group indulged in. The bike ride across the flats was a highlight for both me and Jerry. Cycling every day in Vietnam without suspension prepared us well for the bumpy trip across the salt flats, which aren’t as flat as the name suggests (peep the hexagonal honeycomb patterns formed in the salt).

We had a great group of people on this trip, which made such a difference when you are travelling across great expanses for hours in the Land cruiser. Our group included an Australian couple, Drewe and Tynan, whose fantastic banter reminded us so much of home. It’s the first time anyone’s called Jerry Jezza on this trip! Mark from Russia has travelled so many places in the world that it makes our heads spin. He’s inspired us for some future travel destinations, and he’s gotten Jerry geeking out on an app called Notion. Are you using Notion? Feel free to geek out with Jerry over messenger - I have run out of my, admittedly limited, enthusiasm.

Rachel, Dave, and Dave’s sister Alice, were the British contingent of the trip, whose deadpan delivery of the funniest anecdotes left us in stitches, as well as providing us with fantastic recommendations for the our time in Peru (Dave and Rachel have been travelling through Latin America for months on end, and they’ve been everywhere we will go). We chatted about our recent times in the UK, and expressed our great love for Tesco many, many times. Probably too many times. Pak’n’save, do better please.

Luxurious first night in the Salt Hotel. Our second night wasn't quite so glam. Forgot to take photos, but it's better that way

Our memories and photos from this experience are unparalleled, and we’d wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone, but travelling in the desert means you sometimes have to give up some modern comforts. The number one luxury we have gone without is heating, instead wearing our entire wardrobes and sleeping under mountains of blankets (did I wake up in the middle of the night because I’m short of breath, or because I’m being crushed under 7 blankets…?). As we ventured further into the desert, toilets came with optional running water, and the addition of soap seemed to be frowned upon. If a soap bar appeared, it rapidly vanished. Could have been a great mystery, if one was willing to spend more time in the bathroom. We instead opted for the quickly in, quickly out approach, and used up the majority of our hand sanitiser stocks. 

Early morning car starts

Meals were variable and creative on this trip. Carbs are king, here in Bolivia. Quinoa is the main grain grown, but it was rarely the only option served. So far, more is more when it comes to carbs. Why include one, when you could include two, or three, or even FOUR?! We’ve had pasta, rice, quinoa, and six hundred different types of potato. Llama is the main farmstock in this area, so we were introduced to llama steaks and sausages. The llama sausage was a standout, although the evening we had a mix of fries, sausages, mystery meat, and assorted vegetables, probably won’t go into the Gos on the Go food hall of fame.

Those who know Jerry and I will know that we are not big animal people. However, even we were won over by the llamas, vicuña (elegant llamas), alpacas (cute llamas), viscacha (vaguely evil looking bunny rabbits), and flamingoes. Seeing animals roaming in this unreal setting made it even more magical. Despite all the wonderful wildlife for us to interact with, my favourite interaction was still with the three year old girl living with her family at the salt hotel, who played high five, down low, too slow, and crocodile snaps with me and my hair claw clip at dinner time. Seeing as my Spanish is roughly at the three year old level, we were well matched.

Our accommodation on the last night was situated right next to volcanic hot springs, ready for stargazing. Dreamy, in theory. At 9pm, as the temperature dipped well past freezing, we were faced with the reality of leaving out the front door, and removing the majority of our clothes to actually get into said hot springs. I’ll admit, we very nearly chickened out. I had approximately six layers of clothing to remove, and I have never wanted to do something less. But, spurred on by the opportunity for memory dividends (if you haven’t read Die with Zero, get onto it), we stripped off and collapsed into the pools. 

It was a surreal feeling, hopping into balmy 38-degree water, as the splashes from our ungainly entries froze on my Tevas. Was getting out of the water almost impossibly hard? Yes. Would we do it again in a heartbeat? Also, yes.

Sunrise over the hot springs

On our third and final day, we bade farewell to our friends heading to Chile, and made the slow, bumpy trip all the way back to Uyuni. If you want to go to Chile, we recommend using the Uyuni trip as the way to cross the border, since you end the trip right on the border anyway.

Shout out to Rodrigo, who drove us 1000+km

Instead, we spent seven hours in the truck, and then another ten-eleven on our overnight bus, before arriving back in La Paz, dusty, exhausted, but elated. What an adventure. We’ve got a few days in La Paz to wash off all the dust, and visit Pachamama incarnate. Who, you ask? She is the woman who runs the lavanderia, or laundromat, down the road. She has managed to get stains out of my clothes that have been stubbornly stuck for nearly six months, and our black clothes which gradually faded to grey have come back…black? After this week, we are down to one clean tshirt and one pair of underwear each, so we need her more than ever.