Humahuaca to Villazon (Bolivian Border)
9.8.09
Hola,
As I begin to type this we have taken refuge in a Residencial in Abra Pampa on the altiplano or puna.
We left you last at the town of Humahuaca in the Valley of Quebradea de Humahuaca, province of JuJuy at an altitude of 2936m.
Our first impression of Humahuaca was that it was just another little dusty dilapidated village and was of no appeal to stop over for a day’s rest.. However as we started to wind our way through the narrow cobblestone streets we discovered some great little cafes/restaurants, markets & street artists. We soon warmed to this little bohemian town.
It was at Humahuaca where we encountered our first fellow Sydneysiders, Steve and Ally at a local cafe. They have come to Buenos Aires for a year to study and teach English, to improve their Spanish. Due to the outbreak in the Swine Flu, the universities have closed down for a month, so Steven and Ally took this opportunity to travel to JuJuy and Salta provinces. It was nice to chat with them and thanks to Steve we found some groovy accommodation.
We relaxed on the top floor of our hotel Kuntar Wasi with uninterrupted views to the mountains to the east. The room was like an apartment itself, with an outdoor patio adjacent (which was actually the clothes drying yard) and it was completely segregated from the remainder of the hotel. We guessed that we were granted this charming room, when we turned up in our cycling gear and looking fit enough to make the four floors of stairs without having a heart attack. The stairs became to be a good measure of how well we were acclimatizing to the altitude.
Charming as the room was we have learnt in order to avoid disappointment, never prejudge your newly prized space until you have tested the state of the bathroom, the hot water, the pressure for the water, the heating and the amount the bed sags in the middle. We scored to say the least. The water pressure and temperature was perfect, there seemed to be an endless supply of gas heating and it was one of the rare times the middle of the bed did not collapse into a hole. How could we ever leave? Life was good.
The district foods include llamas (mmm.....llamas empanadas), quinoa, humitas and even lamb, all of which we tasted. Submarinos – hot chocolate made with real milk and chocolate bars, coca tea and mate were a daily treat at our favourite cafe El Portillo, along with delicious lemon pie, apple cakes and pancakes. It has become ritual to gorge ourselves with delicious foods when we can as on the road all I cook is pasta and pasta only. The simmer control on our cooker has failed and the pots are too thin to retain the heat which pretty much rules out any successful rice.
After two days rest and many gained kilos we were feeling ready to complete our last few days of climbing to the altiplano and the Bolivian border. We bid farewell to our friendly hospedaje owner, Carlos, and all the hotel bystanders we seemed to have attracted whilst preparing our bikes and made our way up the valley.
It was deja vue and we were met with the same nasty head wind as our days leading up to Humahuaca which grew in intensity throughout the day. As we gradually climbed higher in altitude and the air becomes thinner, I have begun to realize that when it comes to climbing, it is less about physical strength and more about endurance. Don’t get me wrong, they do work hand in hand but when it comes to altitude it doesn’t take a great deal of exertion for your heart rate to escalate and feel like it is pounding out your chest.
It would be fair to say that Stuart’s stamina for endurance far exceeds mine and it doesn’t take long before I become irritated with constant battle of head wind. My enthusiasm starts to diminish. I lose focus and my pace begins to drop.
At an altitude of about 3200m I suffered a splitting headache, which not long after had me seeing black dots. 25km into the ride and averaging 10km/hr I had to stop to find a dark place to sleep and break free of this wind. We found refuge in a bus shelter where we rolled out a mat, rugged up in all our clothes and slipped an eyepatch over my eyes. A 15minute power snooze in a quite dark space, sheltered from the wind was just what the doctor ordered to get me back on the bike again. Stuart even treated me with a hot cup of tea for lunch.
Ready to roll again we pushed on with our bikes feeling fully focused on getting to our destination. We left Humahuaca Valley and passed over another small pass. It was upon entering into another gorge that would take us up the altiplano that you could feel the wind concentrate through a funnel at intense speed. It was a wicked battle to be fighting this wind and we gave up at an altitude equivalent to the altiplano and set up camp beside the road on a cliff which offered us some limited protection from the wind.
The wind continued to pound our tent throughout the night, occasionally waking us up but we have grown accustomed to these sounds and seldom worry what the day ahead brings. The wind can just as easily die of as quickly as it came.....or not.
In the morning we faced far worse than our ‘honeymoon from hell day’, aka Los Nacimentos and route 40. The dust swirled in our tent and filled our lunges. The gritty porridge we ate was more than a concoction of oats, water and sultanas. I couldn’t help but think our teeth were eventually going to be ground down like the Indigenous people of Talampaya. (We learned there that their teeth were largely gone by the age of 25 as a result of eating fragments of fine rock mixed with crushed seeds from their mortar and pestle.)
The wind became so intense that dust was permeating through the tent and was too strong to ride. We were forced to either spend the day in the tent or hitch to the next town. We chose to hitch.
Solemnly we packed our gear and headed down to the highway and watched the wind increase in strength with dust clouds pelting our backs. The wind was on par with the wind we faced coming out of the Andes from Chile, unfortunately although it was again a westerly, this time it was a head wind. It just became more and more ‘fuerte’.
It was with relief that after half an hour of being showered by dust, small rocks and battling to stand on two feet, Diego picked us up with his pick-up truck.
Whilst feeling safe from the storm for the next 25-30 minutes we were faced with a new fear as Diego hit speeds of 160km/hr, passed through construction zones and rounded bents at ridiculous speeds. The beautiful scenery of the gorge opening up the plateau of the altiplano was passing our eyes all too fast. It was disappointing to see all we had worked for was unraveling before us and this was scenery was ‘gold.’. Diego stopped at the high point to allow us a photo but our hearts were not in it and we suspected Diego was being polite to stop based on his hurried speeding. After Diego dropped us off we did finally find a hotel and needless to say, the hot shower and safety of the residencial in Abra Pampa was an oasis in the storm.
Abra Pampa was the first taste of ‘little Bolivia’. The people were more of indigenous descent than other villages we had passed through.. The women dressed traditionally with babies slung over their back, simply held by a blanket and a knot. The men chewed coca leaves and went about their daily business.
Abra Pampa was ‘the gateway to Lagunas Los Pozuelos’, where it is said there is an abundance of wildlife, mainly birds and rare species of flamingos. We had planned to undertake a side trip to the region from Abra Pampa but despite advertising excursions, there was no such tour available. Stuart and I looked around and wondered if ever there had ever been any other gringos here.
So we rolled on and were faced with yet another intensely windy day, which had us crawling at 12km/hr on the flat altiplano. We covered only half the distance to La Quiaca (Bolivian border) which was only 80km away. The puna was spectacular vast and we passed many packs of llamas and mini tornados/dust devils. You could see the wind ripple along the grass like it was water in the lake. The end of the night was camped in a hollow below a redundant train line relatively protected from the wind.
In the early hours of the morning, nature called for Stuart and he came charging back into the tent saying ‘Anita, you’ve got to come and see this. This is soooo aaaamazing, you have to see this.’ What could it be? Signs of extra-terrestrials? Not so enthusiastic to leap out of my warm sleeping bag into the -5 to -10 degree outdoors, we peeled open the ‘head’ end of the tent to see stars like we have never seen before. The milky way was over us and the number of stars and clarity was aaammaaaaaaazzing.
The morning start was cold, all our drink bottles were completely frozen, ice had even formed on our sleeping bags but strangely the tent was relatively dry. The humidity is so low that there is no water in the air to freeze out onto the tent over night.
Knowing our supply of water was again quite low, we opted to skip porridge and we left our camp spot in the morning with merely more than a nibble on some stale bread in the hopes to cover some distance before the winds came again. And they did, fast and furious, however it was a short 36km ride to La Quiaca and the wind was more from the west as we turned to the north east.
We found a nice hotel to stay in at La Quiaca but from there the town went down hill for us. We couldn’t find a tour operator that was interested in going to Lago Pozeulos. We couldn’t find Tourist Information center that was open. We couldn’t find an internet cafe with internet access (the lines were down due to the wind). We could no longer get mobile internet access (also due to the wind we were advised). We couldn’t find anyone to change our money. We couldn’t find a map of Bolivia (some guide books suggested this was possible). We did find a lavaderia (clothes washing) but it was never open. And the food we did find was decidedly below average.
We had intended to stay 2 or 3 nights but rather than stay and be depressed about what we couldn’t find we bolted for Bolivia and the border. And what an excellent decision that turned out to be. La Quiaca seems like the town where everyone is leaving and Villazon is the town where everyone is arriving. In Villazon there was a bustling feel with markets and vendors seemingly everywhere. Fresh juice on every corner. Meals and hotel were close to half the price for similar quality. The only thing that was similar to La Quiaca was the fact that the wind was STILL blowing hard from the west.
Soon enough, we found the train station pretty easily and made our purchase to go to the town of Tupiza. We bought ourselves a thermos for hot drinks at lunch. We ate chicken and chips/rice and pizza for lunch/dinner. The tourism office was open and Alex was a wealth of information. Our initial experience with Bolivia far surpassed our expectations. Wonderful stuff.
We are looking forward to our stay here....
Regards,
Anita (and Stuart)
Posted byStuart Kane at 10:08 PM
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