One day… you have to live your dream. Solo through South America

[Pumpy]

Just in time for Christmas I came home from an epic journey through South America. Riding my trusty DRZ400S through Argentina, Uruguay, a tiny bit of Brazil, Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru and the whole length of Chile down to Tierra del Fuego, I covered 23,517 kilometres / 14,616 miles in four months.



This trip was everything and more I had ever dreamt of. In the weeks to come I am going to tell you all about it; here is just a little taster of my experiences:

I saw fascinating landscapes -

Cataratas del Iguazú, Argentina / Brazil


Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia


Torres del Paine, Chile


… and beautiful places –

Machu Picchu, Peru (no, I didn't ride my bike along this path)


Arequipa by night, Peru


Cerro Fitz Roy, Argentina


I rode awesome roads –



Ruta 26 between Cuzco and Nasca, Peru


Carretera Austral, Chile


Caught glimpses of history –

Brachiosaurus bones in the palaeontological museum MEF in Trelew, Argentina


7,000 year old mummies from the Chinchorro culture, San Miguel de Azapa, Chile


Ocotber 2010, Copiapó, Chile


Watched wonderful wildlife –

Vicuñas in the Lauca National Park, Chile


Pelicans on the Pacific coast, Iloca, Chile


Magellan Penguins, Patagonia, Argentina


Had a fair share of “Oops” and “Doh…!” moments –



Near Pucón, Los Lagos, Chile


“Should I have listened to the GPS?”


Learnt a lot about the mechanics of my bike –

In the workshop of Motoservi in Sucre, Bolivia


During regular maintenance days


What a neglected sparkplug looks like after 22,000 kilometres…


Tasted delicious food –

Llama steak, Uyuni, Bolivia


Trucha (trout), freshly caught from Lago Titikaka, Bolivia


Home cooked meals…


And, best of all, I met amazing people everywhere. Here are just a few –

Benita on the street market in La Paz, Bolivia


Oscar and Julia in San Fernando, Chile, who let me park the bike in their dining room


Jorge, Facundo and their friends in Otamendi, Buenos Aires Province, who introduced me to the pleasures of a proper Argentinean Asado (BBQ)


As English is not my first language, it will take me some time to write the report but I hope you will find it worth the wait…

[jim lovell]

Wow cracking pics. i,m not jealous honest. I look forward to reading more Pumpy are you going to do a presentation at Lumb Farm?

[Paulo Assis]

Tin Tin!

[Pumpy]

Originally Posted by jim lovell

Wow cracking pics. i,m not jealous honest. I look forward to reading more Pumpy ... are you going to do a presentation at Lumb Farm?

Thanks, Jim. Yep, volunteered to present at the HU meeting on New Year's Eve and got a confirmation from Grant the next day.

See you in June then!

[Pumpy]

... for the ones who don't know me:

Pumpernickel is the name of a distinctive black German rye bread and that’s what my English friends call me, subtly hinting at my origin. I was born and raised in Berlin, moved to Hamburg after the Wall came down and then on to the United Kingdom after meeting my English partner in the middle of nowhere in the Spanish Pyrenees.



I have been riding motorcycles for over twenty years and although I have taken every single bike I owned off the tarmac, I only seriously started trail riding when I came to the British Isles. Well, this enjoyable activity should have prepared me for the mostly unpaved roads in South America – that’s what I was hoping for anyway…


Photo courtesy of Timpo


Why South America and why now?

It was in my revolutionary teenage years when I first heard of Chile: a nation that believed that socialism could be achieved through democracy and the sheer will of the people. I was fascinated and even the fact that a military coup ended Salvador Allende’s ambitious project three years later and led to almost two decades of one of the most brutal dictatorships of the twentieth century, could not deter my enthusiasm. There was so much more to Chile: its history, its people, its literature and above all its geography. Wedged between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean, never more than 240 kilometres (150 miles) wide, the country stretches over 4,300 km (2,670 m) and four climate zones from the Atacama Desert to Patagonia. One day, I wanted to travel the whole length of this amazing country.

In the late nineties, I started to prepare my dream trip more seriously by learning Spanish and going on a sort of test ride to Spain and Portugal – six weeks with just my R80GS and a small tent. But life took a different course; in the Pyrenees I met an irresistible Englishman and moved to the UK two years later, trading one big adventure for a possibly even greater one of living as a stranger in a strange land.

Settling in went really well though, I grew fond of my new home country and its people, and even after nine years I still enjoy the difference. However, in the back of my head there was still this dream lingering and the thought of “one day, yes, one day I will go… ” I might have woken up one day and realised that I was too old, too ill or too comfortably established to embark on this trip. But then, in October 2009 a big reorganisation was announced at work including the expendability of 50 employees.

The months that followed were very unsettling; everyone had to apply for new jobs or, in my and my colleagues’ case, for their own jobs, which I found rather humiliating to say the least. Of course, I looked at the most interesting roles in the 'new' organisation, rewrote my CV, complied with all the required procedures but the risk of not making it through the selection process hung over my head day and night. “Don’t worry,” said the irresistible Englishman, “if you are made redundant then you can fulfil your dream and go to Chile.” Hey, that’s the right attitude – always see the opportunity in a difficult situation! It also helped that straight after this conversation I went to a meeting of motorcycle travellers who, naturally, all encouraged me to take the plunge.

After working for the company for over seven years, I was going to get a generous severance package that would help me to fund the trip without having to sell house and kids. So when the application deadline came, I thought: “Why should I wait for some manager to make the decision for me?” and opted straight for the redundancy. Still, it was not an easy decision for someone with a Prussian upbringing and hence a strong sense of duty, an orderly life and job security. There were quite a few nights when I lay awake and thought: “Oh my God, what have I done?”

My last day at work was the 28th of May 2010 and on the 31st I broke my foot whilst trail-riding... Still, I was determined to stick to the original schedule and fly out to Buenos Aires as planned on 17th August. A lot of things had to be squeezed into the time in between: surgery and bone healing, plenty of physio, preparing my bike and equipment, completing my qualification as a Business Analyst, getting CV and profile up to scratch, more vaccinations, and, and, and...



Since this was going to be the trip of a lifetime, I extended the route a bit so that my journey would take me not only to Chile but from Buenos Aires through Uruguay to the Iguazú Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, across to Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru, from there into northern Chile, down to Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, and then up to Buenos Aires again.

Before I set off I was not sure what I would do after returning to the UK; travelling changes your perception of the world and the priorities in your life. I thought that I might miss all my colleagues too much and go back to my old company if there was an interesting vacancy. Or – having been a Youth Worker for over twenty years of my life – I might want to do something more meaningful in future. Well, I’m still busy re-adjusting to Europe; the journey has certainly helped me to get a clearer idea of what I don’t want to do.

So at the moment I am living of my savings and looking what’s happening on the market. Seeing the conditions in which people survive in South America has put things right into perspective: I won't starve and I won't have to build a cardboard-shed on the outskirts of Oxford; there is work in this country and even if I need to do something below my qualification for a while, I am pretty confident that the right job for me is out there somewhere.

You see? Nothing to be afraid of...

[Norfolkguy]

What a brilliant write-up Pumpy, and the photos are amazing.

I must be twice your age and I keep thinking that I'd love to do a big trip, and what your story tells me is - why not?

Your tale is what HU was made for, well done you for completing it and thanks for being an inspiration to those of us still here.

[deenewcastle]

Some wonderful photos there When I got to the one of you on your bike in the mud bath I suddenly realised that I had read about you before, which was again confirmed when I saw you in your cast. Then I realised that I had been reading your web site as you headed towards the end of your journey

That's another talk already on my list for Ripley

[Pumpy]

Originally Posted by Norfolkguy

What a brilliant write-up Pumpy, and the photos are amazing.

I must be twice your age and I keep thinking that I'd love to do a big trip, and what your story tells me is - why not?

Your tale is what HU was made for, well done you for completing it and thanks for being an inspiration to those of us still here.

Thanks for your kind words, Norfolkguy, but I doubt it very much that you are twice my age: that would make you 96!

Just do it - no one has ever said on their deathbed: "I should have travelled less and spent more time in the office..."

[Majo Gularte]

Hi!!! Wow i just saw the pictures
of your adventure and seems awesome!! I would like to get in touch with you, i want to start my own adventure from Guatemala to Costa Rica by the end of the year, and i would like some advice . Tnx

[Pumpy]

Thank you very much for your kind feedback, Majo.

I'm happy to answer any of your questions - if I can; my route was different to yours and I haven't visited Central America at all.

Let me know.

---------------------------


Not sure if anyone else still wants to hear about my trip but I've written another instalment - here it goes:




In the small hours of the night I wake up again because it's so freezing cold in my room. Lesson number one: if you make the effort to carry a warm sleeping bag on your bike, you are actually allowed to use it even if you are staying in a hotel room. At the very least have the silk inner liner to hand before you go to bed...

I stare into the darkness and wait for symptoms of altitude sickness to manifest themselves. After all, Villazón sits at 3,400m / 11,155ft above sea level. Maybe I am a bit paranoid about this but one of the problems with travelling on your own is that no one tells you when you start to behave weirdly...

Breakfast is served at 7.00 downstairs at smallish tables among a lot of big guys who seem to be mainly truck drivers - we are in a busy border town after all. Despite the sceptical glances from every side, I enjoy my frugal meal consisting of a bread roll with butter and jam and black tea while trying to translate the Arabic proverb on the wall.



I think it goes like this:

Don't say everything you know,
don't do everything you can.
Don't believe everything you hear,
don't spend everything you have.

Because:

He who says everything he knows,
He who does everything he can,
He who believes everything he hears,
He who spends everything he has,

Often

Says what he shouldn't say,
does what he shouldn't do,
judges what he doesn't see,
spends what he cannot afford.

I'm sure there are a number of lessons that can be learnt from these pearls of Arabic wisdom.

After packing my stuff, I head for the gated courtyard where my baby has spent the night, and arrive at 9.00 on the dot as agreed the evening before. A young man opens the gate but there is a big 4x4 blocking the entrance. No worries, the owner will also collect his vehicle at 9.00 hrs.

9:20 hrs and nothing has happened. I return to the hotel. What is this guy thinking? I ask for his whereabouts at the reception: Se ha salido - he's gone out. Great. Maybe I've missed him on the way, so I go back the two blocks to the parking site. The gate is now open but the 4x4 is still sitting there. I try not to get worked up about the delay, ask the young man if he has some old rags and start to clean my bike - mumbling all the Spanish swearwords I can remember under my breath...

10.00 hrs and no driver in sight... Once more I return to the Hostal Plaza, try to make use of the time by writing my diary but at some point I am so annoyed that I ask the receptionist if he knows of a locksmith who can help me open the car so that I can drive it out of the way. Silly, I know, and wasn't one of the objectives of this trip to practice a bit of stoicism and not getting stressed so easily?

It's no big deal, really, it’s only 100 km / 59 miles to my next destination Tupiza, and there is nothing the receptionist or the young man at the parking place can do (well, the latter shouldn't have let the guy park in a way that was blocking everybody else's exit route, inconsiderate hijo de p*ta). And breathe...

Finally the receptionist reaches the driver on his mobile: the car should be gone by the time the fuming gringa has made her way to the parking site for the third time. I relax immediately and feel quite embarrassed now that I have let my anger take the better of me - and thus made everyone around me pretty uncomfortable. That's a lesson that will still take some learning, I suppose...

With the obstacle out of the way, my mind is open again for the sights and delights of Villazón - the slightly moralistic street art


... and the urban wildlife...


The young man from the parking courtyard meets me halfway down the road to tell me the good news, we're both relieved and laugh; I collect my baby and thank him very much for all his help. Quickly I lube my chain, load the bike and set off.


After a nice chat with the female attendant of the filling station on the outskirts of town, I reach the border control-cum-tollbooth again, explain that I was just staying overnight in Villazón but had no intention of leaving lovely Bolivia already, pay my 3 Bolivianos (under 30p) and enjoy the new smooth asfalto. Gliding through the beautiful panorama of the Altiplano, it slowly dawns on me that my water bladder is almost empty. How stupid! Haven't I learnt the lesson yet to check my water supply every morning and stock up while I'm still within a human settlement?

Oh well, only 65 kilometres / 40 miles to Tupiza left - I will probably survive. Shortly afterwards I pass yesterday's junction where the road branches off to Tarija in the east and the Ruta 14 carries on to Tupiza in the northwest. Again, all directions are clearly sign-posted and I'm a bit puzzled how anyone could miss these obvious crossroads unless seriously intoxicated... :confused1: The tarmac has disappeared by now but the Ruta 14 consists of nicely hard-packed, fast dirt.

Blue sky, glorious sunshine, clean and fresh air, the absorbing solitude of a vast and seemingly empty landscape - I feel the morning's tension dissolve into the thin air and admire the mountain tops in the distance. Big mistake. All of a sudden the handlebars are out of control, the bike leans left, right, left, right and down in a matter of split seconds and I find myself in a heap of deep gravel, getting a final kick in the back from my own steed... God, I'm shaken - never take your eyes off the road, as the surface can change in an instant, is the fifth lesson today.



Fuel is dripping out of the tank, the GPS has a deep scar, there may be more things broken but I am fine, I think. Phew, sit down at the roadside, helmet and gloves off, take a photo, calm down, drink some water - damn, I really have nothing left, and if there is serious damage to the bike, I'm pretty scr*wed. That's the difference between important and vital lessons, dear reader...

A bus approaches from the north; I wave him down and a group of young men descends. They ask what happened and if I hurt, they help me lifting the bike, and one of them starts talking to me in English. That's not necessary, really, but somehow I feel strangely comforted by hearing the language of my adopted home country: Thank you for speaking English, señor.

After my saviours have left I still rest a bit longer and assess the damage: mirror, GPS cradle and screen have scratches, the handlebar units are slightly twisted, the straps of my soft panniers are torn off - but I am ok, thank God and the Hi-Art Halvarssons suit for that! It may make my bum look big - but far more important, it just saved it! If that's not worth another lesson...

Cautiously I continue the journey - staying in the harder ruts made by previous vehicles and slowing right down at every dip and bump. From time to time I find a stretch of tarmac where the roadwork is already completed but soon enough there's a sign again: Fin de pavimento


... and it's back onto the dirt track again


At least there is now some vegetation, so I can go into the bushes...


Impressive heights the cacti reach here!


As I come over the mountains towards Tupiza, the land gets a bit more fertile and agricultural


There is more water...


... I pass through little villages


... and cross small streams that must be raging torrents in the rainy season (and not all of them can be crossed via bridges...)


Tupiza lies at the river of the same name which has created some gorgeous gorges in the area


It's just after 3pm when I arrive in town, most of the inhabitants are still holding their siesta, but after the obligatory sightseeing tour I finally find the Hotel Mitru, warmly recommended in the South America Handbook


Yes, they have a single room, [I]con baño privado[/], secure parking, breakfast buffet - and all that for 70 Bolivianos, which is about £6.30... The room is delightful, airy, and spacious


There is a little desk, the bathroom has its own window - what more can the battered and bruised traveller ask for?


After a quick shower I explore the hotel's facilities - garden, pool and roof terrace...


... from where you have a great view over the city...


... and the dramatic red rock formations the region is famous for


Is there a cobbler nearby who can repair my soft luggage? Just one block down the road, advises the receptionist. The shoemaker understands straight away what needs to be done to make my panniers usable again. Give me until 7pm, señora. There is no rush, sir, I will stay another night in your lovely town – mañana is early enough.

I like Tupiza; the climate is pleasant - we are down to 2,800 metres / 9,200 ft again, the people are friendly and helpful, and I hugely enjoy strolling aimlessly through the city, absorbing the ambience, watching the locals watching football...


... and admiring the somewhat fancy architecture


The mercado is colourful and picturesque but I don't feel comfortable taking photos; I'm not in a zoo here and it feels disrespectful towards the market-people to point the camera into their faces while they are pursuing their day-to-day tasks. There are still enough inanimate objects worth photographing around


I call Possu, assure him that I am still alive and make light of the accident; then I walk back to the bridge and the railway crossing over which I have entered the town earlier - both look like they have seen better days...


Tupiza has surprisingly many Pizzerias - and a nice sense of humour: 'Your Pizza'


... and they all promote their vegetarian menu. I feel spoilt for choice - "are you decisive, Ela?" "Mmm, let me think about that..." - I've been known for almost starving while passing one café after the other on my trips, because there could be a better one around the next corner... In the Pizzeria I finally settle for, I meet Ylon from Israel who has been travelling through South America for six months and is now in his last three weeks. We exchange recommendations: he must go and see the Iguazú Falls, I should not miss Northern Peru and Ecuador - which I probably will, as I have only 3 1/2 months to spare...

After dinner I'm looking for an internet café, there are plenty about but they are all full - I try in at least eight places to get a free space but to no avail. It certainly doesn't help that the whole of Tupiza relies on one dial-up connection, or so it seems to me, after I have finally managed to upload one photo on the hotel computer - in 15 minutes...

What an eventful day, lots to think about and digest into lessons learnt and others that will still need recapping for a while... Suddenly I feel very tired - and what prevents me from going to bed before 9pm if I feel like it? I'm on holiday, it's a free country and tomorrow will be another great day, I'm sure.

¡Buenas noches!

[daytonatwin]

Hi Pumpy. it looks as though they have re-built the bell towers on the cathedral in Arequipa. I arrived there 2 hours before the earthquake, I think it was 2001. It registered 7.5, what an experience that was. The cobbled road moved like waves on the sea, one of the bell towers completely collapsed and the other was hanging on by a thin vertical piece of stone, what a mess it was, but everything thing looke fine now.
I would love to go there again and see the town as it should be before the eartquake.
By the way can't wait to read you report, best wishes Mike.

[Pumpy]

Originally Posted by daytonatwin

Hi Pumpy. it looks as though they have re-built the bell towers on the cathedral in Arequipa. I arrived there 2 hours before the earthquake, I think it was 2001. It registered 7.5, what an experience that was. The cobbled road moved like waves on the sea, one of the bell towers completely collapsed and the other was hanging on by a thin vertical piece of stone, what a mess it was, but everything thing looke fine now.
I would love to go there again and see the town as it should be before the eartquake.
By the way can't wait to read you report, best wishes Mike.

That must have been a very scary day, Mike; glad that you weren't injured! After the recent earthquakes in Chile I had this horror vision that I was riding along a road and suddenly the ground would open up - fortunately that nightmare didn't materialise...

Arequipa looks fantastic these days, they have done a great job rebuilding the city - I didn't notice any damage in the parts of the town I went.

Thanks for your kind words,

Ela

[Mike Yorkie]

Hi Pumpy

Just spent the last couple of hours reading your threads - fantastic! I'm off to learn how to speak Spanish.
Thanks again
Mike

[Pumpy]

From Tarija (1,854m / 6,083ft ) to Villazón (3,400m / 11,155ft).



The sun shines through the light funnel into my room and wakes me up at 6.30am. While still thinking about turning onto the other side for another five minutes, I suddenly hear music from a marching band outside – of course, there is a week-long fiesta going on in Tarija! Out of bed and onto the roof terrace for breakfast – there is still a lot to see in this city before I head for the solitude of the Altiplano.

Salón Bellavista they call their breakfast room…



… which is a pretty accurate name.





The morning sky is deep blue and crisp again



While I scribble a few notes into my journal, the guy from the other table comes over and introduces himself: he's Uli from Münster in Germany, civil hydraulics engineer, who has been living in South America since 1986. He just bought some land and plans to build a new home for him and his Bolivian partner. Uli gives me loads of valuable information about the area: Tupiza would be doable in one day (well, we’d see about that…); and from there I would easily find the road to Uyuni and its famous Salar. On the Altiplano the people would become more reserved, accommodation would be scarce and the temperatures could drop to minus 15 degrees Celsius at night.

Uli also has a deeper insight in the country’s elementary problems, for instance that La Paz is depending entirely on the surrounding glaciers for its drinking water supply, and while the ice diminishes rapidly, the government hasn’t made the necessary provisions yet. Even more fundamental, the majority of the Bolivians live in the barren region of the high plateau, often at poverty level, while the fertile lowlands are rather scarcely populated. Still, if your family, language and culture have been rooted in the same place for centuries it’s certainly difficult to leave your traditional life behind and move away - even if staying doesn’t offer a great perspective and involves considerable hardships. There would be many situations in the coming days where I would wonder how people could survive in the remote villages I was passing through – with no visible agricultural production, very few animals and no obvious trade.

Uli hands me his card in case I would get into trouble and needed help – how very kind. On the way to fetch my bike…



… I pass the Casa Dorada, the Golden House again



Should I take the time to explore Tarija’s sights and delights a bit longer?



I feel seriously tempted when I pop into the nearby tourist office where a lovely señorita tells me everything about the city, the surrounding villages, the valley with its vineyards and rolling hills, before she showers me with enticing brochures of the region. Still having this ludicrous idea in my head that I would reach Chile in time for its bicentenary independence celebrations, I decide against another day in the Bolivian Andalucía and collect my DRZ from its secure parking space. Back at the hotel, there is Uli loading his 4x4 and still happy to share his wealth of local knowledge with me. Now I am in a position to return the favour and hand him half of my brochures about many places he hadn’t heard of before.

After making photocopies of all my new Bolivian documents, I load the bike and leave the City of Smiles. A last look at the beautiful Plaza de Armas - I’ll be back one day, that’s for sure.



On the outskirts of Tarija I eventually find a shop where I can buy water – a task seemingly impossible in the town centre where there are rows of the finest shops, restaurants and historical buildings with no one catering for the bare necessities. The road heading to San Lorenzo is beautifully paved - but this indulgence is cut short when the Ruta 1 to Potosí branches off to the west after two miles. Rough dirt, gravel and corrugations are on the menu. At a police check point I have to explain my wherefrom and whereto, show my passport and documents, pay the stately sum of 3 Bolivianos (£ 0.46), get a stamp and am free to continue my journey.

The road climbs up the hills forming the valley of Taraxa and soon I have a great view of Tarija



… and some not so nice view of littering and fly-tipping.



Like in the UK, where this is a common problem as well, I want to shout at these people: “Don’t you love your own country? Are you not proud of its beauty and don’t you want your children to grow up in a healthy environment? Think, for heaven's sake!"



And breathe… There are more than enough reasons to make you fret the whole day long - but, thank God, it’s not mandatory…



A bit higher up I’m granted a last look at the City of Smiles and the Río Gualdaquivir meandering through the Taraxa Valley.



At the summit the GPS shows an elevation of about 4,000 metres (13,120 ft) – this must be higher than I’ve ever been before. In Iscayachi the Ruta 1 turns north towards Potosí. Although this town with its legendary silver mine is on my list of places to see, I will head for Tupiza and the Salar de Uyuni first. As the map doesn’t show a lot of villages along the Ruta 301, I’d rather buy some more water. The owners of the first two shops seem to be having their siesta, the third one doesn’t sell water, only sweet fizzy drinks and booze, but fortunately there is no shortage of suppliers and in the fourth establishment I finally get what I need.

Iscayachi lies only 50 kilometres to the west of Tarija but about 1,600 metres (5,250ft) higher at 3,427m (11,243ft), and I notice the difference already: the people are rather taciturn, just as Uli mentioned, and a single woman on a motorbike gets some funny looks. I’m becoming even more self-conscious when I can’t see any facilities to answer the call of nature: there are just too many people, lots of houses built to a surprisingly high standard, big schools and community buildings, miles of cultivated land – but not a single bush!

When I reach the Cordillera de Sama, a biological reserve at 3,800 metres (12,467ft) the human settlements recede…



… and the only living things I see for a while are these natives



Why did the Llama cross the road?



… because it is a rather gregarious animal…



Passing one of the lagoons in the nature reserve



… a popular meeting point for the local cattle



Otherwise the area is pretty deserted



Leaving the high plateau, the road gets narrower - and as so often, the abyss is on the wrong side…



Ok, the route may not be as famous or as high as the Camino de la Muerte…



… but if you go over the edge, I would imagine that the result is pretty much the same



View back up the mountain



There may be a lack of safety barriers on Bolivian roads but some times they grant you a lay-by to recover from permanently holding your breath...



Although the vastness of the landscape elevates your mind, it can feel quite lonely on the Altiplano. You may meet only seven vehicles the whole day long but you never know in which bend this will happen. After another close encounter with a coach, I feel the constant strain taking its toll and start to count the kilometres to Tupiza down.

There lies a village in the valley below, pretty big and with well-built houses, but no road-sign provides the passing tourist with further information. Only when the settlement is behind me a name appears in the corner of my GPS - it was Yunchara. Phew, another 54 kilometres / 34 miles since Iscayachi.

The road still heads downhill and I reach a fertile river valley, lots of green and trees but I don't stop any more, it's getting late.



The Bolivians are constantly improving their road network and I come across many construction sites. The workers greet me friendly and some even cheer when I pass them - I think that's because they are female, too.

An oncoming truck flags me down and the three young guys inside ask if I knew where the road was leading. Yunchara, great - that's the place they want to reach today. Good luck, boys! Then the carretera raises again but this time it is a bit wider and I can finally stop by the side of the road, using the DRZ as a screen from other vehicles - even if you haven't seen another human being for over an hour, you can bet that someone will pass just after you have pulled down your trousers...

Over some water and a biscuit I consider my options: progress is very slow, it's already gone 16.00 hrs and Tupiza is still 75 kilometres (47 miles) away. The next town is Villazón, a mere 32 kilometres (20 miles) to go, so I may vote for the sensible option and call it a day there. The junction shouldn't be far and right, after the next corner I can see a narrow track winding down into a deep valley - oh dear, this looks quite adventurous... Fortunately two elderly señores are sitting at the crossroads who I approach for advice.

Oh, that one, that's just a camino a un pueblito, a path to a small village; the proper junction to Villazón is a bit further up on the Altiplano. One of the gentleman even draws a little map in the dirt. There should be a road-sign but many drivers miss it and carry on to Tupiza. Muchas gracias, señores, this was most helpful.

I reach the Altiplano and the road broadens; it's corrugated but fast. The junction is clearly marked with obvious signs and after a while there is even tarmac! Still, the pista is not finished yet and the traffic has to divert to the dirt road again occasionally but the last seven kilometres are beautiful smooth asfalto. Fantastic, I had almost forgotten what a paved surface feels like!



As Villazón lies on the border with Argentina near La Quiaca, where the famous Ruta 40 commences, there is the obligatory police checkpoint before you enter the town. After a little chat the officer waves me on and I can embark on my usual sight-seeing tour. Villazón is chaotic, buzzing with life, people and business, lots of traffic and noise. The sun is low and blinding, and I almost enter a one-way street in the wrong direction - sorry...

The South American Handbook recommends the Hotel Center but unfortunately they don't have any vacancies - that's a first on my journey. Hostal Plaza on the other side of the main square should be good as well, says the young man at reception. Ok, but they have run out of single rooms at 70 Bolivianos (£6.50) and can only offer a matrimonio, a double for 110 Bs including breakfast - just over £10.00. It's already 18.00 hrs, it's getting cold and dark and I'm absolutely knackered - go on then, let's splash out!



The receptionist helps me carrying the luggage upstairs, then he leads me to the secure parking a few streets away. Gracias. After a hot shower I feel a lot better. Relaxing on the bed I read the chapter about altitude sickness in Jim Duff's Pocket First Aid and Wilderness Medicine again: shall I take precautions or not? Villazón lies at 3,470m (11,155ft), Tupiza at 2,990m (9,810ft) and Uyuni at 4,400m (14,436ft). I have brought some acetazolamide with me but the drug has to be taken 24 hours before ascending to altitude and it can make you feel dizzy - not exactly what you want when conducting a motorcycle over the Andes. I will think about it one more day and possibly start the prophylaxis the next evening in Tupiza.

Conveniently, the Hostal Plaza has a restaurant in the basement and although it is completely empty, the waiters busy themselves to make me feel welcome and comfortable. Sopa fideo, noodle soup, and Milanesa, a paper-thin breaded meat fillet, are on the menu. After dinner I head to the next internet café where I find out that the whole of Villazón must depend on one single dial-up connection - it takes forever to upload six photos (out of the 29 shot today...) and after one hour I give up and leave the crowded, noisy place.

The neon display on the Plaza Mayor shows the current temperature: 4 degrees Celsius... Off to bed, and quickly!

[MEZ]

Very enjoyable reading and great photo’s, keep posting like this please, it wet’s the appetite for s/a.

Regards Mez.