Chasing Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

Bolivia | Anno 2015

 

Friday, July 17 | Villazón – Tupiza

Saturday, July 18 | Tupiza

Sunday, July 19 | Tupiza – Uyuni

 

 

Friday, July 17 | Villazón – Tupiza

Potosí – for centuries the most important silver mine in the world – was supposed to be one of the highlights of the trip. We were to stay there for two nights. But social tensions have led to a strike and a blockade. There is no way through. Potosí, a junction of roads, is cut off from the outside world.

On foot, we cross the bridge from the Argentine La Quiaca to the Bolivian Villazón over the Río de la Quiaca, not knowing what the future holds. The thermometer reads 9,5 °C (49 °F). We set our watches back an hour, because here it is only a quarter past twelve. The time difference with Belgium is now six hours.

Martín, our guide, greets us. The fact that an Argentine from La Quiaca will be leading us through Bolivia surprises us. But Martín reassures us by saying his grandmother is of Bolivian descent. And he's been doing this job for twenty years, so he has plenty of experience. Alfredo also appears, a quiet Bolivian. For now, his role seems limited to carrying Martín's backpack.

Two Toyota Ipsum taxis take us to the office of the local travel agency. There, they have lunch ready for us – soup, chicken breast with vegetables, rice, onion potatoes, and for dessert, apricot with dulce de leche, a caramel paste made from milk, sugar, and baking powder that is slowly and meticulously cooked. The quiet Alfredo turns out to be the owner of this agency. His wife Samantha and daughter Yvonne have prepared this meal.

Our next destination turns out to be Tupiza, replacing Potosí. In principle, we are supposed to depart by bus at two o'clock. But this is Bolivia. The bus that is supposed to take us to Tupiza is still on a round trip there. So, we have to wait until it completes that route.

Would you like to see my garden, the silent Alfredo asks. Since we have nothing to do, we are happy to accept his suggestion. He takes us to the back, through a space where a handful of jeeps are parked, to his dusty, walled garden. Four ducks have made their home there. He is proud of the peaches, strawberries, and grapes he grows here – not an obvious matter at an altitude of 3 500 meters, with winter temperatures of –15°C (5 °F).

But it turns out visiting the garden is just a pretext. Alfredo wants to get something off his chest

But it turns out visiting the garden is just a pretext. Alfredo wants to get something off his chest. We’ll be getting a crash course in Bolivia for beginners, but with a very personal touch. Suddenly, the quiet Alfredo transforms into an unstoppable chatterbox.

We learn that three large population groups live together here – the Aymara, the Quechua, and the Guaraní. It is the Aymara who hold the power in Bolivia. They live on the northern puna, the high plains of the Andes, around La Paz and Lake Titicaca. They are materialists; money and possessions are their highest good.

The Quechua, on the other hand, place more importance on solidarity, ethics, and morality, and live in the puna and valleys of the south. Finally, the Guaraní live in the eastern Sierra and get along quite well with the Quechua.

When children of the Aymara marry, acquiring property is the only goal. Marrying a Quechua is out of the question. President Evo Morales may be the first indigenous president of Bolivia, but he is Aymara and perpetuates the system.

Down here in the south, they cannot rely on financial investments from the capital. That is precisely what the strike in the mining town of Potosí is all about. It has now been going on for more than ten days. And when there is a strike here, it is serious. The roads are blocked, and no one gets through. The situation is completely shut down – we had even noticed that ourselves.

The local population has seen none of the profits of the silver mine of Potosí

Over the past centuries, the silver mine of Potosí has been almost completely depleted, but the local population has seen none of the profits. It is not surprising, then, that the Quechua in the southern province of Sud Lípez, where gold ore is present, do not want to exploit it. From a river that supposedly contains gold, they prefer to mix the sand into cement rather than sift it. Gold and silver are of the devil; they change people, according to Alfredo. It is no coincidence that at the entrance of the mine in Potosí, there is a depiction of Tío, the god of silver. Miners offer sacrifices to him before descending into the mine, to ward off the negative influence of the silver.

Alfredo is an economics professor by training, but he came to Villazón because it is quieter here and life is better. In the garage where the jeeps are now parked, he once set up a furniture factory. He exported his products to Argentina. But when President Menem began importing products from Brazil and China, he could no longer compete.

Starting a new industrial activity seemed unfeasible because Bolivia cannot compete with foreign countries in that regard. So, he sought refuge in the service sector, specifically tourism. And it turns out to be working, as the business is thriving. Why should a person work hard? There's no need for that.

As a final point, Alfredo has one crystal clear piece of advice for Bolivia – focus entirely on agriculture, livestock, and tourism. These are the only sectors where Bolivia can play a role internationally. But the Bolivian government is not interested; they ignore Alfredo's advice.

A little after three, a bus finally appears. It’s a Jincheng GDQ 6530 for 10 people, a Chinese clone of the Toyota HiAce. Our luggage needs to go on the roof rack. We have no objections, except that there is no roof rack. So, our belongings are stuffed onto the back seats as best as possible.

With an hour and a quarter delay we start the journey of just under a hundred kilometres to Tupiza. Fields of quinoa pass by the window. However, that native crop is far too expensive in Bolivia, Martín explains, because the government wants to reserve quinoa for export.

It’s just before four as we descend into the valley. According to Martín, the average Bolivian cannot make sense of tourist behaviour. Going to a neighbouring village to attend a festival and then returning home completely drunk is one thing. But traveling even farther away – what’s the point?

 

Suipacha

Suipacha is the place in Bolivia where the first major battle against the Spaniards took place. This happened on November 7, 1810, and they are still immensely proud of it. At least, that’s what the ten plaques expressing gratitude for the glorious battle would have us believe. Aside from two sluggish dogs and an old woman, there isn’t a living soul to be seen in the village.

 

Suipacha

Battle of November 7, 1810

High in the sky, a few black condors circle. Just before five, we reach Hotel Mitru in Tupiza, a quiet town at an altitude of 3 160 meters, where more than 25 000 inhabitants seem to have banished all hustle and bustle from their lives. In the covered Mercado Antonio Gil Duran across the street, the last activity of the day is slowly winding down.

 

Tupiza – Market

 

Meanwhile, our alternative program is beginning to take shape – a night extra in Tupiza, a night extra in Uyuni. Tomorrow will be filled with a horseback ride, which will last three to five hours. We’ll get more details about that during dinner tonight. Afterward, we might consider taking a jeep to El Sillar, a viewpoint a little north of the city.

Fuel is becoming scarce, and there’s no heating in the room

While we gorge ourselves on giant pizzas at Restaurante Italiana, Maribel makes her appearance. We expect her to give us information about the horses, but you wouldn’t immediately call her a female gaucho – her attire is impeccable. For now, all we learn is that we shouldn’t worry, the horses are gentle, and we’ll be provided with leg protectors.

The effects of the blockade are already being felt. Fuel is becoming scarce, and there’s no heating in the room.

Top

Saturday, July 18 | Tupiza

It's quite a busy scene at the bus stop. After all, it's Saturday, market day in Tupiza. In about ten minutes, the overcrowded minibus takes us to the edge of the city. There, Luis is waiting for us. He has brought four horses, three hats, five sets of leg protectors, and one dog. Clearly, that's not sufficient, but in the distance, Fernando appears with six more horses, a few sets of leg protectors, and a high stack of hats on his own head.

 

Luis with dog and horses

The horses are inspected, the leg protectors strapped on, and the right hat is chosen. As far as clothing goes, there's nothing left to distinguish us from The Wild Bunch in Sam Peckinpah's western.

 

We fully enjoy it, blissfully convinced that we don’t need to lift a finger and that the horses know the way

Apparently, Taliya, Rossino, and the other horses are a bit taller than we expected. A sturdy rock under our feet and a firm boost to our behinds come in handy. Even so, the way we end up in the saddle won't immediately win us any beauty prizes.

 

 

Just before eleven, our group sets off in a long column. Fernando and Luis run the business from the front and the back, Martín and Maribel accompany us in the middle of the group.

 

 

It quickly becomes apparent that the Bolivian landscape doesn’t fall short of the Argentine quebradas. Erosion has carved bizarre sculptures into the mountain ridges, the rock layers are in the most diverse colours, and rugged shrubs and pale green cacti dominate the slopes. From the high vantage point of the horses, we fully enjoy it, blissfully convinced that we don’t need to lift a finger and that the horses know the way.

 

Puerta del Diablo

At a leisurely pace, we reach the Puerta del Diablo, or Devil's Gate, a vertical rock wall that rises like a freestanding wall about ten meters above us. The strange natural formation gets its name from a wedge-shaped split. We park the horses and explore the area on foot, where we come across a man in his twenties from Dutch Utrecht who is traveling through the country alone. For his horseback ride, they’ve assigned him a young, inexperienced guide, no older than thirteen.

 

Cañón del Inca

We continue through a broad ravine towards the Cañón del Inca, which, according to the sign, is 3 268 meters above sea level. The gorge becomes increasingly narrow, forcing us to leave the horses behind for a while. Boulders that have been carried by the torrential water during the rainy season create a high obstacle. It takes some scrambling, but we follow Martín as we explore the deep fissure carved into the rock by the water.

We return through the wide valley to the Devil’s Gate and then climb out of the valley. The horses have to squeeze onto the narrow path that leads up the slope, but they maintain their pace. Descending, however, is a different story. Once at the top of the ridge, the horses become resistant. It takes some coaxing before they start the descent – You have to show them who’s the boss, Martín insists.

 

 

But the landscape continues to captivate. The narrow path winds down through a small V‑shaped valley. Dust clouds swirl around the horses' dusty legs. Towering cacti outcompete the low trees and shrubs. The mountain slopes compete with each other in shape and colour.

 

The Wild Bunch

A wide gravel road easily takes us over a mountain ridge. In the distance, we see two riders descending into the valley. The slope is steep, with loose gravel on the rocky ground making the path particularly treacherous. One of the horses loses its footing on the slippery stones and falls. The rider barely avoids being trapped under the horse. It turns out to be our friend from Utrecht. He escapes with nothing more than a scare, but the horse is limping on its right hind leg.

This isn’t exactly encouraging, as Fernando is leading us down that same path. We manage it without any incidents, though some of us decide to walk the path instead.

It seems that just a breath of wind could dislodge some of these rocks

Cañón del Duende

 

It's two o'clock when we reach the entrance to the Cañón del Duende, the Canyon of the Kobold. We dismount from the horses and begin our climb through the gorge on foot. The narrower it gets, the more it amazes us. Instead of steep rock walls, the canyon is bordered by a wall of fragile conglomerate. Large boulders and stones bulge out from the reddish-brown clay walls high above our heads like thick blisters. It seems that just a breath of wind could dislodge some of these rocks, and over the coming years, that's likely to happen, especially during the rainy season.

 

Cañón del Duende

Further up the gorge, we come across a pool of water. A white layer of salt crystals on the rock wall indicates a high salt concentration, yet the water is frozen. As we go even further, the canyon walls seem to close in around us, making it feel as if we’re standing at the bottom of a tube.

 

 

Just before four, we take the minibus back to the city. For a very late lunch, we head to El Fogon, which markets itself as Mama’s Restaurant. We eat whatever is served, which is exclusively chicken. Our plates feature a quarter chicken, accompanied by portions of fries, rice, and spaghetti. Including a Coca-Cola, the lunch costs a mere 14 bolivianos – about two euros and ten cents.

 

 

We still have the trip to El Sillar pending, but transportation issues are throwing a wrench in the works. It's not the jeep that's the problem, it's the fuel. It’s standing in a long line at a gas station. It doesn't look like it will be available right away.

Then Wilfredo appears. He has brought another jeep, a rickety Toyota Land Cruiser 4500. With some optimism, you could count six seats – if you include the two makeshift seats in the cargo area. Still, this will be the jeep with which we will experience more than 200 km of unpaved road to Uyuni tomorrow, with our luggage piled on the roof rack. That promises to be quite an adventure.

For now, we’re not letting it bother us. Wilfredo takes the road to the distant San Vicente, the place where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are said to have committed their last robbery. A half-hour drive takes us to El Sillar, a saddle between two peaks at an altitude of 3 700 meters.

 

El Sillar

 

On either side, the eroded landscapes stretch out around us. Wind, water, and sun have caused this erosion, Martín mutters, somewhat stating the obvious. A few small villages, each with 50 to 70 inhabitants, populate the valley through which the Río Tupiza flows. In the distance, it merges with the Río Grande San Juan del Oro, where gold can be panned during the rainy season, hence the name.

Everyone is heading into town to find entertainment and, more than anything, to get drunk

We stop at a cold, noisy tent with two private security guards at the door – this is The Alamo. It’s Saturday, and everyone is heading into town to find entertainment and, more than anything, to get drunk. Apparently, The Alamo isn’t too keen on that kind of crowd. Hence the security guards. We settle in for dinner. We also learn that Martín won’t be traveling with us to Uyuni tomorrow. He’ll be taking public transport instead, as the jeep can only accommodate six people.

Top

Sunday, July 19 | Tupiza – Uyuni

The news that we’ll be without Martín’s guidance for an entire day isn’t met with much enthusiasm. Alfredo, our economics professor, who has come all the way from Villazón, is sympathetic to our complaint. However, bringing in a second jeep isn’t an option due to the fuel shortage and long lines at gas stations. So, Martín will travel with us after all. Seven people squeezing into a jeep that’s already too cramped for six – we wonder what the driver will say about that.

Then another Alfredo shows up, and he’s brought along a jeep – a Toyota Land Cruiser 4500 that’s even more dilapidated than the one from yesterday. The door handle is missing, he has to open it with a piece of wire.

He’s brought along a jeep that’s even more dilapidated than the one from yesterday

The verdict is that four suitcases will have to go by public transport. Alfredo reassures us that Maribel will oversee this. A taxi arrives, the four suitcases are loaded, and the taxi leaves… without Maribel. Four unattended suitcases on public transport in Bolivia, that’s asking for trouble. Don’t worry, Alfredo assures us, someone else will accompany the luggage, someone trustworthy. Reluctantly we take him at his word.

The verdict is that four suitcases will have to go by public transport. Alfredo reassures us that Maribel will oversee this. A taxi arrives, the four suitcases are loaded, and the taxi leaves… without Maribel. Four unattended suitcases on public transport in Bolivia, that's asking for trouble. Don't worry, Alfredo assures us, someone else will accompany the luggage, someone trustworthy. Reluctantly we take him at his word.

At a quarter past ten, we set off. First, we pick up Martín’s luggage, which he’ll have to keep on his lap for now since there’s no room. Then pick up the lunch boxes in a shady shop in a dusty street – three huge boxes that somehow need to be stowed away somewhere. Everything gets piled onto the roof, where space seems limitless – both in width and height.

A little after half past ten, Alfredo finally gets the jeep moving for good. We pass a heavily armed military checkpoint at the edge of the city, then turn left onto a gravel road. A sign informs us that Uyuni is 208 km away. We leave Ruta 14, which leads to Potosí, and enter the dusty world of Ruta 21. Oncoming vehicles drag along enormous clouds of dust in their wake.

 

Ruta 21

The communities along this route are relatively small, Martín explains. Tambillo is one such example. In August, at the beginning of spring, they celebrate Pachamama in honour of the earth's fertility. During this festival, coca leaves, alcohol, maize, and quinoa are offered. This animistic tradition, more than 2 000 years old, is typical of the Aymara people.

Duality is a significant aspect of their worldview. Everything has its complement – man and woman, sun and moon, light and darkness. The upper world, with its sun, moon, stars, and air, is contrasted with the underworld, where the devil resides.

The miners of Potosí refer to this devil as Tío. It's no coincidence that they depict him as a Spaniard. Every time they descend into the mine, they offer coca leaves and alcohol to him, hoping for a safe and productive day of work.

A more recent celebration is Inti Raymi, held annually on December 20th. This festival originates from Inca traditions, introduced around 700 years ago. The third and most recent component of local spirituality is Catholicism. In practice, many festivities are a blend of these three elements.

 

 

As we continue upstream along the Río Salo, the altitude steadily increases. Occasionally, we come across small settlements, each with only a handful of rectangular houses. The locals here raise llamas, cows, and goats – not for their meat, but for their milk. On the fields, they cultivate quinoa. For fuel in the kitchen, they use tola, a native, resinous plant that only grows on the puna, at elevations between 3 500 and 5 000 meters. Martín rightfully points out that the closed kitchens where this fuel is burned generate a lot of smoke, creating an unpleasant and unhealthy environment.

Vehicles are rare in these parts, yet somehow, a bus managed to collide with a light truck this morning. It's hard to imagine how such an accident could happen in this remote area. The driver's cabin of the bus is almost completely destroyed, which is concerning, as it's the same type of bus carrying our four suitcases.

The formation’s resemblance to a phallus is said to symbolize both the duality of nature and the integrity of Mother Earth – a contrast with the sun and moon

La Poronga

Like a gigantic phallus of thirty meters high, a heavily eroded sandstone structure already attracts our attention from afar. We take a break to stretch our legs and explore. The locals call this natural formation La Poronga, a slang term in South America for penis. Shaped by water and wind, the formation’s resemblance to a phallus is said to symbolize both the duality of nature and the integrity of Mother Earth – a contrast with the sun and moon. This unexpected symbolism leaves us a few moments speechless.

 

Salo

We cross the river at Salo, a long strip of stone houses lined up along the road. Colourfully dressed children gaze curiously at the passing tourists. The women, dressed in traditional attire with long braids, bowler hats, wide flaring skirts, and thick woollen pants, are busy behind a grill. They're preparing the meat of a one-month-old goat, likely for hungry passers-by as lunchtime approaches. Down in the dry riverbed, a shepherdess tends to her goats.

 

 

The ascent continues, though you won't find snow here due to the insufficient rainfall. However, occasional hailstorms and some ice formation are not uncommon.

 

Abandoned farm with cattle pen

Waiting for transport

Alfredo fixes it

In Bolivia, marriage is taken quite seriously, which is why the serviñacu was created. This is a form of trial marriage where a man and woman live together for six months to a year. If the relationship doesn't flourish, they can part ways without further obligations. If children result from the union, the man is responsible for their care. Martín chuckles as he mentions that Alfredo has been in a serviñacu for eight years now. With two children to show for it.

 

 

Shortly after twelve, about 15 kilometres from Salo, the jeep's engine suddenly stalls. Alfredo promptly dives under the hood. In five minutes the problem is fixed – whatever it may have been.

This was a letdown, as they had actually hoped for half a million

While we don’t have to worry about a robbery during this delay these days, it wasn't always this peaceful. Here, at the foot of the Huaca Huañusca, or Hill of the Dead Cow, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid made their last stand. On November 4, 1908, they ambushed a mule train carrying $ 90 000 in wages for miners. This was a letdown, as they had actually hoped for half a million.

To make matters worse, law enforcement and a mob of angry, unpaid miners were hot on their trail. They didn’t get any further than San Vicente. Even today, crime enthusiasts can visit their graves. However, whether these graves actually belong to the infamous bandits Robert LeRoy Parker and Harry Alonzo Longabaugh – those being their real names – remains a topic of debate. The Bolivian tourism board prefers to keep that mystery alive; just imagine if the myth were shattered.

At 4 067 meters, we reach an apacheta, marking the highest point of the pass. This pyramid of loose stones often features offerings of coca leaves and alcohol, as travellers express their gratitude for a safe journey to Pachamama and the Apus, the mountain spirits.

 

Vicuñas

Even on a Sunday, they are hard at work on the road. Our first sightings of vicuñas appear, with one always standing lookout for foxes and pumas.

Just before one, Alfredo and Martín search for a sheltered spot to have lunch, but the fierce winds nearly blow us away. A decision is made to eat in Atocha, which is still an hour and a half away.

As we turn a corner, the wooden houses of Tolamayu emerge, a zinc mine situated at 4 115 meters. Alfredo asks for and receives permission to use their dining hall. To our surprise, we find tables and chairs waiting for us. Martín opens the lunchboxes, revealing pita bread, cheese, ham, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, drinks, and even a proper tablecloth.

 

 

 

With 140 kilometres still ahead of us, we resume our journey just before two. Even a small waterfall has frozen. Abandoned houses dot the banks of a creek, remnants of the gold mining that once occurred here during the rainy season. The miners were semi-nomadic, working in the area during the summer and retreating to the valleys in winter.

 

 

The fields are eerily quiet, as quinoa was harvested here barely a month ago. A herd of several dozen llamas passes by, under the care of a shepherd, a girl of 5 to 6 years old – possibly his daughter – and a dog.

 

Shepherd, his daughter and their dog with llamas

As we approach the Río Atocha, a rock mass rises in the distance, resembling a basilica with two towers. Alfredo names this striking formation Punta Mogote – mogote meaning antlers.

 

Punta Mogote

River bed of the Río Atocha

In a wide meander at the foot of the mountainside lies the dusty town of Atocha. Alfredo opts to bypass the town, as well as Ruta 14, in favour of the broad, flat riverbed over the rough gravel path. We continue our journey across sandbanks and through shallow water channels, with the valley at times reminiscent of landscapes we’ve seen in Argentina.

 

 

A signpost seems to direct us towards the small station of the abandoned mining town of Chocaya, but Alfredo knows better. It takes nearly half an hour before we finally climb out of the riverbed and rejoin Ruta 14.

 

Río Salado – The river bed

The changing vegetation tells us we’re approaching the puna. Large plume bushes in particular manage to survive on the bone-dry, sandy soil. Known as paja brava, this long white grass is used both as feed for llamas and as roofing material. The green tola shrubs, which serve as fuel, also manage to survive in this cold climate.

 

Río Salado – The little town

The Río Salado earns its name from its salty waters, and the small settlement overlooking its vast, mostly dry riverbed shares the same name. Shortly after four, we pause there briefly, observing the sparse traffic as it carefully navigates the tiny streams. Crossing this river during the rainy season seems utterly impossible.

 

Sand desert

As we continue, the landscape becomes increasingly desolate, gradually taking on the form of a sandy desert. Agriculture is certainly impossible here, yet we are approaching the town of Uyuni, a tourist hub with 40 000 residents.

Just ten years ago, all activity revolved around the salt and lithium mines

However, this wasn't always the case. Just ten years ago, Uyuni had only about five to six thousand inhabitants. Back then, all activity revolved around the salt and lithium mines. The town was an important railway junction, with lines to Potosí, Oruro, and even to the Atlantic Ocean via Calama in Chile. But those trains carried only cargo for the mining industry.

Tourism is a recent development, emerging only in the past ten to fifteen years, as Martín explains. Nowadays, they do everything possible to attract tourists. Even the unpaved Ruta 14 is being transformed into a broad asphalt road.

Various objects along Avenida Ferroviária remind us of Uyuni's railway past. At the edge of the town, there's even a Cementerio de Trenes, a graveyard of discarded train cars.

We arrive at Hotel Los Girasoles at half-past five. The name subtly reminds us that the sunflower is originally an American plant. The hotel has central heating, but no fuel oil – due to the blockade, of course. Since it can get quite cold during a winter night at 3 670 meters above sea level, we are provided with an electric heater for our room.

At Restaurant 16 de Julio on Avenida Arce, the cold doesn't deter diners; they sit bundled up in thick coats as they eat. As a concession, a heater is directed toward us. We indulge in a pique macho, a typical Bolivian dish – beef, sausages, potatoes, onions, eggs, mustard, mayonnaise, ketchup, and locoto, which is a chili pepper. Everything is piled generously on the plate, a portion size they aptly call macho here.

Top

Jaak Palmans
© 2024 | Version 2024-08-26 14:00

Continue reading in (5/6)

Salt lakes, volcanoes and a pinch of borax